Page 6 of The Wager
“Are you now accusing my niece of gossip? I am fully disgusted by your arrogant behavior and cannot remain in your presence any longer.” Lady Courtland turned to her husband, completely ignoring Ashton’s stunned expression and subsequent questioning look he shot at Darcy. “I wish to go home, immediately.”
“As you like, my dear. I shall call up the carriage while you make our farewells to Lady Montrose.” Lord Courtland leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek. “What shall I tell anyone who asks why we are leaving so early?”
“I have come down with a colossal headache, brought on by two towering jack—” She paused and amended her word. “—jackals masquerading as family.”
Her husband gave her a soft smile.
“I will tell them you have a megrim. No need to stoke the fires of gossip any further.”
“What of Elizabeth? She may have gone to the lady’s withdrawing room.”
“You know her better than that. She is very likely in the library reading some tragic Greek novel. I shall have a footman check there first and ask that she meet us in the foyer in a half-hour.”
All this time, neither the marquis nor his lady wife looked at or acknowledged their cousins, that is until Lord Courtland stepped toward them after his wife had quit their presence to find Lady Montrose.
“I am unsure why the two of you think it is all well and good to look down your collective noses at those you deem unworthy. Keep in mind, while you think you are so grand, perched on your high rung of the social ladder, those below, forced to look up, do not see fine gentlemen. All they see are a pair of asses.”
It appeared the marquis was not afraid to use the word their cousin had amended. Lord Courtland strode off to call for his carriage and find his niece.
“Can you tell me what has just occurred? I gather the lady you insulted was Lady Courtland’s niece, as well as our cousin.”
“One of the late Earl of Tiverton’s daughters.”
“Well, you certainly stepped into it, Darcy,” Ashton teased. “I have told you more than once you would at some point rue the day you turned your patrician nose up in the air without cause.”
Ashton then rubbed his hands together and began to canvas the room.
“Now, you still must fulfill the terms of our wager and dance the supper set. Who is your partner this evening?”
“Lady Courtland was my partner, until… well, you know, my disgraceful conduct became public knowledge,” Darcy said and could not stop himself from tracking the movement of their older cousin as she spoke with their hostess. “I ask you to grant me reprieve for the rest of the evening. I am not in the mood and will likely follow our relative’s example and go home.”
“I would be remiss if I did not caution you against quitting the field. As it is, the nattering grannies will dine out on this morsel of gossip for weeks. Hold your head high and find a nice unassuming lady to petition for a dance.”
“You have now fallen below even Frederick.”
“I am pierced.” Ashton, once again, clutched his chest in mock agony. “Pierced that your esteem for me has fallen below our ne’er-do-well disreputable second cousin who is banned from all family gatherings.”
“He at least would not demand I dance three sets a ball.”
“No, his terms of the wager would have had you bedding three wenches in one evening, mayhap all at once. He is an unrepentant rake and seducer of innocents, and would love nothing better than to drag us all into his den of iniquity.”
“I would never agree to such terms. I think I would rather be thought of as ungentlemanly than partake in anything Frederick offers.”
“True. Enough dilly-dallying. You need a dance partner.” Ashton suddenly smiled. “I have just the person. Come with me.”
“No, I refuse to blindly go with you to meet some young lady.”
“My terms are non-negotiable, and the orchestra will be sounding the opening chords any minute. You will secure a partner for this dance. Now, come with me, no arguments.”
Darcy followed his cousin to the outside edges of the ballroom and came to a halt in front of two young ladies who looked startled at their abrupt arrival.
“Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne. May I introduce my cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire?” Ashton turned slightly toward Darcy. “The Misses Dashwood currently hail from Devonshire. Their father’s estate was Norland Park in Sussex.”
“Mr. Darcy,” both ladies said as they dropped into polite curtsies.
“Miss Dashwood,” Darcy replied. “Miss Marianne.”
“Miss Marianne,” Ashton said. “Would you do me the honor of dancing the supper set with me?”
