Page 5 of Enticing Odds
“How charming,” she sighed, “and romantic!” Her voice sounded treacly and strained, despite her best efforts. Anyone who knew her would mark the sentiment for the blatant falsehood it was. “I wish you every happiness in the world.”
Happiness, it seemed, was reserved for the middle classes. Handsome, bumbling doctors and nameless girls who likely had naught to offer but a pretty face and a pleasing nature.
Cressida had possessed both a pleasing nature and an impressive dowry, once. Her pretty face, thankfully, remained, with two charming dimples and large brown eyes. Certainly she no longer carried the fresh-faced innocence of youth, but there was much to say for the elegant lines of her jaw and cheekbones. Not to mention how producing two sons had blessed her with a more voluptuous figure. But somehow, standing before this kind, burly man, it all seemed nothing more than the elegant façade of an empty house.
Never mind all that. It mattered little that this Dr. Collier wasn’t interested in her. She had two lovely sons, an esteemed reputation, and a rather fetching wardrobe. Not to mention thediplomat who would happily share her bed when he returned to England.
Cressida didn’t need this man’s warmth simply because he was handsome and kind.
So she sighed, finally, in resignation.
“This Mr. Rickard, you say… shall we see if we might ferret him out? There’s not a place he could hide in Rowbotham House that I couldn’t uncover.”
Dr. Collier studied her, and for a moment she worried her expression had betrayed a hint of her disappointment.
But then he nodded, resolute. “I suppose he might also be found with a Miss Harmonia Sedley?”
“Miss Sedley?” Cressida breathed, then snapped her fan open. “Why, Dr. Collier, what an intrigue you’ve brought before me. I suppose I ought to thank you for it.”
Although, whatever young lady the doctor pined for wouldn’t much appreciate Cressida’s way of showing her gratitude.
A pity, then, that she’d never be able to do so.
Chapter One
Wolverhampton, Staffordshire, April 1874
“You might pretend tobe happy for me, Matthew.”
Harriet fiddled with her bouquet before looking up tentatively.
She grinned.
And why should she not? No longer was she Harriet Coxwell—the lanky daughter of a lock manufacturer, whose lips moved silently when she read from theBook of Common Prayerin her lap, or who smiled shyly as she passed him the salt cellar from across the table. Now she was Harriet Grice, wife of a banker, with cheeks round and flushed, looking well pleased with herself. After all, she ought to be bursting with joy, oughtn’t she? Her eyes were lit with excitement.
Dr. Matthew Collier reckoned he’d never seen a kinder, more handsome pair of eyes in his life.
“I am,” he said. He swallowed as his gaze shifted to her new husband, standing proud as a peacock in his morning coat, his voice booming good-naturedly as he spoke with the assembled well-wishers. Matthew looked back to Harriet with whatever semblance of a smile he could muster. “I’m so pleased. For you.And him—Mr. Grice.” Matthew prayed she could not hear the strain in his voice, nor see it on his face.
“Truly?” she breathed.
It gutted him. She looked as near an angel as he’d ever seen, swathed in a pristine white dress, with a wreath of orange and myrtle blossoms atop her neat, fair hair.
“Of course. Why would I not? You’re the oldest and dearest friend I count,” Matthew choked out, suddenly overwhelmed by memories from across the past twenty years. “No one is more deserving of…” He glanced around the Coxwells’ generous dining room, with flowers spilling out upon every surface. “Of all this,” he finished in a solemn tone.
For he meant it. Harriet deserved everything. A large, stately house. A jocular, well-liked husband. Children, as many as she wanted.
And if she’d found it with Mr. Percival Grice instead of with him, then so be it.
For the two of them were not meant to be, and Matthew refused to allow any bitterness to creep in. Unfortunately, that meant only one emotion remained: sorrow. And it had violently taken hold.
“Oh, Matthew, I can’t tell you how pleased that makes me.” Harriet lifted her bouquet and clutched it to her chest. The gesture made her look younger than she was. “I know that you once harbored a…” She trailed off and looked down, blushing prettily. “Well. There was a time when I had assumed that we might come to an agreement, but that wasyearsago.”
At that, Matthew’s throat thickened, and not with catarrh.
“Why, I’d all but given up hope ofanyoneever offering after last autumn when my birthday passed without notice,” Harriet continued in a merry voice, unaware of the brutal pain slashing through him with every word. “When Mr. Grice did, I was so stunned I stood there for an age! Can you imagine, mymouth hanging open like some great cod lying upon ice at the fishmonger’s stall? Surely I must have been the happiest woman in Staffordshire, with a gentleman such as him noticing me.”
“Your birthday?” Matthew said, frowning. “But we celebrated, did we not?”
