The Dowager's Wager

by Nikki Poppen

  With a whoop of glee, Isabella and Hellion landed solidly on the other side and kept running. A last glance behind assured her that the wall had stopped Middleton on his gelding. She slowed Hellion to a canter. A mile later she met the rescue party which had set out from The Meadows. Alain was among them, riding neck-or-nothing in the dark and risking his prized hunter. All she could think about when she slid off Hellion into Alain’s brotherly embrace was that Tristan had not come.

  She was furious and devastated. Her mind gave free rein to the doubts Beatrix had so skillfully provoked earlier. She could not go back to The Meadows. She begged Alain to take her to a nearby inn.

  As she had expected, sleep would not come as her mind replayed the whole ghastly evening from the moment Tristan had smiled up at her from the staircase. Hours later as the pink fingers of sunrise stroked the dark sky, she trembled violently, not from the danger of her gallant ride but from the overwhelming betrayal she’d suffered at Tristan’s hands. She had been petrified to see him tied to the chair with a knife pressed to his neck. He had apparently not shared her fear.

  She sat by the window of her room for hours, dazed and still dressed in her muddied ball gown until Alain came to report the denouement of the evening’s spectacle to her. She listened dispassionately to his news.

  Beatrix and Middleton had escaped them under cover of darkness, the search party having lost ground when they had stopped upon finding her safe. The riders who continued on ahead could not catch Middleton and Beatrix who had spied them in time to keep a considerable distance between them. Worse, it appeared that they had split ways. They were both at large.

  Alain volunteered no news of Tristan and Isabella was too dejected to ask. She rallied her last resources of strength. She washed, called for a private post chaise and before going back to London, returned Hellion to The Meadows with Alain. She took nothing with her but her small valise and her misery. She would go back to London for the Season, stay long enough to not look as if she were running away and then retire to the country, perhaps for good. Inside, she felt dead.

  Tristan pushed his horse the last three miles to London, relief coursing through him as the outskirts of town came into view just as dusk fell. He’d ridden hard the moment the last of his guests had quit The Meadows. His departure hadn’t been soon enough to suit his tastes. He had not slept since the night before the hunt. Exhaustion threatened to claim him but he wouldn’t concede to the physical limits of his body until he saw Isabella.

  Alain had told him Bella had taken a post chaise back to London when he’d returned at noon with Hellion. Since then, Tristan had hurried his remaining guests out the door and saddled the freshest horse left in his stable.

  Tristan turned the horse towards Westbrooke House. He would have to report to Whitehall also before going home to sleep. That could wait. Isabella could not. Many things needed explaining. Not the least being why he hadn’t ridden out after her with the rescue party. The knock on the head he’d suffered had rendered him too dizzy to ride and the tightness of the bonds about his legs had effectively numbed them. When he’d risen to join the search party, he’d collapsed into near unconsciousness. Only Alain’s firm grip had kept him upright. Isabella had to know that and the myriad of other things he’d waited too long to tell her.

  Tristan slid off his mount’s back and bounded up the steps to Westbrooke House, impatiently seizing the knocker. Regis answered. “I am here to see Lady Westbrooke,” Tristan said, nearly breathless from his efforts.

  Regis nodded, dour faced and closed the door. Endless minutes later, he returned. “I am sorry, Lady Westbrooke is not at home”

  “Where did she go? When will she be back? I must speak with her. I know she will see me,” Tristan protested.

  Regis gave him a pointed look. “I am sorry, my lord. She is not at home to you.”

  The door shut and Tristan stared at it in shock. Isabella would not receive him. The enormity of her rejection flooded him, overwhelmed him so that he stumbled down the steps to his horse. Short of yelling up at her from the streets, there was nothing more he could do that day. Surely after she had some time to put events into perspective, she would agree to see him. The thought brought him a bit of hope. He would go to Whitehall, then to sleep. Everything would look better in the morning.

  The offices at Whitehall were mostly deserted, the clerks and aides having gone home hours ago to warm suppers. But a light still glowed from under the door of the man Tristan wanted to see. He had suspected as much. Halsey worked alone and late. He rapped on the door and called out, “It’s Moreland.”

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Halsey said after Tristan had taken a seat in a battered leather chair.

  The small office in the bowels of Whitehall was crowded with stacks of papers and files. Tristan marveled that Halsey could find anything there. Then again, it wouldn’t be unlikely that a spy would not be able to find anything either.

  “The mission is complete,” Tristan said in terse tones, holding Halsey’s gaze.

  “I heard it ended messily. Are you all right?”

  “I am well enough. I have a goose egg on the back of my head and my left hand is temporarily useless, but I am whole otherwise.” Tristan leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. He wasn’t surprised Halsey had heard rumors of the house party already. Some of his houseguests had left at daybreak, eager to be the first back to Town with the latest gossip and Halsey had ears everywhere. What he didn’t have were the facts. That was why Tristan came.

  “The double agent was really a duo, Beatrix and her brother. Her brother was the third assailant I faced on the Paris wharf. The wound I inflicted on him was indeed fatal, although we had no way of verifying that. Beatrix knew though. She knew her brother was dead and she knew we were unsure of who he was or whether or not he lived. Hence, her need for Middleton.” Tristan laid out the convoluted plan.

  “Ah, another man ensnared by Beatrix’s wiles,” Halsey mused.

  “Middleton isn’t quite as innocent as that,” Tristan corrected. “He has dabbled in petty espionage to line his purse before. But Beatrix and her offer are by far the largest opportunities he’s had. Beatrix asked him to pose as the double agent since she knew we had a vague description of the man: tall, blond, athletic in build. She also convinced him to steal the cards from my town house.”

  “I see how it falls into place now.” Halsey steepled his hands. “Beatrix almost succeeded on both levels. She almost got away with her plan to steal information and she almost succeeded in exacting her vengeance against you”

  Tristan nodded. “I was very close to believing the culprit was Alain Hartsfield, my dear friend. I was convinced the Home Office wanted me on the assignment because they already suspected Alain and wanted to use me to get close to him. Beatrix had set up so many different layers to her plan, it is mind boggling. I regret that she escaped, but we have the knowledge we set out to find. We know who the double agent is and that renders her powerless.”

  A slow smile spread across Halsey’s face. “You’re partly wrong. We have the information and we have Beatrix. She was apprehended in Southhampton just a few hours ago. Luckily for us, there were no boats sailing until the evening tide. Once I heard the rumors trickling back into the city about your house party, I sent my fastest riders out”

  “That is the best news I’ve heard today,” Tristan said honestly. Knowing that Beatrix had been apprehended relieved his worry that Isabella would still be threatened. “What about Middleton?”

  “He is still at large, but as you said, he’s a petty player in intrigue. I expect we won’t hear from him again. He’ll be too worried about his own safety to surface any time soon”

  Tristan had to agree. From all accounts, Middleton had been Beatrix’s stooge. He rose. “Then I give you good night. I have ridden hard and slept little. I will see to it that you have a full written report shortly, followed by my official resignation as planned.”

  Tristan departe
d Whitehall feeling lighter of step. True, there were still several items to work out with Isabella, but knowing the assignment was over helped lighten his burden considerably. Tomorrow, he would try again.

  He did not succeed the next day nor the day after that or the day after that. Each day he went to Isabella’s home and found himself denied access. He plagued her with messages and errand boys bearing bouquets of flowers and boxes of bonbons. His frustration grew. After a week, he tried a new tack and attended any ball or event she might possibly be at even though it meant attending three events a night on some evenings.

  He allied himself with people connected to Isabella, in hopes of catching news of her. He spent evenings with groups including Lady Briarton, the overly perfect Avery Driscoll and Isabella’s protege, Caroline Danvers. But none of the associations brought him closer to Isabella. She was absent from their ranks, although Caroline valiantly tried to fill the void so that he didn’t feel the odd man out.

  Indeed, Tristan appreciated her efforts. It was somewhat unnerving to move in Isabella’s circles without her. He had not realized how much she had paved his way back into Society upon his return. Now, with the news about the house party and his true role in the event being revealed, he was something of a hero. Mothers beat a path to him with their daughters in tow and Tristan was happy to let Caroline act as a buffer.

  He danced with her often at the events since it precluded having to dance with debutantes he didn’t know and didn’t want to know. Caroline was a companionable ally, ready to make conversation as they danced and just as ready to give him silence if he needed it. When they did talk, they talked of horses and the countryside.

  Tristan saw nothing untoward in their association. Perhaps that was why the rumors startled him so much. Matrons began to comment on the time he and Caroline spent in one another’s company, how regularly he danced with her, the mere daughter of a simple country gentleman. It came as a surprise to him that speculation was growing among both genders in regards to him and Caroline. Most people expected he would offer for her.

  At first he ignored the rumors. But Isabella,s continued absence and rejection weighed heavily on him. She had washed her hands of him and it was time to realize he was facing life without her a second time. His hope in tatters, Tristan was desperate to assuage the hurt left by Isabella’s desertion. If he remained alone and unattached, he would always yearn for her. The torture would be exquisite if she became the wife of another and he was left alone. The torture would be unbearable if she chose to remain unmarried, choosing a single life over a life with him. Either way, Tristan knew he would burn in the deepest levels of hell if either of those scenarios came to pass.

  In the darkest watches of the night, he convinced himself the only way to repair his heart would be to put himself beyond Isabella’s reach forever and marry another; someone who expected only companionship from him; someone who might not guess his motives for marriage. Armed with resolve, Tristan watched the sun rise on another sleepless night.

  When the shops opened, he went to a jeweler of good repute and purchased a ring sure to impress even the most reluctant fathers and went to pay his call. The moment the ring was in his hand, he felt a certain numbness start to claim him. Isabella was slipping away and with her, the fire of his being. She had been his purpose for so long, he was at a loss.

  He reminded himself numbness was good. It dulled the pain and eventually, it would overcome the ache. He turned down Brook Street and climbed the steps to the Danvers’ residence. Caroline was as good a choice as any and better than most.

  London, mid-May

  It had been six weeks since Tristan’s house party and Isabella could put Avery Driscoll off no longer. He had patiently waited the two weeks she’d originally requested for an answer regarding his proposal. Then he had politely waited without pressing her, believing that her ordeal at Gresham’s house party had overset her more than she let on.

  Tonight, he would wait no longer. Avery had very specifically asked her to attend his Aunt Elizabeth’s ball that evening in hopes of resolving their relationship. Isabella knew she owed him that courtesy in return for the numerous courtesies he had shown her throughout the tenure of their friendship.

  She looked at her pale face in the mirror as she sat listlessly holding her hairbrush at her vanity. Tristan had left her ravaged. She promised herself that she would not leave Avery in the same condition. She did not want this miserable half life for him. She knew Avery hoped that she would accept him and that the ball could become an occasion for announcing their betrothal. In all fairness, she could not accept his honest proposal. She could not burden him with her broken heart. Avery would spend his life devoting him self to the impossible task of making her happy, of making her forget Tristan Moreland. She would not see him become the victim of unrequited love.

  Since the house party, she had neither been out to any of the usual routs or musicales nor had she received any callers since her return to town. She had shopped a few times with Amy to keep up some semblance of appearances and ridden in the park with Alain. Beyond that, she relied on Regis and Betty for information. Tristan had called several times the first two weeks of her reclusivity. But she could not bring herself to see him. She would most likely have to face him tonight and that would be hard enough. She hoped seeing him in public would give her the strength she needed to get through the evening. If she could get through the evening, she could get through the next evening and the next when they would all inevitably be together.

  And they would be together unless she chose to shun all society forever. According to Alain’s news, Tristan was doing well. He was a hero these days since his part in the mission to catch Beatrix and Middleton became public. Everyone forgave his supposed behavior with Beatrix, understanding that it had all been a role played for the greater good.

  Amy brought similar tidings as well. Tristan was a hero and the reticence any doting fathers might have had about letting Tristan court their daughters had vanished. He was the most eligible bachelor on the dance floors these days. Unlike Isabella, who sequestered herself away, Tristan was at every function, even two or three a night. He danced with everyone, but particularly with Caroline Danvers. Amy’s eyes had sparkled at the mention, saying, “Isabella, you might win that wager yet. There’s still three weeks until June. Speculation is rife that he will offer for the lovely Caroline.”

  She had listened to the news dispassionately, telling herself she cared not a whit who Tristan danced with or who he might propose to. She was doubly glad that she had not shared Tristan’s proposal with anyone. She would have looked foolish now that his affections were engaged elsewhere.

  Isabella stood and rang for Betty. It was time to dress and Avery deserved to have her looking her best. She selected one of her favorite gowns of sage-colored velvet trimmed in a deep forest green that she’d worn only one other time.

  She arrived at the ball alone, but Avery had been on the watch for her and promptly left his aunt’s side in the receiving line when he spotted her in the queue. He was impeccably dressed as usual and he graciously stayed at her side until they reached his aunt, keeping up an excellent stream of small talk that succeeded in putting her at ease. Whatever his hopes were for the evening, Avery was clearly dedicated to her happiness first and foremost.

  “Please, don’t let me keep you from your hosting duties,” Isabella offered after Avery introduced her to his Aunt Elizabeth, Lady Sizemore.

  “You are my hosting duty, Isabella,” Avery whispered confidentially, covering her gloved hand with his. “My cousin is filling in for me admirably.” He nodded to where a dark-haired gentleman had taken up residence next to Lady Sizemore. “The dancing will begin in a few minutes. I’d hoped to claim the first dance?”

  Isabella smiled for Avery’s benefit. “Of course, I’d be honored. I’ll make a quick trip to the retiring room and be back before the dancing starts” Isabella ascended the staircase in search of the ladies retiring rooms.
She didn’t need to check her dress or shoes but a trip upstairs would help her gather her thoughts and put on her social face. As she entered the chamber, Caroline Danvers waved enthusiastically to her.

  “Lady Westbrooke, I am so glad you’re here! I have the most wonderful piece of news to share with you” Caroline left the small group of girls and crossed the room to her side. Isabella pasted on a smile she didn’t feel and gave Caroline all her attention.

  “It is still a secret, but not for much longer. I have to tell you since you have been my mentor.” Caroline rushed over her words in obvious excitement, her voice low and private.

  “Whatever is your news, Caroline?” Isabella encouraged as her head spun trying to keep up with the excited girl. Caroline glowed tonight, looking young and sophisticated in the stylish pale blue gown Isabella had recommended for her.

  “It’s the Viscount Gresham” She paused and blushed. “Tristan” She said his name tentatively, as if still trying the word out on her tongue. “He proposed to me today and I have accepted. Mama and Papa are thrilled and we have you to thank,” Caroline gushed, squeezing Isabella’s hands until they hurt. “He says he wants a wedding before June is over. He doesn’t want to wait. Isn’t that romantic?”

  Isabella looked at Caroline’s expectant blue eyes, filled with joy over her upcoming nuptials. She managed to mumble appropriate niceties and disengage herself from Caroline before desperation completely claimed her. In a daze, she found some privacy and sat down heavily. Tristan to marry Caroline! She had been warned, several times in fact. Alain had told her. Amy had told her of Tristan dancing regular attendance on Caroline. She had heard and done nothing to fix his attentions back on her. She should be glad. Caroline loved horses and the country life. They would be well suited.