Betting on a Lady's Heart: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 14)

by Arietta Richmond

  They did not stay until the last race, but left once Clarisse became tired of the crowds and noise. The drive home was so peaceful by comparison.

  “Thank you, Lord Woodridge, that was most enlightening. I believe that I now understand why you like it so much. The horses are magnificent, and the racing is dramatic. But the noise! I am not sure that I would wish to do that again.”

  Lord Woodridge laughed – a sound of genuine amusement and happiness.

  “You give me such a different perspective on it, Miss Weston. That is wonderful. I believe that I actually enjoyed today more, simply because I had not placed a bet – a most interesting experience indeed.”

  The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence, and Clarisse went to bed that night, happier than she had been for well over a week.

  ~~~~~

  Frederick ground his teeth, before taking a substantial swallow from the brandy glass he held. His men had reported that, after a week of not being seen with Miss Weston, Lord Woodridge was once again welcome in the Weston house, and had been there most days of late. It was becoming obvious that more serious action would be required to remove the man as a competitor for Miss Weston.

  Could he, perhaps, trap the man with his own faults? An interesting idea, and one worth serious thought.

  After some days of contemplating the idea, Frederick hit upon what he believed would be successful. He went to his next assignation with Helena Weston full of energy, now that he had a plan, and spent that energy most pleasurably with her. If Arthur Weston had this woman in his bed, and didn’t take advantage of that, the man was a fool.

  Well, Frederick Caulfield had never been a fool – he was going to take what was offered. And soon, he was going to deal with Woodridge, and take Miss Weston and her dowry too.

  ~~~~~

  Gervaise couldn’t keep his mind off Clarisse. In the days following their trip to the racecourse, she found a way of forcing herself into his thoughts. He was still struggling with his addiction to gambling, but it was, slowly, becoming a little easier. When temptation struck, he would remember Miss Weston’s words at the track, and her ability to take delight in watching the race, without feeling any need to bet upon the outcome. He would be the man he should be, a man more like his father, he was determined of it.

  But the horses, and the cards, it all called to him. Surely he should be able to enjoy such things, if he kept it from taking over his life as it had before. Many men went to the races and didn’t allow themselves to become ruined. He needed to look upon a day at a track as entertainment, and not like business. To limit what he was willing to spend, and enjoy himself, without being tempted to overdo it.

  He decided to test his resolve.

  A few days later, another race meeting was scheduled, and Gervaise decided to attend – to attempt to do so without betting more than a tiny amount, if anything at all. If he kept reminding himself of Miss Weston’s reactions, he was sure that he could manage it.

  The day of the races dawned bright and clear. Gervaise approached the day with an entirely different kind of excitement – the excitement of the possibility of freedom from compulsion.

  On arrival at the track, he made himself stand back, and watch everything, to take it in as Miss Weston had, with the eyes of someone new to all of it. It was, just by itself, exciting and entertaining. He left his money in his pocket, and simply watched, all but one tiny bet, on one race only.

  After a few races, he went to the area where the food stands were set up, and settled to eat a little, contemplating how different he felt, how less tense, when there was not money riding on every moment. He was beginning to realise that what he had always thought of as the excitement of betting, was often nothing more than the fear of loss.

  He was staring out across the crowds, contemplating this, when a shadow fell over him. he looked up. A tall man stood there, one he believed he recognised. Before Gervaise had the opportunity, the man spoke.

  “Woodridge. I might have expected to find you here. Once a gambler, always a gambler.”

  Gervaise smiled, though anger flooded through his person.

  “Langerden. I am more than that.”

  “I severely doubt that, from what I have heard. I must ask you – what are your intentions towards Miss Weston?”

  “I am courting her, as you are, are you not?”

  Lord Langerden glared at Gervaise, his expression full of condemnation.

  “I don’t think you are an appropriate match for the girl. Regardless of her lack of title, hers is a well-respected and wealthy family – the last thing they need is for her to marry a wastrel. She needs a decent man.”

  Gervaise stilled, holding himself steady. Leaping up and launching into a public brawl with the man would only worsen his reputation. No matter how angry Langerden’s words made him, he had to admit that there was a grain of truth in the accusations. Shame lay close under his anger, and his resolve to completely step away from the need to gamble for high stakes redoubled.

  “You are right. But perhaps your idea of what makes a man decent differs from mine. That I have gambled in the past, to my detriment, does not mean that I will do so in the future. I enjoy her company, and she seems to enjoy mine. Perhaps you should not presume to make decisions for the lady – I am quite certain that she has her own opinions on the matter.”

  “I will speak to her father. She is a beautiful young woman, and I will not allow your false charm to lead her to ruin.”

  “You are going to be so ungentlemanly as to blacken my name to her family? I had thought better of you, Langerden. Yours is an old and noble family, as is mine – why would you stoop to such things?”

  Under Langerden’s increasingly hostile gaze, hearing his own words, Gervaise considered, for the first time, why a man of Langerden’s status in society would consider marrying a merchant’s daughter. Surely he was too high and mighty to consider such a thing, normally. So… why? Was Langerden’s interest in Miss Weston driven by greed? Was it her dowry he found attractive, not her person?

  Langerden sneered at Gervaise a moment, then gave a humourless laugh.

  “Well then, if your sense of honour is so precious that the idea of a gentleman taking such action offends you, let me then appeal to the baser aspects of your nature, which yet you seem to find acceptable. You are a betting man, and I have been known to occasionally bet – always well within my pocket – so I have a proposal for you.”

  “Oh?” Gervaise waited, wondering what Langerden was about to suggest.

  “Why don’t we make a bet. Let us give this a month, no more. Miss Weston will no doubt spend time with us both. And at the end of the month, we will see who she favours. I will bet that she will choose me.”

  “You wish to bet upon the young woman’s feelings?” Gervaise was shocked, yet the part of him that enjoyed a gamble grasped at the idea – surely, Miss Weston would not favour Langerden?

  “I do.” Langerden then named a sum that the gambler in Gervaise could not refuse, no matter how shocking the bet.

  “Very well. One month.”

  Chapter Nine

  Clarisse did not know it of course, but the month the men had wagered for passed, and she found herself spending more and more time with both of them. Each week was filled with outings, picnics, walks in the gardens, and by the stream, quiet conversation and more.

  She also found herself more and more taken with both men. Lord Woodridge was funny, always charming, kind, and thoughtful. He appealed to her more and more. With him, she felt safe, but he also made her breathing quicker, her heart beat harder, and her stomach flutter. Lord Langerden was more aloof, quieter – he did not draw her into deep conversation, or reveal much of himself, yet he was pleasant enough company. There were moments when he seemed too distant, and she would hesitate, then he would charm her all over again.

  Certainly, her father, and her stepmother, seemed to like Lord Langerden better, although she found Helena’s tendency to appear whe
n Lord Langerden visited rather annoying.

  Helena seemed to divert the conversation, and she would be left feeling a little as if she was superfluous. But, of course, that was silly of her. Still, she did not enjoy those conversations, where the meanings seemed opaque to her. She did not know how to choose between the men, and that had come, more and more, to worry her. Surely, she could choose? It was wrong, wasn’t it, to continue to encourage both men, when, in the end, she could only marry one of them?

  One morning, when an outing that afternoon, with Lord Woodridge, was planned, Clarisse was startled to find Helena in the breakfast room when she went down. Her father had, apparently, already breakfasted and set off to London for a business meeting.

  The previous day, Lord Langerden had called, and, for the first time, although Helena had been present in the parlour, he had barely spoken to her. Clarisse had found it a refreshing change, but, at the time, it had been obvious to her that Helena was not pleased. She did not understand the interactions, but was grateful to have more of Lord Langerden’s attention – although that made choosing between the men even harder!

  She settled at the table, a plate of food before her, and looked up to find Helena watching her.

  “Well Clarisse, are you enjoying having two men trailing after you, like dogs after a bitch in heat? You must choose between them, and soon, my girl, or you will undoubtedly lose both of them. Men have only so much patience, you know. I begin to wonder if you deserve a man like Langerden, as you don’t seem to fully appreciate his value.”

  Clarisse clenched her jaw, to prevent angry words.

  Helena had a great talent for annoying her.

  “I will choose, when I am ready. I appreciate each man for himself – which is why choosing is so hard.”

  “Many things are hard. But that doesn’t mean that they are unpleasant, or difficult to choose.”

  Helena gave a small laugh and Clarisse, yet again felt as if she meant something far different from her words. It was as if Helena mocked her in some way.

  “Well, I am finding this hard, and a difficult choice.”

  “Then I suggest that you find a way to resolve that, before you find yourself with no one.”

  Helena rose, and left the room, and Clarisse stared at the plate before her, her appetite fading away, and considered the truth in Helena’s words – what would she do, if both men lost patience with her?

  ~~~~~

  Frederick drove his curricle along the quiet lane, smiling to himself. He had just come from another assignation with Mrs Weston, and the warmth and lethargy that came from that sort of exertion filled him. He was, however, coming to the conclusion that there would not be many more such assignations. The woman had, as she had informed him from the start, a very strong appetite for pleasure. But that was, unfortunately, coupled with an equal appetite for attention. He would not be at any woman’s beck and call. If to prevent her neediness, he had also to lose access to her carnally, so be it.

  He was still pleased with the day. Miss Weston was, more and more, responding to his efforts to charm her – he was quite confident that he would win the bet. Woodridge had fallen into the trap so handily. He had been quite certain that the man would not be able to resist a bet, especially with a substantial sum riding on it, as well as the chance to wed the girl. No doubt the man wanted money to gamble with.

  Admittedly, it was something of a risk for Frederick, with the diminished state of his own funds, but, if all went to plan, he would win the bet, and receive not only the money from Woodridge, but also Miss Weston and her dowry. He was sure that he could, in time, educate Miss Weston about what he wanted from a wife. The idea brought heat to his limbs, and he smiled more broadly as he drove along.

  Soon, it would be time to spring the final part of the trap, and Woodridge would be out of the way completely. First, however, he needed to end his affair with Mrs Weston. He wanted nothing to distract from his pursuit of the girl and her dowry.

  The plans fell together in his mind, as the sunlight through the trees dappled the road in front of him.

  ~~~~~

  Helena Weston stood at her window, watching as Lord Langerden left the Weston residence, and drove off down the road with Clarisse by his side. Another charming picnic, no doubt. Bitterness filled her. The previous day, he had calmly informed her that he could no longer continue to see her secretly.

  He had smiled, in that too charming way of his, and simply said, ‘You want more of my time than I am willing to give. And you bring me nothing but passing pleasure. Your stepdaughter will bring me that, and a dowry. So, my dear, delightful as this has been, it will not happen again.’ Helena had barely restrained herself from slapping him.

  But he would suffer for this. If he thought to marry Clarisse and take her dowry, Helena would make sure that did not happen. If she could not have him, she would not allow him to have what he wanted, what he had cast aside her attentions for.

  She would allow it to proceed, far enough that he might gloat and believe he had what he wanted, and then, ever so carefully, she would ensure that it was taken away. Her smile was sharp, almost predatory, as she turned back into the room.

  ~~~~~

  The next day, Clarisse rose, even more troubled by her inability to choose between the men than before. The previous afternoon’s outing with Lord Langerden had been wonderful, he had been so very focussed on Clarisse, making her laugh, and actually speaking, a little of happy parts of his childhood. But Lord Woodridge was also delightful, and she treasured her time with him.

  Since that visit to the race course, more than a month ago, he had been happier. They had discussed how well he was doing with not gambling, and he had charmingly attributed his success at changing, to her, and the words she had spoken that day at the races.

  She smiled again at the memory. She was, she thought, just a little, beginning to favour Lord Woodridge over Lord Langerden. Although Langerden had a higher title, and almost certainly more wealth, his tendency to slip from aloof to charming and back again still disconcerted her. By contrast Lord Woodridge was more consistent, open, and honest with her. Now that she saw him changing his gambling habits, and knew that he had investments to fall back on, she was not at all concerned for his ability to support her, should she marry him.

  That afternoon, when a knock came on the door, she waited expectantly for Abby to show Lord Woodridge into the parlour. But, when the door opened, Abby showed not only Lord Woodridge, but also Lord Langerden, into the room. The maid cast her a worried, and somewhat apologetic look, as she settled herself in the corner of the room.

  “Why Lord Woodridge, Lord Langerden, what is this?”

  Lord Woodridge seemed about to speak, his glance at Lord Langerden hard and angry, but Langerden spoke first.

  “Woodridge has something to tell you.”

  “I have something to tell her? What are you speaking of, Langerden? If it is what I think you mean, then not only is it an inappropriate thing to speak of to the lady, but it wasn’t just my idea.”

  “Don’t be silly, it was entirely your idea. Do tell her.”

  Lord Langerden’s eyes seemed a little hard, and his smile did not quite reach his eyes, yet he spoke as if everything was ordinary. Clarisse was confused.

  “Tell me what?”

  Lord Woodridge took a deep breath, glared at Langerden again, and then explained the terms of their bet.

  “You bet on me?”

  “Yes,” Lord Woodridge said. “It was… just two men arguing, somewhat foolishly, I admit. We both care for you, that much is true.”

  “But you bet that I would choose you?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Lord Woodridge grinned and Clarisse was not sure whether he genuinely expected her to be unconcerned, or not. Lord Langerden had gone very quiet, leaning back in his chair, and simply watching, a small smile playing about his lips.

  “Is nothing sacred to you? Surely you are not really this lost... this degenera
te. I had thought… I had hoped… that you were truthful, that you were changing… but this…”

  The smile faded from Lord Woodridge’s lips. In his eyes she could see that he knew he was wrong, that he had made a large mistake – one that, she might not be able to forgive.

  “I only-” he started, but she cut him off by raising her hand.

  “Please leave Lord Woodridge,” she said. The man looked to Lord Langerden, who was still smiling softly, but trying to keep it from spreading too large upon his face.

  “Miss Weston,” Lord Woodridge started, but she clapped her hands together, the sharp sound stopping him.

  “Leave!” she yelled, and then she turned away, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks, despite her best efforts to stop them. She fled the room, Abby rushing after her.

  ~~~~~

  Gervaise stood, shocked and distraught as Miss Weston left the room. What had he done? And what had Langerden done? For the man had quite intentionally made it seem as if the bet had been completely Gervaise’s idea, thus causing Miss Weston to believe the worst of him.

  “You had best leave, as Miss Weston has requested, you have upset her.”

  Langerden turned and left the room, before Gervaise could utter a word. He presumed that Langerden had gone to follow Miss Weston. He stood there a moment, his heart breaking, as all of his bright hopes for the future crumbled to dust. He had failed again. His terrible desire to gamble had just cost him the woman he loved.

  The thought stopped him. Raw pain ran through him. Yes, he loved her – how foolish of him to have taken so long to truly realise it. He should have asked her to marry him, weeks before, but he had held back, unsure – now, he knew that he should have asked. Even if she had refused him, that would have been a lesser pain than this.

  He drew his dignity about him, and turned to leave the house. If he was not wanted, he would not force himself upon her. His first instinct was to drown his grief in drink and cards, but, soon upon the heels of that thought, came the realisation that he would not. For Miss Weston would not wish him to do so. No matter that she had cast him aside, he would still be true to his promises to her. He would not gamble.