A Wedding Wager (21 page)

“Well, Abigail won’t be hanging out for a husband for long,” William said with a proud smile at his daughter. “Such a pretty puss. I’ve been turning lovesick swains from the door since her fifteenth birthday. And unless I’m much mistaken, there’s another one or two in the offing. Isn’t that so, puss?” He refilled his tankard from the ale jug at his elbow.

Abigail’s blush deepened, and she murmured, “For shame, Papa. I don’t know what you mean.”

“No, that’s no way to talk, Mr. Sutton.” Marianne came to her rescue. “You’re putting the poor child to the blush.”

“Oh, she’s not embarrassed by her foolish old papa,” William declared with a dismissive gesture. “A proud father is allowed to be just that, don’t you agree, Heyward?”

“Certainly.” The general’s smile was a mere flicker of his lips. “Might one ask, Miss Sutton, who has been lucky enough to find favor in your eye?”

“My father is mistaken, sir.” Abigail found strength in indignation. “And even if he were not, I would not be so indelicate as to enter such a discussion.” She glanced at her mother, who nodded her approval.

“Abigail is quite correct, Mr. Sutton. Such matters are hardly subjects for the table.”

“Oh, we are among friends, Mrs. Sutton,” her husband remonstrated with a chuckle. “Isn’t that so,
Heyward?” He waved at the butler. “Brandy, Morrison.”

“I would certainly hope so,” the general concurred.

Marianne pushed back her chair. “Come, Abigail, we will leave the gentlemen to their brandy.”

Abigail, greatly relieved, followed her mother from the room and up to the drawing room, where Morrison was setting down a tray of coffee. “I can’t like it when Papa talks with the general like that, Mama.”

“No, well, that’s just your papa’s way.” Marianne poured coffee. “He wants only the best for you, child.” Privately, she resolved to keep her husband as much away from Society as she could during Abigail’s debut. She was fond enough of William, but he lacked refinement, and while his generosity was wonderful where his daughter was concerned, his manners could be off-putting in the more genteel circles where she hoped to find Abigail’s husband.

Abigail sipped coffee and quickly dismissed the general as she dreamily contemplated the prospect of two suitors, both handsome, charming gentlemen, one with whom she felt instantly familiar—she and Jonas Wedgwood shared too many experiences for them to be anything but instantly comfortable with each other—and the other an exotic aristocrat with the most beautiful manners and the entrée into the most rarefied circles of Society.

She resolved to ask Serena about him the next time they were alone. He and Serena seemed like old friends, or at least acquaintances.

“The Blackwater earldom is one of the oldest in the country,” her mother said suddenly, uncannily tuning in to her daughter’s thoughts. “If the present earl does not have an heir, his brother will inherit.” She sipped her coffee. “There are two younger brothers, as I understand it. Twins, but the Honorable Sebastian is the older of the two by some three minutes.”

“How d’you know that?” Abigail was always amazed at her mother’s ability to glean trifles of information from thin air.

“Oh, just something Morrison told me. Apparently, Lady Serena’s maid was very talkative in the kitchen and seemed to know a great deal about the family. It’s often the case that the servants know more than most about Society families.”

“What’s his brother’s name?” Abigail was fascinated.

“The earl is Jasper Sullivan; the youngest brother is the Honorable Peregrine Sullivan.”

“Oh … I wonder if they’re identical twins.” Two blue-eyed, golden-haired Sebastians wandering the London streets struck Abigail as too much good fortune.

“As to that, I cannot say,” her mother replied. “But I wonder that Lady Serena didn’t suggest we invite the Honorable Peregrine to join our dinner party with his brother.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t know him very well,” Abigail suggested.

Marianne nodded and took a sweet biscuit from the tray, dipping it into her coffee. “Maybe so. It will
be a great success, anyway. I do wonder, though, if we shouldn’t have invited the general. He could always decline.”

“But why oblige him to go to the trouble, Mama?” Abigail asked, taking up the
Lady’s Gazette.
“’Tis a young people’s party. You said so yourself.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Marianne settled back in her chair and closed her eyes, preparing to take an afternoon nap.

Sebastian returned home, kicking himself for provoking that acid exchange and yet convinced that he could not hold his tongue about something as vital as Serena’s well-being, let alone her happiness. How could she possibly expect him to stand aside wringing his hands while she persisted in this grim and dangerous charade with her stepfather? If she had any true feelings for him, she would surely acknowledge his right to speak up. He may have spoken immoderately, but he had been provoked in his turn. Perhaps he needed to accept that Serena’s feelings for him did not run as deep as his for her. And if that was the case, then, based on past experience, he needed to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. It was a grim thought that he wanted to resist, but it sat like a persistent shadow over the sun-filled meadow of his earlier contentment.

Peregrine was coming down the stairs as his twin let himself into the house. “You look as if you lost a guinea and found a farthing, Seb,” he observed, adjusting the set of his hat in the small mirror.

“I wish it were that simple,” Sebastian responded with a twisted smile. “Where are you going?”

“I thought it was time to pay a duty visit to the old man. I haven’t seen our esteemed Uncle Bradley since last month. D’you feel like keeping me company?”

“Why not?” Sebastian sighed. “It couldn’t make this day any worse.”

“Care to talk about it?” Perry turned his full attention on his brother. “I’m in no hurry.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not at present, Perry, but thank you for the offer. I’m too confused to know where to start.”

Peregrine had little difficulty guessing the source of his twin’s dour expression. He had seen it all too often three years earlier, and he wished Lady Serena Carmichael at the devil. She had never been anything but trouble for Sebastian. But there was a line even the closest brother couldn’t cross. So he said nothing further, following his brother out to the street.

“Shall we walk?”

“If you wish. ’Tis a nice enough day.” Perry acquiesced easily, and the two of them set off towards Piccadilly and the Strand. They walked in silence, dodging the foot traffic along Piccadilly. Conversation would have been difficult, anyway, with the strident yells of street vendors, carters and chairmen bellowing for custom, the clatter of iron wheels on the cobbles, the barking of mangy dogs, and the occasional high-pitched squeal of
a horse, rearing to an abrupt halt at some obstacle in the stream of traffic.

Sebastian seemed sunk in a morose reverie, failing to notice even the painted and powdered Cyprians in their dramatic décolletage, strolling with their maids through the crowd, their exposed bosoms an indication of the wares on offer. This seeming blindness was out of character, Peregrine reflected, and yet further evidence of his troubled mind. Sebastian would usually be ogling the passing ladies with his quizzing glass, offering a cheerfully obscene running commentary on their attributes. He wondered what the hell it was about the woman that enabled her to hold such sway over Sebastian.

Outside Viscount Bradley’s stately mansion on the Strand, they both paused, automatically and without consultation preparing themselves for whatever might await them within. There was no knowing in what mood they’d find their uncle, although sharp-tongued was a certainty, whether he was in a good frame of mind or bad. It depended to a large extent these days on his physical well-being.

Louis, their uncle’s general factotum, opened the door at their knock. He was resplendent in green livery and white wig. “Mr. Sebastian … Mr. Peregrine. I’ll see if his lordship will see you. Lord Blackwater is with him at the moment.”

“Oh.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Well, shall we go up?” He moved to the staircase.

“I suggest you wait in the antechamber, sirs, until Lord Blackwater leaves. I will then ascertain if his lordship is willing to entertain further visitors today.”

It was couched as a suggestion but, coming from Louis, had the full force of a commandment. The brothers nodded their agreement and made their way up the ornately carved horseshoe staircase to a set of double doors to the right of the galleried landing. The doors opened onto a thickly carpeted antechamber. The brothers were so accustomed to the rich furnishings in Indian and Oriental style, the profusion of gold and silver ornaments, the delicate porcelain figures, and the heavy gilt-framed paintings, that they barely noticed them. Viscount Bradley had made his considerable fortune in India and the Orient, and his house and possessions reflected a life spent in the Far East.

“Wonder what brings Jasper to the old man’s bedside?” Sebastian made straight for the decanters ranged on the sideboard, examining them with his quizzing glass. “Lord, you’d think the old man could run to a decent port or cognac once in a while, wouldn’t you? Nothing here but sherry.”

“I suspect he keeps the decent stuff for himself.” Perry frowned. “I haven’t seen Jasper for a couple of weeks. He’s probably just making a duty visit, as are we.”

At this opportune moment, the door to the viscount’s bedchamber opened, and Jasper emerged. He looked at his brothers without undue surprise. “Seb, Perry, how are you? You’ve timed a visit to the old man rather
poorly, I’m afraid. He’s in one of his worst moods, irascible and ready to insult anything that moves.”

“You didn’t bring Clarissa, then.” Peregrine glanced mischievously towards a screen painted with a most voluptuous odalisque. “She’s not hiding behind the odalisque today.”

Jasper smiled and shook his head. Peregrine was remembering the first occasion he and Sebastian had met Mistress Clarissa Astley, now Countess of Blackwater. “No, I shield her from the old devil as much as I can.” He poured himself sherry. “Be careful in there.” He gestured with his head to the bedchamber behind him.

As he did so, the violent clanging of a large handbell came from the bedchamber, and before the last discordant note had died down, a lean, black-robed figure appeared from a side door and slid into the bedchamber without acknowledging the occupants of the antechamber.

Jasper grimaced. “Poor devil. Take a look at the old man’s memoirs if you get the chance. He’s tormenting that innocent Benedictine priest he has acting as amanuensis with the most obscene confession you could imagine.”

“What d’you mean, Jasper?”

“Just that our revered uncle is composing his memoirs as a sort of final confession, using Father Cosgrove as his confessor, so that he will meet his maker properly shriven. And by paying us to save a lost soul apiece, he has formed the twisted idea that he will achieve his own
redemption.” He gave a short laugh, drained his glass, and set it down.

“You didn’t exactly find a lost soul,” Peregrine pointed out, sipping his sherry. “Clarissa was never really in need of redemption.”

“True enough,” Jasper agreed. “But that little fact we keep to ourselves. The viscount had to accept her, whatever he believed.” He regarded the twins over his glass, his eyes sharp and shrewd. “So tell me, how are your quests going?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Not as well as yours.” Now was not the moment to share his dilemma with either of his brothers. In fact, he wasn’t sure there ever would be a right moment.

Peregrine blurted suddenly, “To tell the truth, Jasper, I don’t like it. We’re playing a game of our uncle’s. He’s baited the hook, and he’s playing us like trout.”

“So you’ve said before,” Jasper responded, his voice harsh. “And as I’ve said before, Peregrine, you will
not
neglect your family duty. If we don’t meet the terms of Bradley’s will, the estates will be gone. They’re already mortgaged to the hilt, and the Blackwater name will be dishonored. I understand it doesn’t seem fair, but little in life is. We were not responsible for the burden of debt, but
I
am responsible for dragging the family out of the River Tick. And I need your help. So find yourself a wife to fit Bradley’s specifications. I don’t give a damn how you do it, but do it you will. Is that understood?”

Perry, ashen-faced, nodded. “Understood.”

The earl nodded. “Come for dinner next week, both of you.”

The door closed behind him, and the brothers looked at each other. “I don’t think I have the stomach for Uncle Bradley anymore,” Perry said after a moment.

“I don’t blame you.” Sebastian shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time Jasper went off at one of us like that.”

“He’s carrying the full burden of the family’s demands and running the estates,” Perry said. “It must be a constant anxiety. But damn it, Seb, I didn’t mean I wouldn’t play my part. I was just expressing my reservations. Don’t tell me you don’t have any.”

Sebastian thought of Serena. Adhering in love and loyalty to Serena, if indeed that was what he intended to do, meant he could not fulfill his part of the bargain. But after Jasper’s castigation, he couldn’t imagine confessing that. “Of course I do,” he conceded.