The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  The cloth looked quite familiar, and Constance felt suddenly sick inside.

  The Earl placed the velvet material on the palm of his left hand and opened up the folds with his other hand. An elegant ruby and diamond necklace shimmered against the dark velvet.

  “Then how do you explain this, Miss Woodley?”

  Constance’s head swam. The Earl had placed the damning necklace in her trunk. It was the only explanation.

  “You planned this!” she gasped. “When I would not take that necklace as a bribe, you put it into my trunk! You knew I was leaving, didn’t you?” Constance turned toward Lady Rutherford, realization breaking through.

  It was no wonder Lady Rutherford had been so unexpectedly pleasant to her, even accommodating. She must have seen the possibilities Constance’s flight from the house offered and had gone to the Earl to suggest a way to rid themselves of the problem Constance presented to their betrothal plans.

  “You planned this thing together!” Constance’s gaze went from Lady Rutherford to Lord Selbrooke. She could not understand why they had done this to her. She was leaving Dominic and the house; surely that was enough for them.

  But, no. They must have been afraid that Dominic would persist in his plans, that he might go after her and persuade her to return. If they managed to disgrace her in front of everyone, if they convinced Dominic that she was a thief and made her name a subject of scandal, then he would not insist on marrying her. They were making certain that she could not marry Dominic. And they did not care that they would ruin her in the process.

  “Young lady!” Lady Rutherford exclaimed. “Mind your tongue. How dare you speak to me like that?” She whipped around to face Lord and Lady Selbrooke. “It is clear that you have nursed a viper to your bosom, my lord. Lady Sybil, my heart goes out to you. What a blow this must be. And to think that she was almost your daughter-in-law.”

  Lady Selbrooke did not respond but looked aside. At least she, Constance thought, had the grace to look embarrassed at this charade.

  An awkward silence fell on the group. Constance could feel the eyes of everyone upon her. She realized, with a sinking sense of horror, that she had no idea how she could disprove any of what Lord Selbrooke had just said. No one knew of their conversation last evening in his study. And who would think that an earl would do such a thing? Who would believe her over him?

  “I did not take that necklace,” Constance said, angry at the tremor of emotion in her voice. “You offered it to me, and I told you no. But I left Redfields anyway. You had what you wanted. How could you do this?”

  She glanced over at Dominic. He was not looking at her; his eyes were on his father. Her heart twisted within her chest. If Dominic believed his father, she thought that her heart would break.

  There was a long silence. Then Dominic spoke at last, his voice like ice. “Is this the best that you could do, Father?”

  Lord Selbrooke turned an affronted gaze on his son. “What do you mean? This young woman stole one of our family heirlooms! Surely you cannot be so foolish, so naive, as to believe her protestations.”

  “No, I am not foolish,” Dominic replied levelly, his blue eyes like shards of glass. “Nor, I imagine, is anyone else in this room foolish enough to believe this tale you have concocted.”

  The Earl’s eyes widened. “How dare you—”

  “No, Father, how dare you?” Dominic exploded, stepping forward to face his father, putting himself squarely between the Earl and Constance. “How can you have allowed your greed and animosity to lead you to so strip yourself of all honor?”

  His father swelled up in indignation and opened his mouth to speak, but Dominic stepped forward and took the necklace in his hand, which seemed to rob the Earl of speech. Lord Selbrooke sputtered and reached in vain to take it back, but Dominic had already turned and was holding it out in his hand toward the guests on the staircase, who were all gazing at the scene with avid interest.

  “I realize that none of you know Miss Woodley as I do. You may not be certain, as I am, that the idea of stealing anything from anyone would never occur to her. You probably have no idea that she tried to argue me out of marrying her because she felt that I had a duty to my family to marry otherwise.”

  He paused for a moment. Everyone’s eyes were glued to him. Constance’s heart warmed within her chest at his words, and tears pressed against her eyelids. Nothing else mattered, she thought, as long as Dominic believed in her.

  “However,” he went on, “even if you do not know Miss Woodley, I would think that anyone with a modicum of sense—anyone, at least, whose mind was not clouded by his own greed—would quickly see that if a woman were about to marry the future Earl of Selbrooke and would then have not only this necklace but every other jewel in the Redfields safe to wear, as well as having this house and these lands and a rather large amount of gold and silver plates at her disposal, she would not throw it all away to steal one paltry necklace.”

  The silence after his words was deafening. Finally, in a faint voice, the Earl offered, “The necklace would have given her immediate gain. She would not have to wait. She would not have to marry.”

  “No. Nor would she if she had taken your offer last night,” Dominic answered smoothly. “Would she? And if, by chance, she had actually chosen to steal a necklace that she could have had only for agreeing not to marry me, it seems odd that she would not have hidden it but would instead put it her trunk in plain sight of anyone who might open it. Without even a lock upon it. Not a particularly clever action for someone who must have been smart enough to break into the safe in your study. But then, I suppose her carelessness in not concealing what she stole is no odder than the idea that, having broken into the safe, she stole none of the other jewelry there, even the earrings and bracelet that match this necklace. Speaking of peculiarities, I find it strangest of all that you happened to discover that this necklace was missing at dawn this morning. And that you had such an unerring instinct as to where it was hidden. You did not have to bring in any other bags or search her reticule. You just looked in this trunk.”

  Dominic’s gaze remained on his father for a long moment. Then he turned to Constance. “My father offered you this very necklace last night in return for your refusing to marry me?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked back at his father. “I would not have thought you would stoop so low as to try to bribe a young girl with this.”

  He turned his hand to the side, letting the necklace slide from his grasp. It hit the floor, and as everyone watched in astonishment, Dominic raised his foot and smashed down on the necklace with his heel.

  “Paste,” he said flatly, lifting his foot to reveal the mess of powder and chain.

  Gasps echoed all over the room, and everyone’s eyes were now focused on the Earl. All color had drained from his face. His mouth opened and closed spasmodically.

  “I think we all realize what happened here,” Dominic went on, his voice deadly quiet as he turned to his father. “But I think it would be best if you admitted to everyone what you tried to do to Miss Woodley, so that there will be absolutely no threat of any stain to her good name.”

  His father set his jaw rebelliously, and Constance was certain that he was about to refuse.

  Dominic quirked one eyebrow and said without inflection, “Or perhaps you would like me to continue to enlighten everyone about our family.”

  The Earl’s nostrils flared. Bright spots of color flamed in his cheeks, and hatred shot from his eyes. But he turned toward the crowd gathered on the staircase and said, “Leighton is correct. I was wrong to accuse Miss Woodley.” He swallowed, casting a last venomous look in Constance’s direction. “She did not steal the necklace. The servant put it in there when he carried down the trunk.”

  Lady Rutherford’s servant, Constance thought, and turned to look at the woman. Lady Rutherford was staring at the Earl, her face livid.

  “Selbrooke, you are a fool,” she said flatly. She whirled around,
saying, “Come, Muriel.”

  She strode out of the house, followed by her daughter.

  When Constance turned back around, she saw that Lord and Lady Selbrooke had also disappeared from the entryway. There was silence as everyone else turned to look at each other.

  “Well,” Francesca said, “after that, I think the only recourse is breakfast.”

  She proceeded to urge everyone down the stairs and along the hallway to the dining room. Constance was aware of a number of eyes upon her as people drifted past, but Dominic’s stony gaze encouraged no one to stop and talk.

  At last the only ones left in the entryway were the two of them. Constance, who had turned away during the group’s passage, turned back to Dominic. The sorrow she saw in his face tore at her heart.

  “I am sorry, Dominic,” she whispered. “If I had had any idea that this would happen, I would not have left. I did not mean to hurt you or your family.”

  “Did you so dislike the idea of marrying me that you had to run away?” he asked, his face grim.

  “No!” Constance cried, horrified, tears springing to her eyes. “No, it was not that! It was never that I did not want to marry you. I love you!”

  She had not intended to admit it to him—ever—but she found she could not hold back the words, so hurt was the look in his eyes.

  Dominic’s eyes widened in surprise. He crossed the floor to her in two quick strides and took her hands. “Do you mean that? Truly?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course I mean it.”

  “Constance…” A grin broke across his face, and he lifted her hands to his lips, kissing them, then released them and gazed at her with a foolish grin upon his face. “I had hoped. I had thought that you might—that you would, perhaps, come to love me in the future—but then…” He paused, frowning. “Why did you run away? And with the Rutherfords, of all people! You must have been desperate.”

  “I was afraid that if I stayed, you would persuade me to marry you.”

  “Why would that have been so bad?”

  “Dominic, you know why. I told you—I could not bear to be the cause of your misfortune. To have you and your father turned against each other even more fully, your duty to your family unfulfilled, your estates remaining encumbered, all because you made a poor marriage.”

  “Constance!” He stared at her in exasperation. “I told you it would be all right, that I would work it out. And I will.”

  “But how? I haven’t anything but a pittance to bring to our marriage.”

  “You have yourself, and that is more than enough,” he told her quietly. “Listen to me. I have no need for a great deal of money. During the war, I lived on what I could forage in the countryside often enough. And we will not be penniless. We may have to economize, but I don’t care for that. I have a small estate in Dorset. It was left to me by my uncle, the same one who purchased my commission for me. It has a very pleasant manor house, with a small estate farm that produces enough for us to live on. I invested what I received when I sold out of the army, and it will give us a little more income. It will be a good enough life for me, if it is for you.”

  “It would be a wonderful life!” Constance assured him. “But what about Redfields? And your parents?”

  “I would not be concerned about my parents if I were you,” Dominic said caustically. “But, of course, that is not your nature. I have already told my father that if he agrees to my plan, we will move into Redfields and institute it immediately. If not—or if, as I presume after what he did to you today, you are unwilling to live in proximity to them—we will live at my manor house until I inherit the estate, and then we will move here. We will sell the house in London, as it is not entailed, and we will use it to help pay off a good portion of the debt. We will then institute a number of economies, primary among them not going to London for the Season. I have no need to live in London, if you will not be too unhappy with a simple country life.”

  “I will not be unhappy at all. A simple country life is what I lived the whole of my existence until this summer.”

  “If we have to, I will sell what my uncle left me, but I would prefer to keep it as a property for a younger son or a daughter. I can use my investments, too, against the debt. I have been talking to the estate agent’s son since I have been here, and he has a good many ideas for better farming methods that will increase our income. There are a number of other things that we can do to decrease our expenses. The FitzAlans have overspent their incomes for centuries. Decreasing the expenses will also increase our profits. The added profits can be used to pay down the debt. We can sell a number of horses. We have far more than we need. And there is no reason to keep three different family carriages. We can sell two of them. That will help to pay the debt, as well. Forrester and I agree that I can cut the encumbrance on the estate by half within the first five years. By the time I pass it on to our son, we will have paid it off entirely.”

  Constance smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm. It made her warm inside to hear him speak of “our son.” If only…

  “It will not be a bleak life, though,” he assured her hastily. “You must not think that there will be no luxuries. No joy.”

  It would be joy enough, Constance thought, to live with Dominic. The thought of sharing a life, making plans, raising a family together, filled her with such longing that she wanted to cry.

  “It would be easier to marry into money,” she said softly.

  He grinned. “Yes, not nearly as much fun,” he retorted. “Besides, I don’t think I would want it if I could not have you.”

  “What?” Constance stared at him. “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course I mean it.” He looked at her oddly. “Why else would I ask you to marry me?”

  “But you did not say that!” Constance cried. “You never said that you wanted to marry me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No. Indeed, you did not even ask me to marry you. You just told everyone that we were engaged. And you did that only because Muriel forced your hand. You did it to keep me from being plunged into scandal. That is not reason enough to marry me! I want your love, Dominic. I do not want to spend the rest of my life in love with you, knowing that you married me only because you were too much a gentleman not to. Knowing that you regretted it. You would come to hate me. And I could not bear that.”

  He stared at her. “Hate you! Constance, don’t you know that I could never hate you? I love you. I would never regret marrying you. I am sorry that I did not ask you properly. Muriel did force my hand, and I regret that it happened the way it did. For then I had to blurt it out to everyone without having a chance to ask you first.”

  “Do you mean that you intended to ask me to marry you before Muriel said that?” Constance asked, amazed.

  “Yes, of course. You say I was too much of a gentleman not to marry you so that there would be no scandal. Did you think I would, as a gentleman, take you to my bed unless I already planned to marry you?”

  Constance let out a breathy little laugh. “Did you not also think, my dear, that you might have let me know that at the time?”

  “I am a fool,” he said. “I freely admit it. I have no excuse other than that your beauty rendered me incapable of thinking.”

  He took her hand in his and dropped down onto one knee. “Miss Constance Woodley, you are the heart of my heart. The only woman whom I have ever loved or ever will love. I offer you my heart, my hand, my fortune—or lack thereof. I will count myself a rich man, indeed, if you will but consent to entrust your hand and your heart to me. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” Constance said, laughing and crying all at the same time. “Yes, yes, I will marry you. I love you. Oh, stand up, you foolish man, and let me kiss you.”

  “Gladly,” he said, and he did.

  And she did.

  EPILOGUE

  DOMINIC AND CONSTANCE WERE married in St. Edmund’s church in Cowden at the end of July. It was, some said, not as grand as the FitzAlan family weddings in y
ears past, but all agreed that none had ever been more beautiful, nor had the bride and groom been happier. It was, after all, a love match.

  Lady Calandra and Lady Francesca were her attendants, and though both were beautiful women, neither could match the bride in radiance. Her love shone from her eyes as Constance walked down the aisle to where Lord Leighton stood with the rector. And Leighton gazed back at her with a look in his eyes that made more than one woman in the church heave a sigh and turn to her husband, wishing that he looked at her in such a way.

  They left the church as husband and wife, cheered by the villagers and their tenants, and rode back to Redfields, where the wedding supper awaited them and their guests. All the late summer flowers had been stripped from every garden around to provide decorations for the ballroom, and both food and drink were in ample supply.

  If the Earl of Selbrooke and his countess were not happy about the marriage, as was widely rumored, the two of them hid it well enough, smiling, feasting and dancing with as much enthusiasm as they were ever inclined toward. After their honeymoon trip to Scotland, Lord and Lady Leighton intended to return to Redfields to live. Lord and Lady Selbrooke would by then have removed themselves to the dower house a few miles away, which Lady Selbrooke had spent the past two months renovating to her liking and furnishing with her most valued pieces of furniture. Lord Selbrooke said that it was for the best that way, as Dominic was eager to take up the duties of management that would one day be his.

  There would be a great many changes coming, as everyone knew, and, frankly, most were quite eager to see them. The FitzAlan family had figured in much of the village history, and the people of Cowden were proud of them. But the present Lord and Lady Selbrooke were not especially well-liked. Lord and Lady Leighton, it was clear, would be different.

  Their marriage had also increased the reputation of Lady Haughston as a matchmaker. It was rumored, not only here in Cowden, but also in London—and throughout the most aristocratic families in the rest of the country—that Lady Francesca had discovered the new Lady Leighton at a party and had immediately envisioned her as the perfect bride for her brother. She had an intuition about such things, people said—and quite a few agreed that she was not above giving a couple a timely push or two if the pair was a bit slow about finding their destiny.