A Bargain With Fate

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  She looked up to find Michael watching her. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘It is beautiful.’ She laid it back in the box. ‘But I cannot accept it.’

  He made an impatient movement. ‘If you don’t wear it, then no one will. Caroline claims she cannot wear that shade of pink. And it is not suitable for my younger sister.’

  ‘I see.’ She looked back down at the gown. John had never had a gown made up especially for her. It seemed to speak of an intimacy between Michael and herself which did not exist. But Caroline had helped him. Usually men did not solicit their sisters’ help in choosing gowns for a mistress, did they? Why must he always confuse her so? Nothing he did seemed to fit in the mould of proper behaviour.

  ‘Now, what is it? Will you accept it?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Will you wear it?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Then I will expect to see you wearing it tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  He raised a brow. ‘Why not? You are planning to attend Miss Randall’s coming-out ball, are you not? You and she seemed to have become fast friends.’

  ‘Of course I will be there. But I had planned to wear a…a different gown.’

  ‘You don’t like it.’ His voice was flat, almost as if he were disappointed.

  ‘Oh, but I do! I don’t think I have ever seen a lovelier gown.’

  ‘Then you object to it because it is from me.’

  She sighed. ‘No, not precisely. It is such a personal gift. I know you wish to replace my other gown, but I cannot help but feel very peculiar about it. If I was married to you, it would be different. I would be much more comfortable if you had brought me a bouquet of flowers, or perhaps some sweetmeats. A dress seems the sort of thing you would give to a…a…’

  ‘Lady of easy virtue?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ She coloured.

  His lips twitched. ‘I beg your pardon. I see we have been speaking at cross-purposes. I was merely looking at it as part of a business arrangement, and you have been worrying about the propriety of accepting a gown from a man you are not permanently attached to.’

  Her mouth opened in amazement. ‘What do you think I have been trying to tell you? I told you it was not a proper gift!’

  He looked slightly abashed. ‘I wasn’t thinking of it as a gift.’

  ‘I quite understand that now.’

  ‘Will you wear it tonight?’

  She looked up at him with a faint smile. ‘Yes, if only so you won’t glower at me the entire evening.’

  ‘Do I glower at you?’

  ‘When you want your own way. Sometimes you fold your arms and raise your brow in a particularly haughty fashion.’

  ‘I had no idea I was so intimidating.’

  ‘I dare say you cannot help it. I imagine it comes from your being the son of a Duke and used to having others jump to do whatever you wish.’

  ‘A most devastating reading of my character. However, I cannot see that you jump at all to do my bidding.’

  ‘I try not to, but in the end you generally prevail.’

  He appeared genuinely surprised. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, you do.’ She was torn between laughter and exasperation. Sometimes, when he forgot to be so aristocratic, he actually was quite human.

  Her breath caught as he suddenly levelled a devastatingly attractive grin at her. ‘I can see I must do something to right matters. Would it help if I put myself at your bidding? I am completely at your command.’

  ‘I…I fear I wouldn’t know what to do with you.’

  ‘I could think of a few things,’ he suggested with a wicked smile.

  ‘Really, my lord!’ Colour rose up into her cheeks. This betrothal would be so much easier if he wasn’t such a flirt and always attempting to make her blush.

  ‘What is wrong?’ he asked innocently. ‘I was merely thinking of doing an errand or two, or perhaps delivering some messages. Or I could carry parcels for you.’

  She shook her head, wanting to laugh. ‘You are quite ridiculous! I don’t think you would want everyone to think I considered you a…a sort of footman. It would ruin your reputation.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I still possessed much of one. However, it would be worth losing what little I have in order to see you smile at me like that.’

  ‘Oh.’ The smile faded from her face, as awareness flared between them. She looked away from his suddenly intent gaze, confused by the emotions he was arousing in her.

  ‘I will be off, then.’ His now cool voice made her look up. He picked up his gloves and with a slight nod, strode away without another word.

  By the time Rosalyn arrived with Lady Carlyn, the ball was in progress. They had been late due to a misplaced necklace Lady Carlyn was determined to wear, followed by a spot on her cloak which necessitated looking for another wrap. Nearly an hour had passed by the time they were underway. Rosalyn would have been happier to stay at home, but she did not want to miss Helena’s ball.

  After they were announced, Lady Carlyn declared her intention of joining some friends in the card room. Rosalyn drifted towards the edge of the ball room to stand near a group of matronly chaperones in turbans and headdresses. She wore the gown Michael had brought. The fit was perfect and, as she had viewed herself in the looking-glass, she was forced to admit she had never had a gown more becoming. The soft pink colour set off her dark hair and made her pale ivory complexion glow.

  Much to her relief, Lady Carlyn hadn’t asked where she had purchased the gown, merely saying she had never seen her look so charming. Rosalyn wondered if Michael would think the same, then mentally shook herself for caring what he thought.

  Where was he anyway? She searched the crowded ball room and finally spotted him leading Helena on to the floor for a quadrille. His dark head bent towards hers as he spoke, and she responded with one of her lovely, unaffected smiles. The music began. Helena danced as gracefully as she did everything, moving through the steps with Michael as if they were made for each other. And they looked charming together, Rosalyn thought with an odd pang.

  She turned away, sudden fatigue washing over her. Perhaps she would join her grandmother in the card room. She started to make her way there, only to be stopped by an acquaintance of Caroline’s, and then by a friend of her grandmother’s. She finally escaped only to nearly slam into Lady Marchant who was leaving the card room.

  ‘I have never properly congratulated you on your engagement,’ Lady Marchant said. She ran her eyes over Rosalyn as if hoping to find some fault with her appearance.

  ‘Oh?’ Rosalyn gave her a polite smile and attempted to move past her.

  Lady Marchant also moved, neatly blocking her escape. ‘How did you ever manage such a coup as to persuade Stamford into marriage? He has been extremely adept at evading the matrimonial trap all these years. Everyone is quite amazed that you managed to pull it off. And in such a short time.’

  Rosalyn looked into the lady’s coldly smiling face. So many people had said the exact same thing to her since her engagement, she was suddenly out of patience. As if she had trapped Michael into this betrothal, particularly when circumstances were so much the opposite. She was tired of smiling politely at the notion that it was such a miracle she had managed to bring him to heel.

  ‘That is not precisely how it happened, Lady Marchant. I did not persuade Michael to marry me, he persuaded me to marry him. I really had no intention of ever remarrying, but Michael can be very persistent when he wants something.’

  A flash of anger quickly came and went in Lady Marchant’s eyes.

  ‘Really? That is more in Stamford’s style. He always enjoys the hunt, but I should warn you that once he catches his prey he becomes bored. Until that point he can be very charming. I’m not certain he would make the most comfortable of husbands, but perhaps you know what you are about.’

  ‘I quite understand Michael.’

  ‘Do you? Then perhaps you aren’t quite as naïve as you app
ear. As long as you are willing to overlook his indiscretions I am certain he will allow you yours.’

  Rosalyn stared at her, outraged. ‘I have no intention of being unfaithful to my husband.’

  Lady Marchant’s smile held disbelief. ‘Then you will undoubtedly spend many a night alone.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘My dear, I did not intend to distress you, merely warn you. Of course, when a woman is lying in his arms he is skilled at making her believe she is the only one. I know.’

  ‘But then, he is marrying me.’ Rosalyn was pleased to see her shaft hit home. Lady Marchant’s smile vanished. ‘If you will excuse me.’

  Rosalyn turned on her heel, but not before she saw the malice in the lady’s green eyes. She entered the card room, searching for her grandmother. Her small triumph faded when she realized she had undoubtedly made an enemy. She suddenly felt bone-tired.

  Lady Carlyn, engrossed in her game, paid scant heed to Rosalyn’s presence, except to ask if she cared to join them. Rosalyn, whose skills extended only as far as jackstraws, declined. She finally grew tired of watching and drifted away, wishing she could call the carriage and leave.

  She wandered back to the ball room. She did not see Michael anywhere in the crowded room.

  Someone touched her arm. ‘Lady Jeffreys.’

  She swung around to find Lord Philip behind her, elegantly dressed in a dark blue evening coat and black pantaloons. He smiled. ‘My brother has been looking for you all evening. Has he found you yet?’

  ‘No, I have not yet spoken to him. I’ve been in the card room.’

  He laughed. ‘I believe he was under the impression that was one place you would not be found.’

  ‘Most of the time he would be right.’

  ‘If you wish to find him, he is out on the terrace. Now that he has dutifully danced with Miss Randall, I don’t think he’ll dance with anyone else until he finds you. Not that I blame him,’ he added, his eyes sweeping over her with admiration.

  She suddenly felt happy. ‘Perhaps I will go to the terrace, then.’ She smiled at him, and after promising him a dance, made her way through the guests to the doors leading to the terrace.

  A cool breeze brushed her cheeks as she stepped through the French doors. Lanterns spaced along the low wall terrace wall cast a dim light. She stood for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. A few couples strolled in the small garden below and a group of men stood in one corner of the terrace, their laughter carried on the night air.

  She drifted in the opposite direction, not certain where she would find Michael. Perhaps looking for him was a stupid idea. Then, as she approached a large urn filled with flowers, she heard his voice. She stopped when she saw two figures in front of her, only partially hidden by the urn.

  ‘Damn it, did you have a reason for accosting me or not? I’m in no mood for these games,’ Michael was saying.

  ‘Dear Stamford, I hated to see you here by yourself, brooding in such a poetic fashion. It is quite unlike you. But then you have hardly been yourself.’ Lady Marchant’s velvety tones were unmistakable.

  ‘This is nonsense.’

  ‘I dare say it is due to your charming fiancée.’ She moved towards him. ‘She certainly keeps you on a tight rein. I’m surprised you’ve not yet bolted.’

  Even in the dark, Rosalyn felt her face go hot. She had no desire to hear Michael discuss her with his ex-mistress or, for all she knew, his present mistress.

  She started to move away, but she must have made a slight sound. Elinor glanced over Michael’s shoulder. Her eyes narrowed for an instant and then she draped her arms deliberately around his neck. ‘My love, I knew you’d come! Tell me you miss me as much as I miss you!’ she exclaimed in a voice rather loud for true intimacy.

  Rosalyn froze. Mesmerised, she watched Michael struggle to remove her hands from his neck. ‘What the devil! Elinor, let go of me!’

  ‘No! No! Not until you kiss me, my darling!’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Elinor attempted to drag his head down. Michael tried to shove her away. Elinor clung to him like a cat with its claws caught. Rosalyn gasped as he staggered backwards into the urn. He cursed. Elinor abruptly let go.

  Then he saw her. ‘Rosalyn?’ He looked as if he’d just swallowed a vial of poison.

  ‘I…I beg your pardon. I see you are occupied.’ Her face hot with embarrassment that he had seen her, she turned and hurried away.

  Inside the ball room doors she stopped, hit with the insane desire to laugh. Had Michael been engaged in a tête-à-tête with Elinor Marchant, or had she actually been attacking him? Perhaps she should have stayed and defended his virtue.

  ‘My dear, I have been looking for you all evening.’

  She spun around. Edmund Fairchilde stood at her side, a lazy smile on his lips.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘I had hoped to speak to you, perhaps steal a dance with you.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why you would think I would consent to do either after the last time we met.’ She started to edge away, only to find his hand closing around her wrist.

  ‘I understand you are looking for your brother.’

  ‘He is at Newmarket. Please release me.’

  ‘He was at Newmarket. He is no longer there.’

  She stiffened. ‘How would you know?’

  He let her go. ‘I am very interested in your brother’s whereabouts. He owes me money, you see. I always see to it my debtors pay. Come and dance with me and we can discuss this matter.’

  A little smile played about his mouth, making her think of a predator about to close in for the kill. She looked around, but no one paid them the least attention. For once, she wished Michael would suddenly appear.

  As if reading her mind, Fairchilde laughed. ‘I fear your fiancé is otherwise occupied. Which is one reason I wanted to talk with you now. He is a trifle possessive, is he not?’

  ‘How much does my brother owe you?’

  ‘Dance with me and I will tell you.’

  ‘I don’t care to dance.’

  ‘If you want to hear about your brother, you will.’ There was no mistaking the veiled threat in his voice.

  With a sickening feeling, she allowed him to lead her to the ball room floor with the other dancers. Too late, she realised the dance was a waltz. ‘I…I don’t waltz very well. Perhaps another dance?’

  ‘I don’t believe that, not when you do everything else with so much grace.’

  He pulled her on to the floor, his arm circling her waist. His breath smelled unpleasantly of brandy and tobacco. She held herself stiffly away from him, but his fingers only tightened.

  He looked down at her. ‘You look particularly lovely tonight. The gown brings out the colour in your cheeks.’ His gaze drifted down lower, and she had the sudden urge to tug her bodice up to her chin.

  She said nothing.

  ‘It is noble of you to sacrifice yourself for Meryton. But are you certain it is worth it? I fear tying yourself permanently to Stamford will bring you nothing but unhappiness.’

  ‘I wish to speak of my brother. How much does he owe you?’

  ‘Two thousand pounds. But do not trouble yourself, I have no doubt his debt will be paid.’

  Two thousand pounds? That was half of her income. And how much did James owe elsewhere? She looked up into Fairchilde’s hooded gaze and shivered. ‘Do you know where my brother has gone?’

  ‘I don’t wish to discuss your brother now. I would rather admire you.’

  She tripped, stepping on his foot. His eyes hardened, and his fingers tightened at her waist.

  ‘You are holding me too close for propriety, sir!’

  ‘Am I? I fear having you in my arms makes me forget myself.’ He did not loosen his grip.

  Feeling trapped, she looked around trying to reassure herself that nothing could possibly happen in the middle of a ballroom. And then she saw Michael.

  He stood near the French doors, his eyes searching the room. They fell on her. Even from across the
room, she could see him stiffen. Then he pushed past a group of ladies.

  She had no doubt he was coming towards them.

  She glanced away, her stomach twisting in knots.

  ‘Did I tell you how lovely you look tonight?’ Fairchilde whispered.

  ‘I…I don’t feel well. I need to sit. Please!’

  Fairchilde raised a disbelieving brow. The next moment a hand closed on his shoulder, yanking him back. He nearly stepped into a whirling couple, causing the lady to let out a shriek.

  ‘I suggest you keep your hands off my fiancée,’ Michael snarled. He looked as if he was about to do murder. Although the music continued, most of the dancers near them had by now halted, their fascinated gazes on the two men.

  Fairchilde raised a lazy brow. ‘I was merely dancing with her. Surely you cannot object to that?’

  Michael stepped forward and took Rosalyn’s arm in a viselike grip. ‘I do object. If you come near her again, I will call you out.’ His voice rang out in the ballroom which had suddenly gone completely quiet.

  ‘This is…is most ridiculous. Michael, please.’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her grandmother’s mouth open in a horrified circle. Next to her stood Lady Jersey. For the first time in her life, Rosalyn wished she could swoon dead away.

  ‘Lady Jeffreys is right. Do you plan to call out every man she dances with or is it only me? She did agree to stand up with me. I did not force her.’ Fairchilde’s eyes glinted.

  Michael glanced down at Rosalyn, his mouth tight. ‘I wish to speak with you in private,’ he said.

  His dictatorial tone, combined with the humiliation of having the entire ballroom watching, set her back up. How dare he take her to task in front of everyone?

  She raised her chin. ‘But I don’t wish to speak to you, my lord. Please release me, you are hurting my arm.’

  Colour tinged his cheekbones, but he instantly dropped her arm. She marched away from him past the crowd of fascinated guests.

  She barely registered Lady Marchant standing nearby, her eyes glittering with malicious pleasure. The musicians chose that moment to strike up the next dance, causing the assembled group to disperse. Heedless of the others, Rosalyn dashed towards the tall double doors leading out of the ballroom.