Once Upon a Wager

by Julie LeMense

  That declaration, however, merely recalled the other crime Alec had been accused of. The one the ton seemed to consider the greater sin, because it had supposedly been perpetrated against one of their own. And rumors had been running wild.

  “Did you know the brave young lord he killed?” Lady Fairbanks asked. “Or the girl he left for dead? I like to imagine that she walks among us even now, waiting for revenge. But of course, she was horribly maimed, and I can’t think of anyone with nasty scars in full view. Perhaps she wears a veil?”

  “Perhaps she wears seven veils, just like Salome,” Aunt Sophia said. “No doubt she dances around, demanding the head of Lord Dorset on a platter.”

  Lady Fairbanks responded with a blank stare.

  “Just a thought. Now if you’ll excuse us,” her aunt continued, “my niece and I are eager to find our seats for the performance.”

  Thankful for the intervention, which had saved Lady Fairbanks from a painful encounter with her fist, Annabelle followed Aunt Sophia past the crowd. “Digby is turning an accident into a crime,” she said in a low voice as she took two glasses of lemonade from the tray of a passing footman. “Why can’t I admit my role that day? People know I believe in Alec’s innocence.”

  “Lord Dorset does not wish to link the two of you in any way, given the scandal. You must remember that.”

  Not since the darkest days of her recovery had Annabelle felt so helpless. What was the point of being accepted by society when so many of its members were buffoons?

  Aunt Sophia paused to survey the crowded room. Gilded chairs with tufted cushions were set up at the front of the parlor, where a small stage was adorned with instruments and a pianoforte. Chairs had also been placed near the entrance to a side hall. “Let us move to a corner of the room that lies close to a convenient exit. I’ve not heard good things about the Danforth girl’s abilities.” She took a sip of her lemonade as they moved forward, and promptly grimaced. “If this is the only libation we are to enjoy this evening, I will argue for an early departure.”

  “I would be devastated if Miss Layton left before we had the opportunity to renew our acquaintance, Lady Marchmain.”

  The man who had spoken was directly behind her, but Annabelle didn’t need to turn around to know who he was. He had surprised her before, behind the folly in the formal gardens at Astley Castle.

  “Will you not greet an old friend, Miss Layton?”

  At that, she spun around, eyes flashing. “You were never my friend, Mr. Digby. And you were no friend to Gareth.”

  He’d changed. He was older, of course, and there was a long scar now that ran down one cheek. But he still had the same smirking grin he’d worn that night, the one that told her she would not be safe with him in the dark. He leaned in, his voice lowered. “Surely you do not want our shared past to be known? Wouldn’t the ton be surprised to know that Dorset’s victim blooms like a flower among them, the fairest lady in all the land?”

  “You are the one with secrets to hide,” Annabelle said. “You’re the one whose lies have set the ton on its ear.”

  “My dear Miss Layton. I have no quarrel with you. I sincerely regretted your brother’s untimely passing, which we all know was Dorset’s fault. I am also thrilled beyond measure that you are healthy and well. You’ve exceeded even the promise of your youth.”

  “I do not believe a word you say.”

  His face darkened. “Perhaps when we know each other better, you’ll learn to agree with me.” He turned toward Aunt Sophia, who was silently assessing their exchange. “I hope, Lady Marchmain, that you will forgive the lack of an introduction between us. Your resemblance to the late Lady Layton is remarkable. It’s not difficult to see where your niece gets her beauty.”

  “You are a charmer, aren’t you, Mr. Digby?” Aunt Sophia drawled. “Just not a very good one. Come along, Annabelle. The company is such that I suddenly find myself eager for the music to begin.”

  • • •

  “I’m relieved to find that my ears are not bleeding, as I’d first suspected,” Aunt Sophia announced later that evening, as she looked into the ornately carved mirror hanging above the escritoire in her bedroom. “When Miss Danforth attempted that final note of Mozart’s Queen of the Night aria …” Cringing at the memory, she turned to Annabelle, seated directly behind her on a chaise lounge. “No, we must not relive it. It was horrible enough the first time.”

  “But not as dreadful as our encounter with Mr. Digby.” Annabelle was still unsettled by the experience, her fingers picking restlessly at the folds of her evening gown. “His eyes were on us the entire evening.”

  “He looked like a peacock in that uniform,” her aunt sniffed. “Puffed up with self-importance, reveling in the attention of fools who consider him some sort of hero.”

  “This is all part of a campaign to destroy Alec. Why does no one else see it?”

  “Do you think that this stems from the circumstances surrounding Gareth’s death?”

  “I think it must,” Annabelle replied. “When Gareth arrived in Nuneaton for his party, he was very interested in the outcome of a horse race in London. He’d placed a bet on it with Digby, one I’ve no doubt he could ill afford. Even the race that killed him was prompted by some sort of wager between them.”

  “It sounds as if Digby recognized Gareth’s weakness for gambling and preyed upon it.”

  “Which must be why Alec became involved.” For so long, she had wondered why he'd raced that day. “Lord Marworth told me that after the accident, Alec made sure Digby wouldn’t be able to get his hooks into anyone else.”

  “That would explain Digby’s quest for revenge,” Aunt Sophia said, her brow furrowed in thought. “But it does not explain Lord Fitzsimmons’s complicity in the plan. Unless …”

  “Do you think he could be under Digby’s sway, as well?”

  “The man lied in front of the entire House of Lords, risking the loss of his position and prestige. This is about more than money.”

  “But the change in Fitzsimmons’s behavior can be directly tied to Digby’s arrival. Before that, he was actively encouraging a match between Alec and Jane. That day at the picnic, he could not have been more obvious about his hopes in that regard.”

  Aunt Sophia came over to sit beside her, pressing Annabelle’s hands into her own to still them. “I'm afraid this is very much about those hopes, my dear,” she said gently. “Anyone who has seen you and Alec in the same room together understands that Alec will not be marrying Jane Fitzsimmons.”

  At any other time, the observation would have thrilled her. Now, she was heartsick that she might have played a role in Alec’s downfall. If only she’d not been so obvious in her affections.

  “There has to be something I can do to help,” she said. “The Times has been reporting on the horrors at Badajoz. They are indisputable, but we both know that Alec was not involved. Digby is lying. The question is, how can we prove it?”

  “As a young, unmarried woman, Annabelle, there is very little you can do while staying within the bounds of propriety. If society turns against you, its judgment will be swift and uncompromising.”

  “I don't care a fig about society.”

  “My dear girl,” Aunt Sophia said, smiling broadly. “I couldn't be more proud of you if you were my own daughter. Not that I have ever wanted children.”

  There was a soft rapping at the bedroom door, surprising them both as Mary crept in and made a nervous curtsey.

  “Good evening, Mary,” Aunt Sophia said. “I would have thought you abed by now. You did a marvelous job with Annabelle’s hair tonight, by the way. The sapphire clips tucked behind each ear were lovely.”

  “Thank you, my lady. I hope I am not being a bother. I had wanted to speak with you privately, if I might.” She was blushing profusely. “Will you mind, Miss Annabelle?”

  “Not at all.” She certainly didn't wish to embarrass Mary further, whatever her concern might be. “I have a letter I must write. Can you b
elieve that my father is visiting in just two days’ time? What a pleasant surprise he’ll have, Mary, finding you here.”

  But it was obvious that Mary felt otherwise. “Yes, indeed,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed firmly to the floor. What could have so unsettled her?

  “Well then,” Annabelle replied. “Good night to you both.” As she passed through the door, pulling it shut behind her, she heard Mary say something about a burdensome secret. Knowing her as she did, though, she couldn't imagine that it was anything too terrible.

  • • •

  It was almost midnight as Annabelle waited beneath a cluster of oak trees at the edge of the Serpentine. Although the evening was not a cold one, she was bundled up in a voluminous black cape, so long that it trailed behind her in the grass. She pushed the hood back to keep her vision from being obscured, careful to keep her hair hidden from view. She’d promised Aunt Sophia yesterday that she would take every precaution to avoid being seen.

  This was an assignation, after all. Or it would be if Alec showed up.

  She turned at the sound of a horse galloping toward her, its rider also cloaked in black, his face barely visible in the moonlight, but she would know him anywhere. It had been days since she’d seen him, although it felt like a lifetime.

  Alec brought Mars to a standstill beside her and slid from the horse. However, the arms she lifted to embrace him fell back when she saw his expression, rigid with anger.

  “What in the world were you thinking, Annabelle? To come here as a young woman alone? Do you have any idea of the dangers that lurk in Hyde Park at night?” He pulled off his gloves, raking his hands through his hair. “All the way here, I've been imagining every kind of horror …”

  “I'm not precisely alone, Alec. Thomas, our footman, is waiting with my horse on the other side of the bridle path.”

  “But are you in his line of sight?” he asked. “If someone had accosted you, how quickly would he have known it? Do you never think things through?” He seemed to be struggling to rein in his temper. He took several deep breaths, long and slow. “Don’t you know that you are precious to me?” he said, his voice barely a whisper now.

  She reached up to caress his cheek, but he stepped back, putting more distance between them.

  “Why are we here, Annabelle?” he asked, his jaw tight once more. “In my last note, I thought I’d made it clear that we can’t be seen together. I refuse to have my shame become yours as well.”

  “But you’ve done nothing wrong,” she exclaimed. “Digby is lying.”

  “It hardly matters. I've already been tried and convicted by public opinion. In society, that’s more than enough to find me guilty.”

  “Then society is governed by people who can’t think for themselves.”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a humorless laugh. “It has been a rather spectacular fall from grace all the same. There are no more invitations to ton functions, or calling cards left on the silver tray in the hall. Instead, I receive threatening letters from people who don’t sign their names, and notices from my clubs announcing that I’m no longer welcome.”

  “Alec, there has to be a way to prove your innocence,” she said, alarmed by his air of resignation.

  “I don’t know how I can,” he replied. “I've written to Wellington, requesting an affirmation of my character, but even he can’t say where I was that night. I was alone in my tent, grieving for my father. And it’s not as if the real criminals will come forward to claim responsibility.”

  “Digby must have played a part!” She was thrilled by her deduction. “How else would he have known about the atrocities that took place?”

  “I’m afraid there’s no way to account even for Digby’s whereabouts. Tens of thousands of men fought that day. Thousands died,” he said, his eyes bleak. “Besides, Fitzsimmons serves on a committee in the Lords that is privy to war secrets. He could have leaked Digby the reports from Badajoz.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a crime if it could be proven? Perhaps there is a way to track Fitzsimmons’s involvement in this.” It seemed impossible that dishonorable, vindictive men could so easily destroy the most honorable man Annabelle had ever known.

  “Even if there were, the damage is done. In the last few days, I’ve gone from being a respected peer of the realm to being a rapist, a murderer. It would almost be funny were it not so devastating.”

  “There is nothing funny about this,” she insisted, indignant. “And I don’t care what people think. I only care about you.”

  “Annabelle,” he said gently. “So many men admire you. You don’t need a castoff from your childhood, especially one who can no longer give you the position and respect that you deserve.”

  “Don’t you know that you are the only man I’ve ever wanted, Alec?” she said, desperate to make him understand the depth of her feelings, to make him realize that they could conquer anything together.

  Still, he held himself back, hands pinned to his sides. And she knew with a sudden wash of grief that he would not touch her again, because he’d decided that there could be no future between them. Honorable to the end.

  “Come now,” he said. “Let me escort you back to your horse. I remember that your father is arriving tomorrow for your come-out ball. You’ll wish to be well rested when he arrives.”

  They walked together in silence, Alec scanning the horizon all the while, as Annabelle fought to maintain her dignity. She wouldn’t shame herself by giving into her heartache and bursting into tears. When they came upon Thomas, though, he must have sensed she needed one last moment with Alec, because he crossed to the other side of her horse, busying himself with her saddle.

  “Alec,” she whispered, pressing herself into him so that she could feel every long, lean line. “Won’t you please kiss me?”

  At first, she thought he would deny her, even as his eyes flared with longing. But then with a sigh that sounded like surrender, he slowly bent his head toward hers, and her lips softened with bittersweet anticipation, her pulse speeding with desire.

  His embrace never came. Instead, he touched his mouth to her cheek in a chaste, almost brotherly kiss. He lifted her onto her horse, thanked Thomas for his care, and turned into the night, his cloak swinging behind him. She wanted to call out, to ask him not to go, because with every step, he was breaking her heart. But she stayed silent, even though she could no longer stop her tears from falling.

  • • •

  As Father stepped from the Chessher’s carriage onto the sidewalk outside Marchmain House, Annabelle pasted a bright smile on her face to disguise her fatigue. Despite Alec’s admonition, she’d barely slept the previous night. She’d been too caught up in her despair. “How was the trip from Nuneaton?” she asked. “How well you look.” And it was true. Everything about her father—from his gaze to his attire—seemed less confused.

  “It was liberating, my girl. There is no other word for it. On some stretches of road, we went so fast, I imagined I was flying, soaring up from the earth, untethered and free.” He rushed forward, folding her into his arms. “All around us, there were signs of rebirth and renewal,” he continued, stepping back to smile down at her. “And I’ve discovered that the unfamiliar can hold unexpected surprises.”

  She could feel her eyes widen with shock. “I am so glad to hear it. Has Mrs. Chessher been keeping you very busy, then?”

  “Well, she has no patience for cataloging specimens, which was quite upsetting at the start. She made me take several walks into town, and I even went to services at St. Mary the Virgin. I was certain that no one could hear the vicar over the pounding of my heart. In the churchyard afterward, I saw the most beautiful butterfly perched on the stone wall there. I’ve never seen its like. I can’t wait to show it to you.”

  “You must slow down,” she said, laughing now. “I can't keep up with everything you say.” As the doctor and his wife descended from the carriage behind them, she called out. “What have you done to my father? I can’t remember the
last time he was so talkative.”

  “He has been a dear,” Mrs. Chessher said, stepping forward. “He is doing right well, too. I'm proud of him.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for seeing him here safely. Are you certain you cannot stay? Lady Marchmain and I had hoped you would rest here before continuing on to Dover.”

  “I wish we could, Miss Layton,” Dr. Chessher said with a quick bow. “I don’t often get the chance to take time from my duties in Hinckley. We need to be under way as soon as possible.” He glanced down at her. “Has your leg been giving you trouble?”

  “It rarely pains me, Dr. Chessher, and for that, I have you to thank.”

  “I may have bandaged your leg,” he said approvingly, “but your determination kept it. You were my bravest patient.”

  “I hardly felt so at the time,” she replied. In truth, she’d had no choice but to be brave. The only alternative had been the darkest despair. But she would not think of such things today, not when Father was doing so well. After the coachman removed his bags and the Chesshers departed for Dover, she moved with him up the steps to the house. “Are you excited to see London, Father?”

  “I am, my dear, but I’m happiest to see my glorious girl again. Come show me where you have lived these many long weeks.”

  They passed through the doorway into the impressive entrance hall, with its dizzying expanse of marble and gilt. “Aunt Sophia wishes to give us a few minutes,” she said with a warm squeeze of his hand. “Let me show you to the drawing room. We will wait for her there.”

  “Were all of these sent to you, Annabelle?” he asked as they crossed into the room, still filled with flowers, arrangements of every size and color.

  “It seems the thing to do. If a gentleman speaks with you, he must send you flowers.”

  “I am not so old that I don’t remember the rituals of courtship,” he said. “Before your mother and I were married, her drawing room was always filled with flowers. She was the toast of London, just like her daughter.”