Page 13 of A Lady's Wager
A few of us are playing billiards at Smyth’s tomorrow afternoon. Consider this your invitation.
— J. Whiting
“What is it?” Mrs. Stewart asked. “You’ve gone rather grim.”
Derrick rushed to fold the note. “I…” She’d picked his name. Another moment to enjoy her company. Her presence was a soothing balm to wounds he didn’t realize he had, but even the best of medicines could prove toxic after a time. “I’m off to Newport in the morning to meet with one of my former captains.” Surely Lennox had heard from his admiral father since the news of Louis XIV’s death and would have some notion as to how many ships would be called into action. No one knew exactly what the volatile French government would do next, but England wouldn’t sit idly by.
“Surely you’ll be back,” she said. “You’ve only just arrived.”
Derrick blew out. Would he be back?
“Your grandmother tasked me with looking after you,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “You haven’t given me the chance.”
He smiled weakly. He couldn’t return to Bristol, not with his heart threatening mutiny. Neither could he disappoint her. “I’ll try to return within the week.”Trybeing the most important word in that statement.
Her eyebrow rose. It didn’t take that long to travel to Newport, meet with one man, and come back. “Very well. I shall eagerly await your return.”
As he quit the breakfast room, running through the list of things he’d have to see to before his departure tomorrow, he should have felt free. He could forget the weight of expectations, of a society too obsessed with making matches. He’d done it before—set the topgallants and sped away when it seemed some young woman or her mother intended to make a prize of him.Staying wasn’t worth the risk of playing into their trap and getting forced into accepting a marriage he didn’t want lest he ruin the girl.
Yes, leaving would be a relief. If only he wouldn’t miss her company.
Corah had never marched into the assembly hall with so much enthusiasm before. The pale blue silk of her gown glistened in the candlelight as she paused by the mirror to be certain the rich crimson lip paint Jemima applied hadn’t bled onto her teeth. With careful fingers, she laid the two thick curls hanging down from her coiffure over one shoulder.
“You’ve never cared so much about an assembly before,” Melinda muttered as she also primped.
“I always wish to look presentable.”
“Yes, but not so intensely as this.” Melinda seized her elbow. “Admit it, Corie. You like him.”
The little laugh that had lived inside her since Sunday’s dinner, which she’d attempted to bottle up, would not be restrained. “Perhaps.”
Melinda grinned, tugging on her sleeve. “I knew you did! I simply knew it!”
“Hush, Mel. No need to alert every guest.” Corah gave a demure smile to the mirror. That would do.
Her cousin linked arms with her as they proceeded to the ballroom, leaving her aunt chatting with an acquaintance. “How sly of you, not letting on that you knew him to Miss Whiting,” Melinda whispered. “You’re cheating.”
The crush of people made it difficult to locate familiar faces. “I did not want to make any wagers in the first place,” Corah said, going up on her toes to see through the forest of powderedheads. “I have no guilt.” At the sight of Mr. Haltwhistle, she immediately lowered from her perch. She did not want an encore of the last assembly. “Do you see Mrs. Stewart? Perhaps he hasn’t left her yet.”
“Or he’s escaped to the cardroom.”
A logical suggestion. He’d hidden somewhere the entirety of the last assembly. Games wouldn’t have started yet, as the minuet had not commenced, but he could be conversing with other gentlemen.
“Let us drift in the direction of the cardroom door,” Melinda said. “We can peek in and see if we spot him or Mr. Grant.” Melinda’s target for the night.
On their way, a pair of gentlemen stopped them and engaged them for the dance following the opening minuet. Corah tried her best to look flattered, but she couldn’t help her eyes racing about the room. Mrs. Stewart would be easier to spot. The lieutenant seemed to prefer darker, less flamboyant colors. Where was the woman?
The opening bars of a minuet drifted through the ballroom, and the cousins hurried to clear the dance floor. Miss Whiting was the lady dancing, of course. What use was owning assembly rooms if one didn’t display their family to best advantage? Corah didn’t watch the intricate steps the couple performed for all to see.
“Do not frown so,” Melinda whispered. “Mama says it will become permanent. Like Grandfather.”
Corah relaxed the muscles of her face with great effort. Where was he?
“There you are, girls.” Aunt Mary appeared beside Melinda. “Miss Whiting is such a lovely dancer.”
“I fear I am coveting her, Mama.” Melinda leaned against her mother, who laughed and hugged her.
“You both dance as well as anyone, never fear.”
