Page 2 of A Private Wager
Collins nodded. She understood her instructions. It wasn’t her skill with the ladyship’s coiffure or even her ability to tackle stubborn wine stains on fine fabric that kept her employed, after all. It was her ability to ferret out information.Lady’s maid, yes, but also spy extraordinaire,Collins thought with a satisfied smile. Indeed, she could have been one of Wellington’s own.
“Yes, my lady. I’ll let you know as soon as I discover anything of note.”
CHAPTER ONE
Miss Lucy Dawes came down for breakfast while her aunt and chaperone, Mrs. Wilson, remained abed. The journey to Lady Pandora’s estate had not been a pleasant one for her, but then her aunt was a notoriously poor traveler. She suffered horrid sickness whether in a carriage, on a ship, or even horseback. If she wasn’t moving place to place on her own two feet, she would require a day’s convalescence at least. In short, Lucy would not have a chaperone until the following day. It was something of a disaster.
She absolutely detested being in society, being part of the marriage mart. It was a ridiculous enterprise for someone who had no wish to be married. With a sizable dowry, she encountered fortune hunters at every turn. Without her aunt’s presence at her side, she would be at their mercy. They would clamor around her like a pack of wild dogs.
Steeling herself against that prospect, she pulled her shoulders back, lifted her chin in a haughty, challenging manner, and entered the breakfast room like a general going into battle. It rather felt that way. How she detested it all! It wasn’t marriage itself that she was opposed to but rather being married only for the wealth she could bring. Surely, if she were to tie herself to a man for the entirety of her life, she deserved to have someone who actually saw her value as a person rather than just as a walking, talking bank note.
Most of the guests gathered for the morning meal were single young women and bachelors. Married ladies had the prerogative of taking a breakfast tray in their rooms. Why they should be afforded such a luxury when it was denied everyone else was simply a mystery to her. She wanted a tray in her room, to be served in privacy and to enjoy the morning meal without having to first don her stays and several layer s of clothing. But no. She’d have to eat her eggs and kippers while staring at men who stared at her and saw only a stack of sovereigns.
Ignoring the gentlemen (though she doubted most of them deserved that title), she smiled at a few acquaintances as she filled her plate. Once she had selected servings from a few of the many dishes that had been set out, she took a seat at the table between Miss Winnie Melton and Miss Georgiana Cole. They were all well acquainted with one another and friendly enough, if not bosom companions.
Miss Cole was giggling behind her hand. Lucy looked at her in surprise, “What ever is so amusing, Miss Cole?”
“Viscount Harcourt and his cousin, Mr. Warfield, have not taken their eyes off you since you entered this room, Miss Dawes,” Miss Cole whispered. “I cannot imagine what you have done to make such a conquest! The viscount and his cousin are both quite confirmed bachelors.”
“Perhaps I have something on my face,” she mused. “Regardless, it’s terribly rude to stare, and I will not indulge in such behaviors myself. It would behoove you, Miss Cole, to remember that. You are rather gaping at them yourself.”
Miss Cole blushed and immediately diverted her gaze to her plate. “Quite right, Miss Dawes. A lady never wishes to appear overly eager for a gentleman’s attention. I do wonder, though, if it is the viscount who means to court you or Mr. Warfield.”
“It does not matter. I have no wish to entertain a courtship form either of them,” Lucy replied sharply. Even as she said it, her gaze drifted down the table to where the two men sat shoulder to shoulder. They were both handsome, but it was the viscount who drew her attention most notably. With his dark hair and slashing brows, he was rather striking. But she was not interested in men who were only interested in her money, and given what most would consider her rather unfortunately plump figure, that seemed to be all of them.
For her part, Lucy had no problems with her figure. Yes, she was plump. But she was active. She went for long walks, she went horseback riding, and she swam in the summer months; she simply had a large frame and a body that seemed to want to hold onto every morsel she ate in the form of extra pounds. Much to her family’s dismay, she was not inclined to starve herself to alter the matter. She was quite content with herself.
Another glance down the long expanse of the table, and her gaze collided with that of the viscount. A frisson of something she could not name ran through her then, snaking along her spine and leaving her entire body tingling in its wake. It was a discomfiting situation, though not precisely an unpleasant one. Still, it left her rather unnerved. Those sorts of feelings always did, though she’d encountered them very infrequently. In fact, only one man, other than the viscount, had ever made her feelso strange and jittery inside. He was the reason she was now so terribly wary of all other would-be suitors.
Abruptly, she tore her gaze away from the viscount’s and determined that she would not look his way again. Her past lessons in love had been hard won and hard learned. It didn’t matter how handsome he was. She’d not risk making that mistake again.
“There she is!The object of your affections. Well, of your campaign, at any rate,” Barton offered as he chortled in a very self-satisfied manner.
With an aching head, a queasy stomach, and eyes that felt as if he’d rubbed sand in them, War was in no mood for his cousin’s antics. “What the devil are you taking about?”
“Our wager, cousin. Do you not remember?”
No, as a matter of fact, he did not remember. “What wager?”
Barton smiled like a cat who’d wolfed down a canary. “Stonecrest against Craddock Hall…if you can woo and win Miss Dawes’s hand.”
War was horrified. “I would never have made such an ungentlemanly wager. A betrothal is a serious matter, and a lady’s affections are not to be toyed with in such a manner!”
Barton’s smile only widened, his eyes filling with malicious glee, “I should have mentioned that the brandy you were consuming so freely last night was from Osgood’s personal supply—two parts brandy to one part absinthe.”
It was no bloody wonder he felt like death had chewed him up and spat him out. “Good God! That could be a potentially lethal combination. Why on earth did you not warn me?”
“I’m your heir, cousin,” Barton offered with a smile that made it impossible to tell whether or not he was serious. “It’s to my benefit if you shuffle off the mortal coil. Not that I would wish for you to, of course.”
“The wager is moot at this point,” War said. “I was clearly not in my right mind when I accepted it!”
“What a pity it is, then, that I have it in writing.” Barton pulled a piece of folded parchment paper from inside his coat. “Signed by you and witnessed by both Osgood and Whitton.”
Unease settled over War as he noted his cousin’s calculating gaze. “Who suggested this wager?”
“Does it matter?” Barton asked. “Your agreement to it is in writing. If you forfeit, then Stonecrest is mine.”
“You would really hold me to this wager knowing that it would involve lying to and manipulating a young woman who has done nothing to warrant such treatment?”
