The Wolfe Wager

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Vanessa noticed no curious glances as she was driven along Bond Street. Beside her, Leale was a trifle quieter than usual, but Vanessa knew her abigail’s reticence came from their disagreement before the party instead of Sir Wilbur’s unexpectedly forceful departure.

  “Leale, I shall not be long at Madame deBerg’s shop,” she said, wanting to patch the rent between them.

  “After you cut your visit short yesterday, you owe Madame as much of your time as she requires.”

  “Which will not be much. The dress is nearly done.” She smiled. “If you wish to visit the apothecary, you shall have time. Mr. MacGregor may have received a shipment of that liniment you prefer for your knees.”

  “They have been creaking like two old frogs down in the Abbey pond, haven’t they?”

  “I miss that music from the pond, but I would as lief you could move with more ease.”

  “The dampness will pass.”

  “When we return to Wolfe Abbey,” she said hastily. Leale’s dolorous words brought the dreary Sir Wilbur and his endless warnings about guarding his health to mind.

  No note from the baronet had been waiting among the thank-you letters from their other guests. Vanessa had expected Sir Wilbur would again fail to obey the canons of propriety and fail to thank her aunt properly for the evening’s diversion, but she cared not a rush if he disappeared completely from her life.

  Even Lord Brickendon, despite his sometimes quoz ways, had had a note delivered. A smile pulled at her lips as she recalled reading it at the table in the breakfast-parlor.

  My dear Lady Vanessa,

  Your party of the evening past was most enjoyable. Please convey my thanks to Lady Mansfield for her generous welcome into your home. I trust, as I saw no announcement of your impending nuptials in this morning’s paper, that you succeeded in your strategy with Sir Wilbur Franklin. I look forward to speaking with you at Swinton’s fête tomorrow evening. Do not think me ill-mannered to mention this, for you should have received his invitation by this time.

  Vanessa had discovered the invitation, printed on light green vellum, in the pile of mail on the breakfast table. She and her aunt were cordially bid to attend a musicale at the home of Bruce Swinton, not many blocks from St. James. Putting aside the invitation, she had finished the note from Lord Brickendon.

  Just remember that if you ever find yourself needing the services of a brave knight (or a knave who is a quarter flash and three-parts foolish), you need only call upon

  Your humble servant,

  Lord Brickendon’s signature had been as bold as his flashing eyes, but she appreciated his humor even more in the clear light of the morning. She could imagine his volley of laughs if he chanced to learn of Sir Wilbur’s precipitous expulsion from the house. As she looked out at the shops on Bond Street, she wondered what lay behind that humor. Yesterday, she had learned there clearly was more to the viscount than his quips.

  When the carriage stopped in front of the couturière’s shop, Vanessa waited for Leale to alight onto the walkway under the creaking sign with Madame deBerg’s name. Gently she asked, “Leale, why don’t you go to the apothecary now?”

  “My lady, you should not be out by yourself. If your aunt heard of such a thing—”

  “Eveline Clarke is here.” She pointed to a carriage waiting on the far side of the street. “She must have recovered from the sniffles that kept her home last night. You know she will not allow me to leave Madame deBerg’s without a full accounting of who attended the party and what was said. That will not be done quickly.”

  Leale nodded reluctantly, but said, “You must not leave until I return for you.”

  “I suspect you shall be waiting quite a while for me.”

  “Do not leave!”

  “I shall not.”

  Vanessa was unsure if Leale would take her word, for the abigail looked back over her shoulder as she walked along the street. Leale’s sudden lack of trust would make it even more difficult to hide her determination to find Corey.

  But she would.

  How many times had Papa told them that they must depend on each other? Even if no one else in the world will not stand with you, stand together. His words in her memory were as clear as if he had just spoken them.

  She and Corey had heeded his advice until the night before Corey left for the continent and the battle where he had disappeared. If she had listened to what Corey tried to tell her that night … if he had listened to her … It might have been easier now, for what had been said in anger would not be tormenting her as the words rang through her mind.

  Corey, I never meant what I said. You know that, don’t you? How she longed to speak those words to him, and she must, or she would never be able to free her heart from the weight of her guilt.

  Vanessa opened the door of the small shop. The scent of roses rushed out at her. Madame deBerg kept her shop filled with as many bouquets as could be perched on the tables and sills. After the less pleasant scents of the streets, it was welcome, even though it was smothering. Bolts of material were stacked against a wall, and white silk trailed along the floor.

  A girl in a simple gown of muslin ushered Vanessa into the back where Madame deBerg had her finest books of fashion plates. Vanessa paused by a curtained door and ignored the girl who was urging her to go into the next room.

  “Is Miss Clarke in here?” Vanessa asked.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Do check with her and with Madame. I would like to join them.”

  The girl’s blue eyes filled with bafflement at the change in the usual routine, but she slipped through the curtains. Vanessa heard her chirping voice. Gazing along the hall, she saw a bundle of material set in a shadowed corner. No one asked how Madame deBerg obtained the lovely fabrics that were woven on the opposite side of the Channel. The war had not lessened the yearning of Society to dress à la française or halted the owls from bringing cloth from France.

  Interlopers! Vanessa asked herself why she had not considered them before. She wondered if it was possible to have a letter smuggled into France, mayhap even to the highest reaches of that government. Perhaps one of Boney’s ministers might be willing to assist her … for a price. She sighed. Such a bribe—assuming she could get it to the right person—would beggar even her father’s estate.

  She was given no more time to ponder how she might accomplish the impossible when the girl returned to announce Vanessa was welcome to go into the fitting room. The lass stepped aside, holding the curtain out of the way.

  “Vanessa, just the one I wanted to see!” Eveline Clarke’s enthusiastic welcome matched her brilliant smile and the rich wealth of her auburn hair.

  Eveline was an incredible beauty with a figure that frequently propelled Madame deBerg into her native language to find words to praise it. Eveline would have been wed long before except for the unfortunate shadow cast over all the Clarkes because her mother had had the audacity to try to divorce her father. Mrs. Clarke had died in the arms of her lover, leaving a pall to haunt the rest of the family. None of that mattered to Vanessa, who had known Eveline since childhood, for their fathers had been schoolmates in their own youths.

  Vanessa untied the checkered ribbons of her high-brimmed hat and set it on the table. Sitting next to the table, so she had a good view of Eveline, who was perched on a small platform, and the modiste, Vanessa said, “You look as if you are feeling quite well.”

  “I am fine.” Eveline raised her hands with exasperation, then lowered them quickly on Madame deBerg’s order. “If Papa hadn’t been so afraid a mere cough might be deadly, I would have attended your soirée last night. I was able to convince him to let me come out this morning, but only because he insists we return to Berkshire before the week is over. Can you believe that?” She gestured her irritation, but stood still again when the couturière mumbled.

  “The Season has only a handful of weeks to go. Why would he want you to leave now?”

  Eveline’s pretty smile grew dim
with sadness. “He feels that if you are unable to find a match, I have little hope. Town fills him with ennui, so he is using any excuse to return to the country.” She raised her hand to wipe a single tear from her cheek.

  Madame deBerg glanced at Vanessa, clearly upset that one of her patrons was weeping. Vanessa hurried to ask, “Do you think your father would allow you to remain in Town? Aunt Carolyn and I would be thrilled to have you stay with us.”

  “Would you?” She clapped her hands, laughing as Madame deBerg shook her head in resignation. “I do so want to stay. I have met the most charming man. Edward Grey.”

  “Lord Greybrooke?”

  “One and the same.” She smiled. “The earl is so sweet. I have seen him several times in the Park, and he never fails to take a moment to speak with me.”

  Vanessa hid her own smile. She found the earl as boring as Eveline’s father found the whirl of the Season—as she found the whirl of the Season—but Eveline’s heart clearly had discerned something Vanessa had failed to see. She would hear every facet of the meetings in the Park because Eveline held onto a secret no longer than a gambler kept a losing hand.

  “We shall plan on having you be our guest for the rest of the Season,” Vanessa said. “All you need to do is send word of when you will join us.”

  Bouncing from the dais, Eveline flung her arms around Vanessa. “Oh, thank you. I did not know what I would do when Papa insisted we leave.”

  “You needed only to call. You know our house is always open to you.”

  “I had thought to give you a look-in this afternoon.” She stepped back up on the low platform and offered the modiste an apologetic grin. “I was anxious to talk to you about many things, but I feared your aunt might be at home.”

  Vanessa regarded her with bafflement. “You didn’t want to call on Aunt Carolyn?”

  “Would you be willing to give me all the luscious details if Lady Mansfield was present?”

  “Of the party?”

  Eveline giggled as she peered over the top of the modiste’s head. “You need not pretend with me. Is it true what Mrs. Garber told me? Did you really have Sir Wilbur Franklin tossed out onto the Square?”

  “Do stand still!” implored Madame deBerg. “The hem will be askew, Miss Clarke, if you continue to wiggle and jump about the room like a crazed rabbit.”

  “Is it the truth?” continued Eveline, irrepressible. Her cheeks dimpled. “Oh, Vanessa, say that it is! It is too amusing!”

  Vanessa was torn between embarrassment and laughter. She chose the latter. If Eveline had heard the news, it must have spread completely throughout the Polite World. “I wish you had been feeling more like yourself, Eveline. I swear that Quigley nearly smiled when he sent the baronet flying through the door.”

  “Quigley? Smiled? No!” She grimaced as Madame deBerg muttered another warning. “And Lady Mansfield? Surely she must be distressed.”

  “Aunt Carolyn has owned that the baronet must have been born at Hogs Norton, because his manners are so intolerable.” Vanessa could not bring herself to speak Sir Wilbur’s name. With a shudder, she stood. “But that contemptible situation is over, for I doubt that even he would be foolish enough to present himself at our door again in the wake of his dismissal.”

  “It shan’t be over until you betroth yourself.” Eveline stepped down from the low pedestal and turned toward the dressing room. Looking over her shoulder, she added, with a sly smile, “I heard as well that Lord Brickendon attended the party last night. Oh, how I wish I had been able to be there! He is quite in dash.” Her smile vanished. “But you must be careful, Vanessa. He is a rogue of the first stare with his à suivie flirtations. I wish you would allow me to introduce you to Mr. Symmes. He is the dearest man. I know you would like him. Besides, he belongs to the same club as Lord Greybrooke. I understand they are good friends. We could go to the Park together to meet them next week. With your aunt to chaperone us, we—”

  “Enough,” she interrupted with a laugh. “I have no need of your matchmaking. Aunt Carolyn batters my ears every day with her determination to find me a husband. Do be a friend, and leave off with this.”

  Eveline shook her head, sending her ruddy curls cascading along her neck. “And right your aunt is! You need to find a man to marry. You are too kind and sweet to be left on the shelf. I shall speak with my brother Edgar the next time I see him. He is coming to Town before the end of the week. Mayhap a dear friend he has met during his studies in Cambridge will touch your heart.”

  “Eveline, please don’t do that.”

  “Nonsense.” Ignoring Madame deBerg, who was picking up scraps of lace and pins from the floor, Eveline rushed to Vanessa. She took Vanessa’s hands in hers. Tears filled her olive eyes. “I fear you have forgotten how to be happy. It behooves me, as your dearest bosom-bow, to lighten your heart and help you forget your grief.”

  “I do not want to forget my grief. Not for a moment!” Vanessa saw Eveline’s dismay, and, although she wished everyone would let her lead her life as she wanted, she remembered her vow. Smiling with Eveline usually was not a task, but today it was. She loathed being false with Eveline, but did not want to burden her bosom-bow with the truth. Dear Eveline had enough heartache of her own. “Forgive my outburst, Eveline. The truth is that I shall forget my grief when the time is right.”

  “Forget it now, and tell me all about last night.”

  Vanessa smiled. Eveline was quite the opposite of her dour father, so it was little wonder that prospective matches worried she would be as hedonistic as her mother. As Eveline redressed and Vanessa tried on a dark crimson riding habit Madame deBerg had nearly complete, Vanessa answered the barrage of questions from Eveline and made plans for Eveline’s visit.

  Leale’s arrival and pursed lips silenced Eveline’s laughter. The comb-brush said nothing until she was seated next to Vanessa in the carriage again, but then chided Vanessa all the way back to Grosvenor Square for her amusement at Sir Wilbur’s expense.

  “I shall say no more,” Vanessa vowed, although she continued to smile. “I hope the baronet has been cut for the simples and will recognize the futility of paying a visite de digestion on our household.”

  “He behaved abominably, I grant you, but he did profess a true affection for you.”

  Vanessa walked through the door Quigley held open. “Leale, I cannot find myself tacked together with him simply because I have sympathy for his unrequited love.”

  “I would think not.” The abigail unbent enough to shake her finger in Vanessa’s direction. “Don’t forget that I am well-accustomed to how you twist words as facilely as the old gentleman in black himself. I doubt if you have much sympathy for him.”

  “I would have if he hadn’t—” Vanessa shuddered and hastily changed the subject so she did not have to think how her first kiss had been so loathesome. For so many years, she has wondered what it would be like to have a man draw her into his arms and brush her lips with his. Sir Wilbur had destroyed that fantasy. “Aunt Carolyn and I have received an invitation to Mr. Swinton’s musicale tomorrow night. I would like to wear my white crêpe with the blue silk ruffle.”

  Leale nodded. “I shall have it ready.”

  As the abigail climbed the stairs, Quigley cleared his throat lowly. Vanessa tried to contain her excitement as he held out a folded sheet to her, hoping that Leale did not guess this was the reason Vanessa had remained in the foyer.

  “It was delivered but five minutes ago,” the butler said in a strained voice.

  Overmastered by Quigley’s reaction, Vanessa took the letter. As she turned it over to see the unfamiliar seal, her fingers quivered, and her stomach did an abbreviated leap toward her throat. This was not her own letter being returned unanswered. Someone had responded—at last. Could this be the information she had prayed for?

  “Thank you, Quigley,” she whispered.

  As she turned to follow Leale up the stairs, the butler said, “I hope it is the news you have sought, my lady.”
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  “If it is, you shall be the first to know. Whatever it says, thank you, Quigley, for all you have done and all you have kept to yourself.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his sallow cheek.

  “Well, well,” he said, blushing. She had never seen him as flustered.

  Vanessa hurried up the steps before she embarrassed the butler more. She paused at the top of the stairs. If she went to her room, Leale would be there. Going to the blue sitting room, she saw her aunt working on the embroidery she enjoyed. Vanessa inched away. She wanted to savor this moment alone.

  On the second floor, she went to a window seat overlooking the small garden. Taking a deep breath and whispering a short, fervent prayer, she broke the sealing wax and unfolded the sheet.

  The answer was terse. His lordship could not offer her any assistance in locating the body of her brother. Many brave men had died far from their native land. She must take solace in knowing that the French gave their enemies a decent burial.

  She lowered the page to her lap and closed her eyes. Tears oozed through her lashes and along her cheeks. Struggling to keep Eveline’s cheery voice out of her head, she failed miserably, for she could hear Eveline prattling about how successful her brother was at Cambridge and how he would be coming to Town for a visit. She was a wicked person for begrudging Eveline her happiness.

  She bit her lip and shuddered as her sobs thudded against her heart. A hero. That was what Corey had aspired to be. That was what he was, but had he given even one thought to the misery his heroics would cause for those who loved him?

  A hand settled on her shoulder, and Vanessa wiped her eyes as she looked up. Puzzlement and sympathy aged Aunt Carolyn’s face.

  “My dear Vanessa,” she whispered, “why are you piping your eyes? Did someone speak horribly of last night’s party while you were out on your errands?” Her hands tightened into fists by the sides of her pale gold dressing gown. “By all that’s blue, I wish I had never asked Sir Wilbur to our home!”