Page 25 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“I see...” Edna popped the plum in her mouth, and it tasted like ash for all its sugar. “And what do you make of him?”
Violet clinked her nails against the table. Something was on her mind, and it had nothing to do with Edna’s engagement. “I think he looks at you as though you are the most important thing in the world. That is enough for me.”
Edna’s breath hitched. Violet must be mistaken. Of all the ways Albert looked at her—sometimes like she was his ward, sometimes like she was a creature floating in a jar—it couldn’t holdthatmuch tenderness. He was a convincing actor, that was all, and their love for one another was their script.
Violet stopped her tapping when Edna said nothing more. “Why…? Oh,whydo you look so glum, goddaughter of mine? Unless you are still perturbed over Craster’s visit last night...”
“Of course, I am. How could I not be?” Edna shook her head. “You said you had not invited him.”
“And I hadn’t. Someone must have slipped him a note, or he heard tell of it on a mill. I cannot say.”
Edna bit her lip. “And you don’t suppose Papa—”
Violet startled and grabbed Edna’s hand. “No, he wouldn’t dream of it. Not on your night. Your father is many things, but a rat is not one of them.”
With a shrug, Edna returned to her meal. “If you don’t mind, I would rather we speak of other matters. Tell me how things are with you.”
“Well, if you insist,” Violet said though she could barely contain her glee. “I have some news.”
Edna picked up her teacup, knowing exactly what was about to spill from her godmother’s mouth. She was wearing pink for heaven’s sake! It could only mean one thing. “You are in love,” she said flatly and took a sip of her tea.
She swore Violet’s eyes welled at her words, and the woman quickly looked away. “Is it so obvious?” she asked, but her surprise was masked by her delight. She looked twenty years younger, her ginger hair falling in tendrils around her face as though she had only just debuted. “Oh, but it must be. I am, my darling. I am in love.”
Edna’s heart soared first with glee and then pinched with something akin to jealousy. “That is...wonderful, Godmother. I am so glad to hear it.”
“Your countenance and lips are at odds, my darling.”
“Oh,” Edna laughed, trying to unfurl her brow to no avail. “No, truly. I am happy for you both. Assuming itisLord Miles you have fallen in love with and not some other poor unsuspecting lord.”
Violet tutted and swatted at Edna’s shoulder. “You are just as your mother was,” she laughed. “It is him, I fear. Oh, but how he makes me feel like a girl. I have not felt this way since I was first courted by Jamison, all those years ago. All fluttery and peachy and flouncing.”
“You certainly look it.”
Edna retreated a little then, realizing that she didn’t feel any of those things—not fluttery, nor peachy, and certainly not flouncing. Not now, at least, when Albert was so far from her. There had been a glimpse of it, last night, but even that was more like ayearningthanflouncing. Something bodily, something a little dark.
She was pining and then nervous for how much she pined. Now she felt envious, too. Violet’s every move was colored by her infatuation. Her gestures were light and purposeful, her words a little twinkling. Edna, instead, felt enthralled and weak as though Albert had snatched half her heart with his promise to keep her safe. It had been her price to pay.
She looked out of the large French doors that led to the garden, and a flock of sparrows darted past. She wondered where Albert was, and if he thinking of her, too. And then she stopped her musing, knowing it was without fruit.
* * *
Albert could not tear his mind from the thought of Edna. Mainly, he could not stop thinking of how close he had been to undoing all their hard work last night with the folly of his kiss. So close had he come to taking her as his own, his Blue—but there was no possession to be spoken of, not really. And if there was, it was artifice, it was part of their deal.
His warmblood whinnied as he settled atop their hill. It was his favorite spot in all of London: a little trail off the beaten path in St. James. He could see all of the town from here, spreading out before him under a veiling of clouds as was most British in fashion. He looked toward Westminster. Further than that, to Belgrave where Edna and her father lived.
She would be on her way by now, given how high the sun had crested. The thought filled him with dread and excitement in equal part. His uncle had left the ride a little while ago to meet with them, and Albert was thankful for the moment alone. But he was not alone at all.
“Penny for your thoughts, Remington?” he heard behind him, and he turned to watch Viscount Worthington canter toward him. His mare was sandy-colored and unruly, not unlike the Viscount himself. He hadn’t spoken to the man at all at the party, and he thought himself quite lucky. He was not blind to the man’s disapproval.
“I was considering your daughter,” he replied honestly. He would need honesty if he was to sell this dratted story, especially to the man who had most to lose.
“That makes the two of us.”
Albert swiveled on his saddle. “Is that so?”
The Viscount contemplated the view for a moment then turned back to Albert. “I love my daughter, you know. You may think me a scoundrel for wagering her away as I did, but it does not erode my love of her.”
“I hold no faith in the belief that love is absolute, unimpeachable,” Albert replied, trying to mask his stupefaction to the best of his ability. “I was not questioning your love of her.”
