By Way Of A Wager

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  “What?” The duke startled. The ladies, far from being shocked, looked uncommonly amused.

  Lady Suzannah put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sudden smile and pointed in the direction of the cage. “It is zee birds, I sink!”

  His great aunt chortled. “Did I not tell you, Miles? They have the most startling vocabulary! Not fit for a lady’s ears, perhaps, but then I never have cared a toss for the conventions!” She gazed lovingly at her crimson-winged denizens of virtue. “I can’t tell you how entertaining they’ve been! We had that old witch Eleanor Peabody-Frampton poking her nose in the other day. Normally I’d avoid her like the plague, but she was announced just as Suzannah was being fitted for her riding dress. Well, there we were rooted to the spot when in she walks in that snooty high-bred manner of hers. You know! Anyone would think she was a princess of the blood, rather than a common squire’s daughter. But there! I’m rattling on to no purpose!” She stopped for breath and beamed seraphically.

  Suzannah finished the story. “She walked in and zere zey were, zee beautiful birds! Zey see her and say ... well, I will not say what zey say!” Her eyes danced with mischief. “It is shocking! It must be so, no? Ze Peabody person she is not amused. She just mutters somesing ... we do not know what ... zen she clutches her small reticule and is gone. Tsha! Like so!” She clicked her fingers in an expressive movement, then admonished Miles to take the cage and “not forget the stand.” With a sinking heart he knew that his penance was going to be to sit in a carriage with a pair of women and a precarious cage of bawdy-mouthed birds. His decision was instant. He would ride on the box. To hell with the groom!

  The great, ivy-trimmed home of the marchioness of Langford was an imposing edifice surrounded by a park and an oak-lined avenue that was the envy of all her friends. Miles was very glad to see it, as he had spent a miserably cold journey enduring the lip of his jovial, impudent, and rather long-in-the-tooth old servant.

  Since he had known the duke from birth and seen him breeched, the groom saw no reason to hold his tongue and made several remarks that caused the duke to inwardly seethe. All of them were pointedly about His Grace’s lady friend, her prowess on a saddle, and the inability of gentry folk to know a good thing when it stared at them in the face. The duke was not pleased.

  The only thing stopping him pensioning the unfortunate minion at once was the fact that he had the rarest skill with horseflesh that Miles had ever come across. Also, it could not be denied that he harbored a loyalty to the duke and his kin that was as touching as it was possibly misguided. Miles was no proof against the man’s toothless grin. As they entered the estate, however, His Grace allowed himself a sigh of relief. All things going well, he could disabuse Lady Suzannah’s mind of any misapprehension and be on his way well before noon. With any luck, he’d be at a posting house by nightfall and in his own bed the following day. After that ... well, after that, only time would tell.

  “Run along, you two! The unpacking is well under way and I do not, I believe, need you both underfoot.”

  Miles winced at this blatant manipulation. He knew his aunt’s stratagems well, but was embarrassed for Lady Suzannah. Call herself a chaperone! He’d have words with her one of these days, that was for sure! He glanced at the lady in question and was surprised to see amusement etched on her fine, strong features.

  Not a china doll, evidently! He surmised that she must have been expecting something of this nature and found the thought lowering. It was hard, indeed, to play the jilt, however blameless he may be. Still, best to swallow the bitter pill early and set the record straight once and for all.

  His aunt cunningly suggested a stroll in the aromatic herb garden. A romantic enough setting, but not one in which he wished to dwell. If it were Cassandra who was staring at him with smoky blue eyes ... well, that would put a different complexion on the matter entirely. As it was, he declined the herb garden as a suitable point for a rendezvous and selected instead the formal morning room.

  He put his hand out for Suzannah, who hesitated slightly before accepting it and prosaically wrapping her muff a bit closer. The house was awesome, but the high ceilings made for a bit of a chill and the fires had not yet been properly lit or stoked. Great Aunt Elthea gave a maddening little wave of her hand as she shooed them off, then promptly forgot them in the excitement of the arrival of a shipment of tapers, lace, and farmyard chickens.

  Lady Suzannah looked about her with awe. The morning salon was filled with antique collectibles, china dogs, and a great deal of bewildering brick-a-brac that seemed scattered far and wide with little or no thought for the conventional dictates of decor. She removed her bonnet and gave a decisive and satisfied nod. “It ees good, zis house. Like your cher aunt Elthea, no? A leetle beet crazy.”

  Miles had to agree. He found himself warming to the lady minute by minute. He cleared his throat to get the worst over, but was halted peremptorily by Suzannah herself.

  “Your Grace!”

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “It ez a difficult position we find ourselves in, n’est pas?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean ... your aunt, she has ze expectations, no? She sinks zat her favorite nephew is still ze little boy. She say, ‘I know what is good for you, yes? I know what is good and I won’t hear you say no!’ ” She smiled and the smile lit up her face. “See, I understand. I, too, am instructed by your aunt. She say, ‘Marry my Miles, ma petit. He is a very good boy.’ ” She stopped and dimpled at the duke. “Well, I am not ze good girl! I do not wish to marry you at all! Why? Well, I am very sure I wish to marry someone else!”

  Miles released a deep breath and felt as though he could kiss her. “Truly? Your heart will not be broken if I do not make you an offer? I do not know what my aunt has promised of me, but I can well imagine!” He shuddered comically. “Steer well clear of matchmaking relatives, my dear! It quite makes one sink!”

  Suzannah laughed. “It will be a shock to ze poor Elthea, but she will recover it very soon, I am pozeetive! She just needs a distraction ... a monkey maybe?” There was definite laughter in her tone, and Miles felt a good deal of lightening spirits. Really, his aunt became more incorrigible by the year! It had not occurred to him that the lady herself would absolve him from the proxy betrothal that had become so distasteful. Quite a redoubtable lady, too!

  The duke became aware of a faint commotion outside, the sound of carriage wheels and horses, orders and fluster. He blithely ignored them. Knowing Aunt Elthea, he had become used to expecting the unexpected. Lady Suzannah felt so, too, for she drew the curtains with a cursory glance and rang for some orangeade. “If we wait for my godmama, we will wait here forever!” Her eyes twinkled “So what do you do, monsieur le duc?”

  “Me?” The duke was startled. He was not used to such questions, especially not from a lady. Still, none of the events of the day could be termed what he was used to. He sat down and described to her the House of Lords, his canvassing for the repeal of the corn laws, his work on the estate and care of tenants both in Wyndham and in Roscow. He talked, and as he spoke, he found clarity.

  He felt comfortable with this Suzannah, who no longer posed a threat. Comfortable enough to speak of Cassandra, his great love and his torment. She counseled him, and very soon he discovered what he knew to be the truth. With the great feeling that he cherished, love would endure. Cassandra would be made to see reason and forgive his foolish outburst of pride. So thinking, he returned the favor and the question.

  He listened in fascination as Suzannah outlined her life, dwelling on how her mother had made a runaway marriage and married for love. How she had followed the drum and learned a great many healing skills along the way. How she had endured the war and watched the loss of life and limb. How she had rejoiced in the peace and consented to reconciliation with her mother’s family. How her godmother, Elthea, had invited her to visit and how she had promised to come. How, with the coming of peace had come the fruition of that promise.
And last, how with the coming of peace had also come love.

  She spoke little on this score, but the duke’s notoriously sharp eyes gleaned much. When she mentioned La Hay Sainte, he visibly drew in his breath. The coincidence would be too remarkable to believe, but he had to know.

  “What rank was this paragon of yours?” he asked.

  She looked surprised but obliged the duke crisply. “He was a captain, Monseigneur. Perhaps he has forgotten me, perhaps he has not.” She shrugged her shoulders in typically Gaelic style, but the duke read anxiety in the pale shadows of her eyes and in the tiny lines around her mouth.

  “He has a name, then, this very fortunate captain?”

  She smiled at the compliment. “He does, Your Grace, but zat I cannot say!”

  His Grace, the oh so handsome Duke Wyndham, bowed. “May I ask if he knows you are on English soil?”

  She looked abashed. “No, he does not yet know. I do not wish to be ze imposition. If he sees me and does not remember, well ... tsha!” She clicked her fingers. “I will attend ze balls and become ... how you say? Ze social butterfly! If he remembers ... well! We shall see, monsieur le duc, we shall see!”

  The duke nodded. Privately, he thought that there could not be many English captains who had survived Ney’s cavalry onslaught. From the few words Frances had let slip both on the sloop and at their morning interview, he was relatively confident that the young earl harbored reciprocal feelings. Suzannah was not destined to have a broken heart. Not if he could help it! He grinned wickedly at his hitherto unsuspected matchmaking streak. Well, Frances would make a fine brother. What more could he ask but a sister as fair as Suzannah? It was high time he be setting his plan in motion.

  A word to his wizened old groom and the duke was back, claiming a headache. Not all of his great aunt’s interesting ministrations could be said to have the necessary healing effect, but they served to have her scurrying from kitchen to cellar in a frenzy of effusive good will. Two good things came of this cunning measure: the good lady was too concerned to ponder the outcome of her matrimonial venture, and the cellar yielded a surprisingly good rum, casketed for years and originating, if the duke guessed it right, from unknown but not entirely lawful channels. Trust his great uncle Henry to have had truck with smugglers! Still, if all the yield was as superlative as this ... The duke was sleeping before he knew it.

  A gentle morning sun was mistily creeping through the ivy-grown shutters. Miles found himself in one of the side chambers in the east wing, confronted with a spectacular view of the frozen lake. The past two days had offered a wonderful respite after the madness of the sea venture. He reflected, with affection, that the dowager marchioness of Langford, though scatty, was a superlative hostess.

  He had managed to bag a fair amount of pheasants from her extensive estate and even had a grouse or two to show for his trouble. He now found himself quite virtuously hungry and all for a good gallop on one of his grays.

  He breakfasted alone, the Lady Suzannah having taken herself for an early stroll into the village, where, he learned, she intended to purchase gooseberries for jam and a quantity of beeswax for he knew not what. His aunt was not yet down, she undergoing a rigid morning toilet that only her dresser, her maid, and a sprinkling of honored servants were ever privy to. He received a message adjuring him to partake of a monumental feast and set to with relish.

  If the day turned out as he planned, he would need his stamina! He thanked the footman for the scalding-hot coffee and set off into the crisp, clear morning. Out on the horizon, windmills were spinning in the breeze, and he felt the sight charming. He wished fervently that Cassandra were there to share it with him.

  His horse whinnied, and he steadied it, wondering if he had stumbled on a loose stone. If the stallion needed to be reshod, he would have to walk the four miles into the village. Fortunately, he knew the winding path that twisted its cobbled way through the sunbaked fields. On a day like this, such a chore could almost be regarded as a pleasure. He slid down from the saddle and examined the hoof. The shoe was firm and unyielding. Well, that was a good thing.

  He dusted himself off and was satisfied that his boots were gleaming in a way that would have pleased even Vallon. A sound caught his attention. Turning, he saw the cause of his sensitive gray’s disquiet.

  Not far from a cluster of apple trees, a gas-powered balloon was in sharp descent. It looked precariously as though it might topple, then was righted by the breeze. The duke leaped in sudden, horrified recognition. The twins! He would strangle them if they contrived to come to no harm! He only hoped they would not, as the balloon veered decidedly off course. It was heading for a forest of pines and that, Miles knew, could spell disaster.

  He shouted to them, but they were too high to hear. The balloon started dropping, and the duke felt his heart in his mouth. He grabbed hold of the stallion’s reins and mounted in a flash. Kicking deftly with his shins, he guided the horse at speed to the fork in the road where the forest began its sinuous path through the wooded countryside.

  As he watched, the faces staring out from the wide, teetering basket took on their familiar forms. He saw, to his relief, that his wards were not alone. They were accompanied, puzzlingly, by the earl of Surrey, his sister, and Viscount Lyndale.

  The duke approached, and the miscreants alighted with impish delight. “Did you see that, Uncle! Did you? We were flying! We were flying! Oh, isn’t it heavenly, Rupert? Did you see?” The Ladies Georgina and Grace were euphoric, and the duke found himself unwittingly smiling, loathe to spoil their bright enjoyment.

  “We sent a message down to Cassandra to share in the fun! We wanted her to see the ascent, and she came around immediately with Lord Frances!”

  “I hope you don’t mind, Your Grace! We knew you were out of town and thought it advisable to at least supervise the event.” Frances looked apologetic. “As you may imagine, putting a halt to it was impossible.”

  “I do imagine!” The duke’s tone was dry. “Am I to apprehend you have made this journey all the way from London?” His tone was mockingly incredulous.

  Frances smiled appreciatively. “No, sir. A compromise was reached. We traveled by chaise and brought the contraption with us. We are stabled at the Red Sails Inn. Do you know it?”

  “No, but I have heard of it. All’s well that ends well, then. What a flight that must have been!” He frowned at Rupert and told him that as a penance he was to look after the scoundrels for the whole course of the day. “For” he said, eyeing Cassandra with a lopsided grin she found wholly endearing, “I find I have better things to do with my time!” He helped her down from the basket and decided that his questions would wait.

  A cursory review of the time decided him that Lady Suzannah would be homeward bound. If Frances were to set off by foot to the Langford country seat, he would surely arrive coincidentally with, or some time after, the said lady. Not, by his calculations, before. He begged a trifling favor of the earl and pointed him in the right direction.

  Rupert he directed to the frozen lake, which he was certain would interest his young rapscallions. He convinced the contrite young lord not to worry about dismantling the bright sails from the basket, since this could be done much later and with a great deal more precision than the twins were likely to contribute. Rupert nodded his thanks with such a sparkle in his eye that the duke was moved to cuff him fondly.

  “Do you know,” he said, “I just happen to have been provided with a lunch ample to my needs!” He moved to his gray and produced a light luncheon from the saddlebag. If it was anything like as sumptuous as that with which he had been provided the previous day, his wards would make no complaint. With a grateful wave they set off toward the lake, the young viscount gloomily beset by a million questions to which he had no knowledgeable reply.

  He began by telling little falsehoods, but soon his stories had grown to such whiskers that the mirth of the twins could be heard on the other side of the park.

  The duke looked d
own at Cassandra. She was looking very fetching, her hair as free as when he had first laid eyes on her, her cheeks shining from the cold, brisk fresh air. She said nothing, but her eyes were speaking. The duke moved toward her and she clung to him. After a moment, he felt his coat to be wet with sobs, and he held her gently away from him so that he could tenderly patch a tear.

  “You received my note?”

  She nodded, then rubbed her eyes as they lit with laughter. “Your groom arrived hotfoot from Shropshire! I swear he must have ridden without ceasing all the way! Despite the disapproval of your butler and the various hierarchy of house lackeys, he insisted on presenting it to me in person and with such a flourish I was hard-pressed not to laugh!”

  “I’ll wager he did not stop to wash, either.”

  “You would win, then, for indeed, he was in a state of grime the like of which you have not before seen!”

  “Oh, I think I have.”

  The duke looked at her meaningfully, and Cassandra blushed. She was not to be turned from her subject, however. “Who is that man?”

  His Grace grinned. “The bane of my life! That is the problem with old retainers: you can never get rid of them and they always think they know you best! Old George, I am sorry to say, read me such a lecture on the evils of letting pretty maidens like you slip through my very fingers that I was hard-pressed not to give him his comeuppance!”

  Cassandra laughed. “He is quite a character, your George! I left him happily cozening your housekeeper into parting with a fresh-baked partridge pie and a huge leg of smoked game. It will not surprise me to hear he is into your hock, for I heard him wheedling Pickering myself!”