Once Upon a Wager

by Julie LeMense

  His father had spurned the woman he loved in order to satisfy his sire. And Alec, like a puppet on a string, had let his father’s beliefs about Annabelle dictate his own. He’d pursued the very suitable Miss Fitzsimmons, taken up his seat in Parliament, and authored legislation that would have a lasting legacy. How pleased his father would be. Yet there was no pleasing a dead man. Any choices were now his to make. Why had it taken so long for him to recognize it?

  He stole a surreptitious glance at Annabelle, but she was staring fixedly at him, along with everyone else in the carriage. “My apologies,” he said. “Have I missed something?”

  “Distracted, are you, my boy?” Lord Fitzsimmons boomed in that distinctive voice of his, oddly high and squeaky despite its impressive volume. “Lord Dorset is no doubt thinking about the fight ahead, my ladies,” he continued. “We have been hard at work this week on the soldiers’ bill. Dorset, myself, and my darling Jane. We make a formidable team, don’t we?”

  “Father, please don’t overstate my contributions,” Jane said, her face flushed with color.

  “Nonsense! My Jane is sharp as a whip. I am deuced proud of her, although she’s only a woman, with too many tender sensibilities. If she were a man, she’d be a fine addition to our government. As it is, though, she’ll have to trust her ideas to me, and perhaps to Dorset going forward, eh?” Fitzsimmons laughed at that, and nudged Jane, who looked as if she wanted to leap from the carriage. “They make quite a pair. Yes, they do.”

  Lord, this was awkward. Alec stole another look at Annabelle, but she was staring out of the window. Her beautiful eyes were hidden from his view, but by her stiff posture and the tense line of her chin, he could tell she was upset. Rightly so. He only hoped he would be able to explain things properly.

  “Lord Fitzsimmons,” his mother interrupted smoothly. “I saw your treatise on farming innovations in The Times. Could you share your ideas with those of us who hadn’t the pleasure of reading it?”

  Jane’s father preened and settled into a long dissertation on the subject. So long, in fact, that no one else spoke for the remainder of the ride out to the Heath.

  • • •

  “Lord Fitzsimmons is a pedantic boor,” Aunt Sophia said once they were finally free of the carriage, and at a distance that encouraged honest discussion. “Why Dorset would wish to align himself with that pompous flap-jaw, let alone his bluestocking daughter, I will never know. They've quite driven me to drink.” Spying a wine steward, she slipped away.

  They were welcome to him. If Annabelle still harbored any illusions about Alec Carstairs, the ride here effectively shattered them. Why hadn’t she guessed it before now? He was on the verge of proposing to Jane. He’d known it when he kissed her.

  Which was why she was determined to put him behind her once and for all. She would see him at the Hertford’s party tomorrow night, and then at her come-out ball, to be held in a few weeks’ time at Marchmain House. Afterward, she need never speak to him again. And if there was a sudden lump in her throat making it difficult for her to swallow, she’d recover. She’d recovered from far more painful things.

  Alec’s mother had picked one of the most bucolic corners of Hampstead Heath for their picnic. A large white linen tent was set up in the middle of a long sweep of grassy lawn, complete with pennants that fluttered in the soft breeze, like something out of a medieval tournament. She could see several long tables inside, each topped with pristine white linens, and a veritable groaning board of assorted foods. Small seating groups were set up beneath the shady trees that dotted the lawn, and there were perhaps two dozen people in attendance, including Lord Marworth and a number of the gentlemen who had called on her. She didn’t know any of the young ladies who sat in a pretty array of pastel gowns with their mothers, but hopefully she would find a friend among them. There would be lots of opportunities today to meet new people. Lady Dorset had planned a series of lawn games and ordered horses brought from the Park Lane mews, in case any of her guests wanted to explore the heath.

  Hopefully, Alec would take one of those horses and ride straight into the Thames.

  “Miss Layton?”

  Lord Marworth was walking toward her with those long strides of his. “Although I told her I wished to keep you all to myself, our hostess has insisted you meet a few of the gentlemen and ladies of my acquaintance. Will you join me?”

  Pasting on her brightest smile, she said, “Do you promise that none of them bites? If so, I shall be delighted, Lord Marworth.”

  “Not a one of them will bite you,” he replied with a sly grin. “But I might.”

  • • •

  By all appearances, Annabelle was enjoying herself immensely. All afternoon long, Alec heard her laughter in the distance, as she and the other guests played the lawn games. There were pantomimes, word puzzles, and even an archery contest, during which Annabelle amazed all with her prowess.

  But as free as her laughter was, she didn’t smile at him. Not once. Indeed, she looked away whenever their eyes met, and he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak with her. Lord Fitzsimmons had trapped him into a discussion about parliamentary procedures, and he was too old for the games anyway. But they looked like fun. Annabelle enjoyed them, and he wanted to share her joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as carefree as she seemed today, smiling in the company of her new friends.

  “Lord Dorset,” Jane interrupted prettily, earning a look of censure from her father. “I hope you won’t mind if I return home with Lady Fairbanks and her daughter, Miss Traemore. We are well acquainted through my work with the Society for Indigent Children, and we’re all quite fatigued by the afternoon’s festivities.”

  “Not in the least, Miss Fitzsimmons. I’ve enjoyed your company, and I appreciate your help with Miss Layton.” Thankfully, her father decided to join Jane in an early departure. Alec was finding it difficult to think of anything besides his need to speak with Annabelle.

  As he looked about, however, she was nowhere to be found. Indeed, most of the guests had disappeared. Had he and Fitzsimmons missed the entire picnic? He vaguely remembered a footman bringing them plates of food, but that had been quite some time ago. After a quick perusal inside the tent, he turned to find Benjamin standing directly behind him. The man was as quiet as a cat.

  “Have you seen Miss Layton?” Alec asked.

  “I have indeed. She’s the sort that makes your eyes linger.”

  “She’s not one of your flirts, Benjamin. Where has she run off to?”

  “Miss Layton and her aunt left with your mother several minutes ago. You were distracted by Miss Fitzsimmons.”

  “I couldn’t get away from her father. I wanted to speak with Annabelle privately.”

  “I’ve been trying to speak with you privately all week, but you refused to see me.”

  “I know, and I am sorry. I’ve been busy preparing my arguments for the bill.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Miss Layton,” Benjamin said. “I have important news to share.”

  Alec was suddenly uneasy. “Tell me your intentions toward her. She’s no woman to be made a sport of.”

  “What a prig you are, Alec. I have the upmost respect for Annabelle.”

  “Are you pursuing her?” he asked, his voice tight because Marworth had used her given name, hinting at something between them. “Do you find her attractive?”

  “That’s an inherently silly question. She is a remarkably beautiful creature. But I’m not pursuing her.”

  “You’ve been doing a fine imitation of it, then. You hardly left her side today.”

  He could hear the jealousy in his own voice, and when Benjamin grinned widely, Alec wanted to smash his obnoxiously handsome face.

  “You have it bad, don’t you, Dorset?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Had Annabelle told Marworth about that night at the opera? He’d not believe it.

  “Well, you may rest easy. Annabelle Layton has no interest in me, despite my best
efforts to charm her, and I’m far too lazy to expend energy in a pointless pursuit. Furthermore, it’s obvious something is between you two.”

  “You are imagining things. I’m only looking after her as Gareth would have.”

  Benjamin didn’t bother to respond. He merely quirked a brow in disbelief.

  “You don’t understand,” Alec said, suddenly tired of hiding his feelings. “You know Annabelle and I were once very close, but she doesn’t trust me. She thinks I abandoned her after Gareth’s death. She dismissed my vow to her mother as an excuse.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. Annabelle knows nothing about your vow.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Alec said, shaking his head to clear it.

  “Annabelle was told that you left Nuneaton to protect your family’s reputation from the scandal of the race.”

  The words had no bite at first. They were hazy and indistinct. Like that wound at Sabugal that he hadn’t felt, until he saw all of the blood soaking through his uniform.

  “Lady Layton made me swear I wouldn’t contact Annabelle. I could hardly ignore the wishes of a grieving mother. Are you saying Annabelle was never told the truth?”

  “You’re forgetting that Lady Layton blamed you for the death of her son. Annabelle was told that you wanted nothing to do with her.”

  God almighty.

  “She didn’t believe her mother at first. She sent several letters, begging you to return. To this day, she thinks you ignored them because the memories they prompted were too painful.”

  “I never received any letters. Christ, I’d have crawled back from Spain if I’d known Annabelle needed me.” His hands fisted at his sides, but there was no one to rail against. No one alive, anyway.

  “Lady Layton must have intercepted the correspondence. After all, how better to turn Annabelle against you than to let her believe those letters had been sent, but you never came?”

  He had an almost overpowering urge to sit down, to simply let his legs fall beneath him. A similar feeling had come over him at Badajoz, in that instant when he realized that there was only one way up to the fortress breach, and that it was between the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Only later had he let the horror of that sink in. Neither was this a time for hesitation.

  “I need one of the horses.”

  “Your mother asked us to return them to the mews. A few of the footmen have stayed behind to help.”

  “I’m sorry. I need to find Annabelle.” He ran to the closest mount, swung quickly into the saddle, and galloped off toward Grovesnor Square in the fading light of the day.

  • • •

  After a halfhearted burst of speed at the onset, the mews horse settled into such a lackadaisical trot that Alec could probably have outrun her. Indeed, the mare was so far removed in temperament and ability from Mars, she was surely a different species altogether. When at last, almost an hour and a half later, the horse finally stopped in front of Marchmain House, the sun had long since set in the sky. A wind was kicking up, and the windows of the grand houses around the square were twinkling with candlelight.

  He dismounted, tossing a coin to a street lad with instructions to return the horse. He was covered with road dust—a creased and crumpled mess—but waiting any longer to speak with Annabelle was untenable. On the long ride from the Heath, he’d kept revisiting their reunion at The Bull’s End, when Annabelle was so cold and distant. Was it any wonder, considering what she’d been told?

  Grief made people do terrible, illogical things, but Lady Layton hadn’t had the right to keep them apart. He could have been a comfort to Annabelle during her rehabilitation, all those long and painful months when she must have desperately needed a companion. Certainly, he wouldn’t have let the woman keep him away with a flimsy excuse about contagions.

  Or would he have? He’d already allowed his father to drive a wedge between them.

  Had he stayed, would things between them be different? Could they be different now? He rapped on the door, and within moments, Canby welcomed him into the wide marble hall.

  “I apologize for interrupting what is most likely the dinner hour. It’s urgent that I speak with Miss Layton.”

  “I am afraid Lady Marchmain and her niece have left for Almack’s. Their vouchers were delivered this morning.”

  Alec withdrew his pocket watch to check the time. It was just after 8:00 P.M. They might be there for hours. He briefly considered rushing home to change into formal attire so that he could meet them there, but they might also return at any time.

  “I would like to wait here, if you are amenable.”

  “Certainly, my lord. May I suggest the library? Lord Marchmain found it a most comfortable room. I will also have a tray sent up, along with some of the countess’s favorite libations to keep you company.”

  Minutes later, he was sitting on a deep-seated Grecian sofa in front of a warm fire. The library was blessedly free of floral tributes for Annabelle. A selection of breads and sliced meats had been placed beside him, and he had a glass of Gran Riserva in hand. What he did not have was patience. He had no way of knowing when she would return. And at the moment, he had little idea of what he would say when she did.

  Chapter 14

  Hours later, Alec was still in Sophia Middleton’s library. The fire in the grate was burning brightly—a footman had come in over the course of the evening to stoke it—but out in the square, all of the neighboring houses had gone dark. A steady rain had begun to fall, and the wind rattled the windows in their frames. He checked his pocket watch. It was past midnight. Voices suddenly sounded in the hall.

  “Nasty weather, and it came on so quickly … A visitor, at this hour?” It was the countess who spoke. “Lord Dorset? How very curious.”

  The voices moved closer.

  “If you don’t mind, Aunt Sophia, I will take myself off to bed. I’ve never danced so much. Thank you for talking my wrap, Canby.” Annabelle sounded breathless. Strained.

  “If he’s out at this hour and in this weather, my dear, Lord Dorset has important news. Let us see what this is about.”

  “I’d rather not,” Annabelle replied, but their footsteps were already headed this way. He stood hastily, brushing at his creased clothing.

  “Lord Dorset.” The countess swept into the parlor. “I hope nothing is amiss.”

  “I apologize most sincerely, but it’s rather urgent I speak with Miss Layton.”

  Annabelle walked into the room with a stiffness in her gait he’d not seen before. As beautiful as she was, it was obvious, to him at least, that she was in pain.

  “I can’t think of anything so pressing, Lord Dorset, that it must be said this evening,” Annabelle replied. “You should return home before the weather gets worse. I bid you good night.” She turned to leave the room. Was she limping?

  “Annabelle, please. I have waited here all evening for you.” She stopped at that, squaring her shoulders as if preparing for battle.

  “Is that brandy?” Lady Marchmain asked. “How marvelous! Why don’t I pour each of us a glass?”

  “No, thank you, Aunt Sophia. I am sure this will not take long.”

  Her aunt looked at Annabelle, and then at Alec, and then back at her niece again. “Come to think of it, I’m desperate for one of the petit fours we enjoyed after dinner. I asked Cook to hide them from me for just this very reason. They are the most delicious things. I must go and ask Canby if he knows what she’s done with them.” Lady Marchmain swung about, moving toward the hall. “Leave the door open, Lord Dorset,” she called over her shoulder.

  But as she left the room, she pulled the door shut.

  “Annabelle, is your leg bothering you?” He couldn’t hide his concern, although he made no move toward her.

  “You persist in calling me that, when I would prefer you didn’t. It intimates a closeness we obviously don’t share.”

  “Come and sit here by the fire.” He gestured toward the large Grecian couch, with its roll-curv
ed ends and bolstered cushions. “It will relieve the pressure on your leg. Does it pain you often? You don’t have to hide it from me.”

  “My leg is none of your concern, but rest assured, it would feel better if I were upstairs, tucked into my bed. That way, neither of us would have to endure this conversation.” She made no move to sit down.

  God, he was an ass. Annabelle had every right to be angry at him, and not because her mother had spread lies. His misplaced sense of responsibility was the reason she stood before him, distant and aloof. “I’m sorry I haven’t apologized before now.”

  “It’s not important,” she said, staring directly into his eyes. “None of this is or was.” Only when she looked away did he realize she wasn’t as composed as she seemed.

  “After the other night, I should have come straight here.”

  “But you’ve been very busy, after all. At the picnic today, Jane told me how hard you have been working at Fitzsimmons House.”

  “She was at home when I called on her father. He is a co-sponsor with me.”

  “I’m glad to see she’s feeling better,” Annabelle replied, her voice tight. “I’m also doing much better, too, if you are interested to know it. I suffered from an excess of emotion just days ago—a case of histrionics, if you will—but it has passed.”

  She thought that he’d been toying with her. “Annabelle, if I can just get through the next week, there’s a good chance my bill will meet with approval, and I can focus on other things. Important things,” he said. “You are very important to me. I am sorry I didn’t send a note to explain why I was delayed.”

  It was hard to find the right words to say. He looked down at the floor. The rain outside was pelting the windows now. “Annabelle, about what happened in the carriage—”

  “Please,” she said, waving her hands dismissively. “I don’t need another apology. It is unnecessary. I found the whole of it quite enlightening. Instructional, even.”

  His head snapped up at that.