A Bargain With Fate

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  He spent too much time with the demimonde, rendering him far too cynical. Most women of his acquaintance would have no compunction in trading their charms to pay off a gambling debt. It would not have been the first time he had been made such an offer.

  He rose, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He reluctantly admitted she interested him despite her very real dislike for him. She was quite lovely in a quiet sort of way. Her prim grey gown could not completely disguise the soft curves of her breast and hips or detract from her luxuriant chestnut hair and large hazel eyes. Michael quite looked forward to their next meeting, although she would most likely cut him dead, as he undoubtedly deserved.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the soft cough of Watkins, his butler, hovering in the doorway. ‘M’lord.’

  ‘What is it, Watkins? Not another unexpected visitor, I trust.’

  A feminine voice spoke from behind the butler. ‘I shall show myself in. I do not wish to be told again that my nephew is not at home.’

  Michael inwardly groaned as Lady Margaret Spence swept into the room, a determined look on her aristocratic face. He wished Lady Jeffreys to the devil for her ill-timed visit. He should have been at White’s by now and out of reach of his aunt and her unwelcome business.

  He bowed over Lady Spence’s gloved hand. ‘My dear aunt, I am delighted to see you,’ he murmured.

  Lady Spence fixed intelligent blue eyes on her nephew’s face. ‘I doubt it. This is the first time I’ve managed to catch you at home. I am almost inclined to think you’re avoiding me.’

  She drew off her kidskin gloves in a businesslike manner and seated herself in the chair near his desk. In her mid-fifties, she possessed the figure and posture of a much younger woman. Today, she was fashionably dressed in a powder-blue round gown with a matching pelisse which set off her greying blonde hair becomingly.

  Michael seated himself on the other side of his desk. ‘Why would I wish to avoid you? You know I am always pleased to see you. And how is my uncle? I have not yet seen him about town.’

  ‘Frederick is quite well. However, I did not call to exchange pleasantries with you. You know very well why I am here, Michael, so I suggest you stop fencing with me. You cannot avoid this discussion forever.’ She impaled him with ice-blue eyes. He sunk back in his chair with all the enthusiasm of a fox run to ground by a pack of hounds.

  Nearly an hour later Michael entered the portals of White’s. He was shown to a table in the corner of the dining room where he was greeted by a stocky blond man attired in a bottle-green coat and striped waistcoat, his starched cravat elaborately tied in an oriental knot.

  ‘Michael, my boy!’ the gentleman exclaimed. ‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I’ve nearly starved waiting for you and was forced to order.’

  Michael glanced at his cousin’s ample figure and laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s too much danger of that, Charles,’ he said pulling up a chair. ‘I’ve been besieged by visitors today. First I had a call from—’ he broke off, frowning. ‘Never mind. The last caller was my Aunt Margaret.’

  ‘Been after you again about that chit? You’ll end up with your neck in the parson’s noose before you know it. I’m glad your Aunt Margaret ain’t my relative. Don’t envy you your father either.’

  ‘They’re bad enough apart, but together—I’d rather face a firing squad. I’d have much better odds.’ Michael frowned at the glass of dry sherry the waiter set in front of him. ‘My aunt came to inform me my bride-to-be will arrive in town within a fortnight. There’s been a slight illness in the family that prevents her from coming any sooner. I’ll have a reprieve at any rate.’

  ‘Don’t see how they can force you into marriage. Good lord, you’re thirty, well past your majority,’ Charles said.

  ‘Well, would you care to oppose my father?’

  ‘Good point,’ said Charles hastily as the waiter brought his meal. ‘Don’t know how anyone could oppose your parent when he fixes you with that damned devilish stare. Sets me to quaking in my boots every time. I’d marry a woman with a horse-face and freckles before crossing swords with Eversleigh.’

  There was silence for a few moments while Charles dove into his food with all the vigour of a man who hadn’t eaten for weeks. Michael sipped his sherry in contemplative silence, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  His father, the Duke of Eversleigh, was notorious for his iron-fisted management of his family’s personal affairs. Several weeks ago he had summoned Michael to Eversleigh Hall. There, in his formidable study, the Duke had coolly informed his heir it was time he married. Since his son did not seem capable of choosing a suitable bride for himself, a bride had been chosen for him. The young lady was Miss Helena Randall, the granddaughter of a long-standing friend. She was to be presented at Court this season. After a suitable period, unless there were major objections on the part of either party, their betrothal would be announced.

  Michael could see any number of objections, starting with the fact he had no desire to marry a girl fresh out of the schoolroom. Argument with his father appeared useless. The Duke wore the implacable expression that meant he’d made up his mind and would brook no opposition. In addition, the Duke’s health was poor due to a recent severe bout of pneumonia that nearly claimed his life. Michael hesitated to come to cuffs with his father in his still-weakened condition.

  Charles, who always thought better on a satisfied stomach, dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘What you need, my boy, is a fiancée!’

  Michael eyed him as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Exactly what I’ll end up with if my father has his way. That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’

  ‘Would save you a lot of trouble,’ said Charles earnestly with all the experience of a happily betrothed man. ‘Now that I’m betrothed to Beth I never worry about matchmaking mothers trying to foist their daughters on me. Not that I’ve ever had the number you’ve had. No more hounding from my mother about finding a suitable wife. And Beth’s a good girl; doesn’t have odd fits or expect me to escort her to any of those damned musical evenings.’

  Michael was fascinated. ‘I never realised there were so many advantages attached to a betrothal.’

  ‘Well, the point is, Michael, if you were already betrothed your family could hardly expect you to offer for Miss Randall.’

  ‘Very true. It would be awkward. But the problem with fiancées is that one is expected to marry them.’

  Charles downed several slices of ham, his brow creased in thought. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and looked up. ‘You could hire one.’

  ‘Hire one? One what?’

  ‘A fiancée! Remember when Greely hired an actress to be his wife so he could inherit from his old uncle in Manchester or some other ungodly place? Worked too; the old man fell for it and Greely got the money. Dare say he had to pay that actress a bundle.’

  Michael grinned. A few of the actresses he knew flashed across his mind.

  ‘That may work very well in Manchester but hardly in London. Where in the world would I find an actress I could hope to pass off in the middle of a London season as my fiancée? Even the best of them couldn’t appear respectable enough to suit my father. Besides, my aunt could sniff out an impostor at ten paces!’

  ‘Maybe you could find a foreign actress.’

  ‘Good God, no! My father would be in a rare temper if I announced my engagement to a foreign woman! Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll figure out a way to avoid this entanglement. I always do.’ He polished off his sherry. ‘Where are you off to tonight, Charles?’

  ‘To Lady Winthrope’s rout. Probably another one of her damned squeezes. Promised to escort my mother and Beth. How about you?’

  ‘I’ll put in an appearance.’

  ‘I’ve heard Elinor Marchant is in town,’ said Charles carefully. ‘Have you met her yet?’

  ‘Today, while riding in the park. She was determined to regale me with every bit of gossip she could think of, half of it probably
unfounded rumour.’

  ‘Hope you don’t plan to take up with her again.’ Charles shuddered. ‘Never saw such a temper in my life. Don’t know how you could have put up with it. That last scene—right in the middle of a ball! Heaving vases around!’

  A grin lit up Michael’s face. ‘Only one vase. And it wasn’t in the middle of a ball, merely in a private room.’

  ‘One vase, half a dozen vases, what does it matter? You’re well rid of her! Never know how you manage to come up with these vixens. Need to show a bit more discrimination in the petticoat line.’

  Michael laughed and rose from the table in a lazy movement. ‘Put your mind to rest, Charles. I have no interest in renewing a relationship with Lady Marchant. Ready to go? There’s a pair of chestnuts up for auction at Tattersall’s I’ve been wanting to see.’

  Michael only half-attended to his cousin’s conversation as they made their way to the auction yard. Instead, he found himself thinking of Lady Jeffreys. Would she be present at Lady Winthrope’s rout? He hoped so, for he had the perfect excuse for speaking to her. After his aunt had departed, Watkins had presented him with a small folded fan, saying he believed it belonged to the young lady. Michael had taken the fan, assuring Watkins he would personally see it was returned to its owner.

  Chapter Two

  ‘I was sorry to hear of your brother’s troubles. I know how much Meryton means to you,’ Edmund Fairchilde said softly. ‘Perhaps there is something I could do to help.’

  Rosalyn looked up into his cool, hooded eyes, and wished she could escape from him. However, it was impossible in Lady Winthrope’s crowded drawing room unless she was to clamber over one of the guests behind her.

  ‘Thank you, there is nothing you can do. But, how did you know? I had thought it was a private game.’ She tried to keep the dismay from her voice. She had hoped no one outside of Lord Stamford, James and herself knew about the wager.

  A faint smile touched his thin lips. ‘I was also there, my lady. I had hoped there was something I could do, but alas, Stamford rarely loses. It makes one wonder…but, his temper, one hates to suggest…At any rate, do not worry, only the three of us were present, and I am very discreet.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She managed a smile, not certain she trusted him at all. He had been a visitor to Meryton, coming down once with a group of her brother’s friends. Although he had been charmingly courteous, there was something about his hooded gaze, particularly the way it sometimes rested on her, that made her uneasy.

  ‘But I do wish to offer my help.’ He smiled again. ‘Before you protest, you must hear my proposal. I am not without resources, and I should hate to see you turned from your family home. Come driving with me tomorrow, and I shall tell you my proposition.’

  ‘That is very kind, but I…I shall be busy tomorrow.’

  ‘Will you? Then the next day.’ His eyes rested on her face as if he wanted to calculate the impact of his words. ‘I have longed for the opportunity to become better acquainted with you ever since I saw you at Meryton.’

  ‘My dear, there you are!’

  Relieved, she turned to see her grandmother, Lady Carlyn, suddenly appear next to her. Lady Carlyn acknowledged Fairchilde with a cool smile. ‘If you will excuse us, sir, I must introduce my granddaughter to Lady Carruthers. I fear she is about to leave.’ She dragged Rosalyn away, but not before Rosalyn saw Fairchilde’s brows snap together in sudden anger.

  Lady Carlyn marched Rosalyn from the drawing room to an adjoining room, then stopped. ‘My dear, you should not be talking to Edmund Fairchilde. His reputation is, well, not quite what it should be. People will talk.’

  ‘I didn’t wish to talk with him. He approached me. He is an acquaintance of James’s.’

  ‘Indeed. I must say I am surprised at James, although he has been going about with some rather wild young men. I hope he will settle down soon enough and properly manage Meryton. It has been most careless of him to leave you to do so. Women have no business running estates.’

  Rosalyn said nothing. She had not yet informed her grandmother that James had gambled away Meryton. For once she was thankful that her grandmother’s mind tended to jump from subject to subject. ‘However, we must concentrate on you. What did you think of Neville Hastings?’

  ‘Neville Hastings?’ Rosalyn finally recalled a plump, man with thinning hair and creaking corsets. Lady Carlyn had introduced him to her when they first arrived. ‘He seemed very nice, I suppose.’

  ‘A bit plump, although a diet of rice and water would help. But twenty thousand pounds a year, that is nothing to sneeze at in a husband.’

  ‘A husband?’

  ‘Why, yes, for you, my love.’

  ‘Grandmama! I don’t want a husband!’

  ‘But of course you do. You are only six-and-twenty and still quite pretty. I must own Neville Hastings is not quite what I had in mind. Someone with a bit more dash.’

  ‘I never plan to remarry.’

  ‘Of course, it will be someone you like,’ Lady Carlyn continued, paying no heed to Rosalyn as usual. ‘I have several eligible men in mind.’

  Her sharp grey eyes darted around the packed drawing room, seeking more prey. ‘I see Lord Brandon has arrived. He is searching for a wife. A pity he has five children, but I know you are very fond…’

  ‘Please, no! I am rather tired. I would like to rest for a few minutes.’

  Lady Carlyn fidgeted with her fan, then snapped it shut. ‘Very well. You may stay here. I must admit, you do look a trifle pale. No use having you faint, although Ellen Winthrope would consider that the highest compliment! I must have a few words with Maria Smythe-Howard and then we can leave.’

  Rosalyn watched her grandmother make her way through the packed room, a small plump figure dressed in a gown of orange satin completely unsuitable for a woman of more advanced years. The dictates of fashion meant nothing to Lady Carlyn.

  Rosalyn shifted uncomfortably. Her feet hurt from standing, her mouth ached from smiling, and her head pounded from the strain of making conversation in the impossible noise. There was no place to sit, as all the furniture had been removed to accommodate the several hundred people Lady Winthrope expected to parade through her rooms.

  At least she was free of her grandmother for a few minutes. Lady Carlyn’s unflagging energy was exhausting. And this hare-brained notion of finding her a husband…she had enough to distress her without fighting her grandmother’s schemes.

  Her thoughts turned to James, as they had all day. Ever since their mother’s death, four years earlier, he’d become more and more unmanageable. She no longer knew how to reach him. Somehow, she had believed if she tried to preserve Meryton for him, he would return, for he had once loved Meryton as much as she did. Now Meryton was lost and, in her heart, she feared he was lost also.

  ‘Oh!’ She gasped as a stout gentlemen stepped back, jostling her with such force that she lost her balance and stumbled sideways against a tall, hard form. Strong hands caught her bare arms, causing an unexpected warmth to course through her.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said in confusion.

  ‘There is no need to apologise. I am always delighted when beautiful ladies fall into my arms.’

  That familiar, detestable voice caused her heart to stop. Slowly, she lifted her head to meet the Marquis of Stamford’s laughing eyes. For the briefest of moments, he seemed not to recognise her, and then, a wicked grin spread across his face.

  ‘Why, Lady Jeffreys, what a delightful surprise to run into you like this. Particularly since you assured me we never moved in the same dissipated circles.’

  She jerked away from him. Irritation replaced the unwelcome sensation she’d felt at his touch. ‘Please excuse me, my lord.’

  ‘But I have looked forward to seeing you all evening. You cannot mean to leave me now when I have finally found you.’

  The hated colour flooded her face at the implication that he actually hoped to see her. Of course, she didn’t believe it for a mom
ent. ‘I must find my grandmother. I do not have time for idle chatter.’

  He laughed. ‘Is there any other sort at these tedious affairs? But never mind, I wanted to see you for a particular reason. I have something for you.’

  ‘Something for me?’

  ‘Yes, your fan. I believe you dropped it in my drawing room. I wanted to return it to you.’

  ‘You’ve been carrying my fan around?’

  ‘In the remote chance I might see you.’ He reached under his evening coat, towards his white embroidered waistcoat.

  She nearly grabbed his hand. ‘No, please, not here.’ What would people think if they saw him pull a fan from his pocket and present it to her?

  ‘Shall I call on you, then?’

  ‘No! I mean, why can you not send it to me?’

  ‘But I want to give it to you in person, to make certain you get it, of course. I was hoping we could become better acquainted.’

  ‘I have no desire to become better acquainted with you, my lord.’

  ‘But I would like the opportunity to change your mind.’ A lazy half-smile, full of meaning, curled the edges of his mouth as he let his leisurely gaze travel over her person.

  Mesmerised, she stared back. It occurred to her that his eyes were really not black at all, but the deepest, richest shade of brown she’d ever seen. And would his thick midnight hair, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, feel as soft and silky to her touch as it looked?

  What was she thinking of?

  ‘Never! You’ll never change my mind!’

  She whirled away, only to find her escape blocked by two ladies standing directly behind them. They gasped and stared, their fans stopped in mid-air. From the looks of pleasurable shock on their faces, she had little doubt they had heard her every word.

  Lord Stamford nodded to the ladies, who tittered and turned away. Grasping Rosalyn’s arm, he bent his head towards her, and said conversationally, ‘It’s best not to pick a quarrel with me in public. It will hardly ease your entrée into society.’