Lady Allerton's Wager

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘I am not at all sure about these newfangled artists,’ Lady Fanshawe sighed, pausing in front of a landscape painting by John Constable. ‘Only look at those odd flecks of light and the strange rough technique. There is something not quite finished…indeed, not quite gentlemanly about it!’

  Beth laughed. She rather liked Constable’s atmospheric landscapes and they gave her a longing for the countryside and the fresh sea air. It was pleasant to be able to escape the bustle of the London Season for a little and step through an imaginary window into another landscape, even if they were in fact in the Royal Academy and Lady Fanshawe was starting to complain that her feet were aching.

  ‘Why do you not take the seat over there, ma’am, if you are fatigued?’ she suggested, gesturing to a comfortable banquette placed over by the window. ‘I shall not keep you long, but I should just like to see Mr Turner’s collection in the blue room. If you would grant me five minutes…’

  Lady Fanshawe nodded, sighing with relief as she took the weight off her feet. ‘Take as long as you wish, my love,’ she said, sitting back and closing her eyes. ‘I suggest we call in Bond Street on our way home. Far more to my taste, but one must be seen here, you know!’

  Smiling, Beth wandered through to the second gallery. There was quite a fashionable crowd present, bearing out the truth of Lady Fanshawe’s statement on the social importance of attending the exhibition. Beth paused before a picture of seascape and gave a small, unconscious sigh. The water was a stormy grey and the clouds were building on the horizon, and far out to sea there was an island…

  ‘Daydreaming, my lady?’ The voice, deep and slightly mocking, caught Beth by surprise. She turned her head sharply to meet the quizzical gaze of the Earl of Trevithick. She could feel a vexatious blush rising to her cheeks and looked away swiftly. It was irritating enough that she had spent the last three days waiting for him to call on her, with a secret anticipation that she had not acknowledged even to herself. She had just begun to relax and think that he had forgotten her, when here he was.

  ‘How do you do, my lord.’ Beth smiled politely. She tried not to notice how superbly elegant Marcus looked in a coat of green superfine and the fawn pantaloons that clung to his muscular thighs. ‘I hope that you are enjoying the exhibition?’

  Marcus took her hand. ‘To tell the truth, I came here with the sole intention of seeing you, Lady Allerton. I called in Upper Grosvenor Street and was told that you would be here, and I hoped to persuade you to drive with me. It is a very pleasant autumn day and my curricle is outside.’

  Beth hesitated. ‘Thank you, my lord, but I am here with Lady Fanshawe—’

  ‘I am sure she could be persuaded to entrust you to me.’ Marcus smiled down at her. ‘That is, if you wish to come with me, Lady Allerton. You might not want to break a centuries-old feud, after all!’

  Beth could not help laughing. ‘How absurd you are, my lord! I believe I might take the risk, but…’

  ‘I know!’ Marcus looked apologetic. ‘You are quite out of charity with me because of my ungallant refusal to grant you Fairhaven! But now, Lady Allerton…’ he bent closer to her ‘…now you have the opportunity to persuade me! Will you take the challenge?’

  Beth looked at him. There was a definite gleam of provocation in his eye. She frowned.

  ‘It seems to me, my lord, that you have the best of both worlds! You have nothing to lose whereas I may wear myself to a shred trying to convince you of my attachment to Fairhaven and still have no influence over you!’

  A wicked smile curved Marcus’s lips. ‘Believe me, Lady Allerton, you have made quite an impression on me already! I would put nothing outside your powers!’

  Beth blushed and looked away. ‘Pray do not tease so, my lord.’

  ‘Must I not?’ Marcus offered her his arm and they started to walk back through the gallery. ‘It is difficult to resist. So, will you take my challenge?’

  Beth paused. ‘I will drive with you. That would be most pleasant.’

  ‘Very proper. You are not always so proper, are you, Lady Allerton?’

  ‘However, I could withdraw my acceptance. Any more of your mockery, my lord—’ Beth looked at him severely ‘—and I shall do so!’

  Marcus inclined his head. ‘Very well! We shall instigate a truce! You are a most determined person, Lady Allerton. It is quite unusual.’

  ‘Unusual, perhaps. Most certainly imprudent.’ Beth spoke wryly. She was thinking of Charlotte and her strictures on her conduct. ‘I think it comes from being an only child, my lord. I was much indulged and given my own way. It bred stubbornness in me, I fear. And then, my late husband…’

  ‘Yes?’ Marcus slanted a look down at her. Beth sensed that his interest had sharpened and she managed to stop her runaway disclosures just in time.

  ‘Well, he was very kind and indulgent too…generous to me…I was most fortunate.’

  ‘You must have been a child bride,’ Marcus observed lightly, after a moment. ‘After all, you are scarce in your dotage now! How long have you been widowed, Lady Allerton?’

  Beth turned her head so that the brim of her bonnet shielded her from his too-perceptive gaze. Something about this man made her feel vulnerable, as though he could read into her words all the things she did not say.

  ‘Sir Francis died two years ago. Yes, I was very young when I married. My parents had been killed in an accident and I…’ Her voice trailed away. She did not want to reveal how lonely she had felt, uncertain if she was making the right decision in marrying hastily. On the one side had been security and on the other…On the other, she had felt as though she was throwing away all her youth and future by marrying a man older than her father. Yet Frank had been a kind husband, as kind to her as to a favourite niece. All she had lacked was excitement.

  ‘I see,’ Marcus said, and Beth had the unnerving suspicion that he did indeed see a great deal.

  ‘My dears!’ Lady Fanshawe had watched them approach and now rose to her feet, wincing slightly. She greeted the Earl as though he was a family friend of long standing, which Beth found slightly unnerving. She watched with resignation as it took Marcus all of a minute to persuade Lady Fanshawe to his plan.

  ‘If you have offered to take Lady Allerton up with you I am all gratitude, my lord,’ Lady Fanshawe trilled, ‘for I am sorely in need of a rest! I was intending to call at Bond Street, but fear I do not have the energy! This picture-viewing is unconscionably tiring!’

  They went out of the Academy, Marcus calling a hackney carriage to convey Lady Fanshawe home before handing Beth up into his curricle. It was a fine, bright day for autumn and the pale sun was warm. It was pleasant to be driving slowly through the fresh air of the Park, although it seemed to Beth that they were obliged to stop every few yards to greet the Earl’s acquaintances. She knew few people in London, so had little to contribute to this social ritual, and after a while she had been introduced to so many new people that her head was spinning.

  At last, when they reached a quieter stretch of road, Marcus turned to her with a rueful smile. ‘Forgive me. To drive at the fashionable hour precludes sensible conversation!’

  ‘You seem to have a vast number of friends in London, my lord,’ Beth said non-committally, thinking of the elegant ladies who had appraised her with curiosity-hard eyes and the sporting gentlemen who had looked her over as though she was a piece of horseflesh.

  Marcus smiled. ‘I certainly know a lot of people, but as for friends—’ he shook his head ‘—I could count them on the fingers of one hand! But I almost forgot, Lady Allerton…’ His gloved hand covered Beth’s and her pulse jumped at the contact. ‘I cannot count you my friend, for we are sworn enemies, are we not? Will you tell me more about the feud?’

  ‘Oh, the feud…’ For a moment, gazing into those dark eyes, Beth was all at sea. She had forgotten all about it. Then she pulled herself together. This was the point of the whole exercise, after all. Somehow she had to persuade Marcus Trevithick of the importance of F
airhaven to her, and becoming distracted by his company was not going to help at all. She pulled her hand away and saw him smile at the gesture.

  ‘I believe that the feud between the Trevithicks and Mostyns dates back to the Civil War, my lord.’ Beth cleared her throat and tried to sound businesslike. ‘The Mostyns were on the side of the King and the Trevithicks were for Parliament. When Sir James Mostyn went into exile with Charles II, the Trevithicks took the chance to steal—I mean to seize—Mostyn land.’

  ‘Steal will do,’ Marcus said lazily. ‘I fear the Trevithicks always were thieves and scoundrels, Lady Allerton! But they prospered as a result!’

  ‘To profit by the misfortune of others is not honourable!’ Beth said hotly. ‘Even worse, at the Restoration, the Mostyns regained a little of their former estate, but the Trevithicks managed to persuade the King of their good faith and were not punished!’

  ‘I can see that you have a very strong sense of fair play, Lady Allerton!’ Marcus observed. ‘Sadly, the way the Trevithicks prospered is the way that fortunes are often made—through double-dealing!’

  Beth looked severe. ‘That is no recommendation, my lord!’

  ‘No, I can see that my ancestry is doing me little service here. I sense that worse is to come as well. Pray continue!’

  Beth glanced at him doubtfully. Although his tone contained its habitual teasing edge, he was looking quite absorbed. She shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘I hope that the tale does not bore you, my lord?’

  ‘Not in the least! I am all attention!’

  Beth realised that this was true. Marcus had loosened his grip on the reins and the horses, very well-behaved thoroughbred bays, were trotting at a decorous pace along the path. All of Marcus’s attention was focused on her and as soon as Beth realised it she became acutely aware of the warmth of his regard and the disturbingly intent expression in those dark eyes.

  ‘Well, yes…anyway…For a hundred years the Trevithicks prospered and Mostyns struggled, but they still held Fairhaven Island.’ Beth glared at Marcus, forgetting for a moment that he had not been personally responsible for wresting it from her grandfather. It was easy to fall back into the stories of her childhood, the enthralling tales of Trevithick treachery. ‘Then my grandfather inherited the estate and came up against your grandfather, my lord, the fifth Earl, George Trevithick.’

  ‘Ah, the Evil Earl. I have heard much of his exploits. They say that in his youth he was in league with the wreckers and the smugglers and the pirates and anyone who could help him make an illegal profit.’

  ‘I have no doubt. What is certainly true is that our grandfathers were implacable enemies, my lord, and had sworn to take their fight to the death. One stormy March night my grandfather was sailing for Fairhaven, not knowing that the Earl had already landed there and that the wreckers were waiting for him. There was a gale blowing and in the dark my grandfather did not realise that the shore lights were not placed there by his servants but were a trick of the enemy.’ Beth took a deep breath. ‘His ship ran aground and all hands were lost, along with the chest of treasure the ship had been carrying. My grandfather was the only one to escape ashore, but he was ambushed by the Evil Earl and cut down in the fight. Then the Earl stole his sword, the Sword of Saintonge, that had been in the family for centuries, and took the island into the bargain! Now, what do you think of that, my lord?’

  Beth finished, out of breath, and looked at Marcus expectantly. It was a tale for a dark, stormy night rather than a bright day in the park, and it was difficult to believe that either of them were the descendants of men who had struggled to the death for supremacy only fifty years before. That conflict had been ruthless and atavistic, belonging to a previous and less civilised time. Beth allowed herself to consider the man who sat beside her, looking every inch the sophisticated society gentleman. She wondered suddenly just how much of that image was a façade, for she already knew from her dealings with Marcus that if one scratched the surface there was something infinitely more ruthless beneath. As for herself—how far would she go to regain Fairhaven? The stubborn tenacity of the Mostyns was in her blood. Perhaps both of them were true to their ancestry after all.

  Marcus encouraged the horses to pick a bit of speed, then turned to Beth with a smile. ‘What do I think of it? I cannot deny that it is a tale that reflects no credit on my grandfather. Yet I have some questions for you, Lady Allerton. What was Lord Mostyn doing sailing in such dangerous waters at night? Why did he have his treasure with him? Was there not something slightly suspicious about his own actions?’

  Beth stared. In twenty years she had never questioned the detail of the story. She remembered Maddy, her nursemaid, telling her the tale at bedtimes, by the light of the candle in the nursery at Mostyn Hall. She had imagined the perfidious, flickering light of the wreckers’ lamp on the cliff, the smashing of the ship’s timbers as it broke up on the rocks, the glint of gold as the family treasure tumbled into the depths of the sea…It had never occurred to her to wonder why her grandfather had been carrying so much money on his journey, nor what he had been doing sailing to Fairhaven on a stormy night. Until Marcus had spoken, she had not even thought of it.

  Beth wrinkled up her nose, looking at him thoughtfully. ‘I must concede that it is odd…’

  ‘Indeed. One is tempted to go to Fairhaven to discover the truth of the whole story!’ Marcus flashed her a smile. ‘Would you accompany me, Lady Allerton, if I invited you to join me on Fairhaven Island?’

  Beth looked scandalised. ‘Accompany you? I should think not, my lord! A most improper suggestion!’

  Marcus laughed. ‘A pity. Yet I do not doubt your loyalty to the notion of regaining Fairhaven for your family.’

  Beth clenched her gloved hands together in her lap. ‘It is something that I feel I must do, my lord. My grandfather’s ghost is unquiet…’

  Marcus smiled at her. ‘I hope you do not feel that in order to lay the ghost you must foster the quarrel!’ Once again he transferred the reins to one hand and put the other over hers. ‘I have a feeling, my lady, that you and I might settle this feud once and for all.’

  This time Beth let her hand rest still under his. ‘I hope that we may, my lord,’ she said, deliberately reading nothing into his words. ‘Might I suggest that you accept my offer for Fairhaven as a first step? It is a very generous offer…’

  ‘It is.’ Marcus let go of her and picked up the reins again. ‘Too generous. Fairhaven cannot possibly be worth such a sum.’

  Beth shrugged a little. ‘How does one assess sentimental value, my lord? To me, Fairhaven is priceless.’

  Marcus smiled. ‘I understand that,’ he said slowly. ‘Fairhaven has become your passion, has it not, Lady Allerton? I wonder just what you would do to achieve that obsession.’

  Beth stared at him. Despite the fact that his words only echoed what Charlotte had said to her previously, it was disconcerting to hear them from a relative stranger. It was even more disconcerting to read the double meaning behind them. She looked at him very directly.

  ‘I am not sure that I understand you, my lord. Are you rejecting my offer?’

  ‘I preferred your original one,’ Marcus said coolly.

  Their gazes locked. The sun disappeared behind a grey cloud and suddenly the wind was chill. Beth shivered inside her pelisse, but it was not entirely from the cold.

  ‘Are you offering me carte blanche, my lord?’

  Marcus laughed out loud. ‘You are very frank, my lady! I was under the impression that the boot had been on the other foot! You set the terms of our wager—’

  ‘You lost the wager,’ Beth said swiftly, ‘and it is because you did not honour your stake that I am offering so much more!’

  ‘You are offering more financially, I suppose. As I said, I preferred your original—more personal—offer!’

  Beth could feel herself blushing and was vexed. She knew he was deliberately provoking her and was determined to stay calm. It was difficult, however
, particularly as a tiny corner of her mind was acknowledging the attractions of such a course of action. To offer herself to Marcus in return for Fairhaven Island. It was immoral. It was iniquitous. And it was definitely tempting…

  She frowned.

  ‘The wager was a means to an end, my lord! It is not my usual mode of behaviour to offer myself as part of a bargain!’

  ‘I see.’ Marcus had allowed the curricle to come to a halt under the bare branches of a spreading oak tree. ‘In that case it was a remarkably dangerous wager.’

  ‘It was.’ Beth held his gaze. ‘However, if I had lost, I had only to refuse to honour my stake—as you did, my lord!’

  ‘Touché!’ Marcus laughed again. ‘I must confess myself disappointed, Lady Allerton. I was hoping that you might be persuaded—’

  ‘Were you? You cannot know me very well, then, my lord!’ By now there was a warning glint in Beth’s eye. ‘I have told you that I am no courtesan! I wish you take me home now, if you please!’

  ‘Very well!’ Marcus’s tone betrayed amused admiration. ‘I will not tease you any further, my lady. And if it is true that I do not know you well, time can at least remedy that situation!’

  The thought gave Beth little comfort. In the first place, she had a strange and disturbing conviction that Marcus did in fact understand her very well, for all his teasing. As for his pledge to know her better, her instinct told her that that could be a very perilous enterprise indeed.

  Chapter Three

  A nother country dance came to an end and Beth applauded enthusiastically and accepted the escort of her partner back to Lady Fanshawe’s side. It was very hot in the Duchess of Calthorpe’s ballroom for there were at least two hundred guests and the event was assured of the accolade of being a crush. The Duchess had chosen white as her theme to create the impression of approaching winter, and it was ironic that the temperature resembled that of the tropics. Hundreds of white candles added to the heat in the ballroom, creating such a fire risk that footmen were stationed about the room with buckets of water.