A Wedding Wager (36 page)

“What is it, Sebastian?” Serena frowned at him in puzzlement, wondering why he was standing so still and silent at the foot of the bed. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I didn’t realize I was staring. I beg your pardon.” He punched one fist into the palm of his other hand as if making up his mind. “Last night, I asked you a question, one you told me was absurd. Now I’m going to ask you again, and I need you to think before you answer. Will you marry me, Serena?”

She paled, her eyes growing huge in her heart-shaped face. Reflexively, she pulled the coverlet up to her chin. “Why would you persist in this, Sebastian? You know ’tis impossible.”

“No, not only is it possible, ’tis absolutely the right and proper thing for us. I love you.” He spoke steadily, his eyes never leaving her face. “I cannot live without you.”

“Marriage to me would ruin you, my dear,” she said with soft insistence. “I love you too much to let that
happen. A Blackwater cannot wed a member of the demimonde, a fugitive from a river of unpaid debts, a gambler, a cheat … a poverty-stricken vagabond.” She laughed, a short laugh full of bitterness. “Oh, once, before the general appeared on the scene, it could have been, but not now, my love. You must see that.”

He came around to sit on the bed beside her, taking her hands in both of his, holding them tightly. “Will you let me explain to you why ’tis the perfect solution to everything?”

She looked at him, her eyes still huge in her pale countenance. “Must you prolong the agony, Sebastian? You know there is no answer.”

For a moment, exasperation flared in the deep blue eyes. Then he shook his head once and said with calm deliberation, “Trust me, Serena. Sit quiet and hear me out before you say another word.”

She owed him that, she thought, and even as she thought it, a tiny flicker of hope, a little flare of something remarkably like optimism, crept over her. Could Sebastian possibly have found a way through the maze? Could there be an answer that she just couldn’t see? Her fingers fluttered in his hand, and his warm hold tightened. “I do trust you,” she said. “I will listen.”

He nodded, relief shining in his eyes. “The answer, my love, lies in my uncle’s will.”

Serena couldn’t stop herself despite her promise. “What has that to do with us?” He looked at her in reproving silence, and she sighed. “I beg your pardon.”

“So I should hope,” he responded, but there was the hint of a smile in his eyes. And then, quietly, he explained Viscount Bradley’s will. He explained how he had had his sudden epiphany when he saw his uncle’s musings. He was careful to describe none of the details to Serena, merely gave her enough to understand the simple, glorious fact that if the viscount considered her fair game in the world of the demimonde, then he could not argue, despite her conventionally aristocratic breeding, that when she married his nephew, his nephew had not fulfilled the terms of the will.

Serena sat for a long time deep in thought. She was not squeamish about her own position vis-à-vis society, she had lost such delicate sensibilities long since, but her instinctive dislike of Viscount Bradley surged into a deep loathing.
How dare the man make such assumptions, treat me with such contumely?
“Did you hear about Lord Burford’s proposal from your uncle?”

“Yes, but does it matter?”

She hesitated. It
did
matter, and yet her pragmatic self told her that it shouldn’t. The only thing that really mattered was that, however despicable the means, the end could only bring happiness. Sebastian still held her hands between his, and she could feel his tension, his anxiety about her answer, radiating through his fingers. She looked up at the ceiling, watching the dancing shadows of firelight. “A little, I suppose, but not enough.”

“Do you love me, Serena?” He released one of her
hands and used his own to catch her chin, turning her face towards him.

She could not deny it, not even if she wanted to. The truth shone in her eyes. She said simply, “I always have done, from the first moment I saw you.”

“As I have you.
Marry
me.”

And there was only one answer. “If we can disentangle this tangle, I will, with all my heart.”

Sebastian felt a surge of such pure joy he could have danced on the table. He leaned forward, took her face between his hands, and kissed her. A long, slow kiss of final affirmation. “We can disentangle it,” he murmured against her mouth. “I have a special license, and we can be wed whenever and wherever we like.”

Serena could not respond to that for quite a while as he kissed her again, even more thoroughly than before, but finally, he moved his mouth from hers, trailed a kiss down the side of her neck, and then sat up, smiling at her with a look almost of wonder on his face.

She returned the smile with some of the same wonder. It did, indeed, seem as if they had wandered into a miraculous world where everything was golden. “How do we go about disentangling this? I cannot leave Pickering Place yet. And besides, what will we live on? Until you get your inheritance, that is. I don’t imagine you wish to open a gambling hell, and that’s about the only business I know.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he murmured. “I might quite fancy the disreputable life.”

“Well, I, for one, have had enough of it,” she responded. “So what alternatives do we have?”

He became serious again. “Until my uncle dies, I still have only five thousand pounds to my name.” It was rather less than that now, he reflected, after the special license and the six-month lease for the cottage. He went on musingly, “Of course, if we moved to the country in the interim, we could live very cheaply, even grow our own food.”

Serena began to laugh despite the gravity of the discussion. “Oh, dearest Seb, you don’t know one end of a spade from the other. And you couldn’t identify a carrot if it wasn’t cooked and buttered on your plate.”

“I’m not so feeble,” he denied, but then his eyes began to dance with merriment as he saw the funny side. They would be married. What difference did it make what they lived on?

Serena, smiling, said, “I didn’t say you were feeble, just not educated to till the soil and plant the corn.” Then she became serious again. “But you said that your brothers, too, must satisfy the terms of the will if any of you are to inherit. Can you be sure that will happen?”

“Jasper is already married. You’ll like Clarissa … Lady Blackwater. She’s rather like you in many respects.”

“Oh?” Serena’s interest was piqued. “How?”

“Independent, determined to pursue her own course, definitely not one to love, honor, and obey with any enthusiasm,” he said with a teasing smile.

Serena accepted that that particular quarrel was a
thing of the past and didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, she asked, “What of Peregrine?”

“He’ll do what’s necessary. He knows there is no choice.”

“So what do we do now?” she asked. “I won’t leave Pickering Place until Abigail is out of the general’s way.”

Sebastian sighed. He hadn’t really expected anything else, although he had half hoped. “As I said, I have a special license—”

“You were very confident, weren’t you?” she interrupted, and then gave a little squeal as he reached for her, hauling her towards him across the bed. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She laughed up at him as she lay with her head on his lap.

For answer, he placed a finger firmly on her lips. “Keep quiet and listen. We will be married as soon as possible, wherever you wish. And afterwards, you may return to Pickering Place just until Abigail is out of the way. And believe me, Serena, that’s not going to be very long. If something goes wrong with the Wedgwood proposal, then I will tell Sutton the whole truth and get him to whisk his daughter back to the safety of Stoke-on-Trent. And that, my love, is a promise.”

There was no way she was going to allow that to happen, but Serena kept that to herself. “Very well,” she said amenably.

Sebastian looked suspiciously down at her upturned face. “I do mean it, Serena.”

“Yes, my dear, I know you do.” She touched his mouth with her fingertip. “No need to look so stern.”

He gave up. “So when d’you wish to be married, and where?”

Serena considered. “There seems little point in waiting,” she mused. “Tomorrow, or rather today … is that too soon?”

“Oh, no,” Sebastian murmured. “Not too soon at all. Where shall it be?”

Serena’s eyes lit up. “In that little church in Knightsbridge. No one will know us there.”

“Tomorrow in Knightsbridge it shall be.” He lifted her so that she was sitting on his knee, her face level with his. “Will you mind if I bring my brothers as witnesses?”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. Besides, I’d like to meet the Earl of Blackwater and his countess. I’m interested to see if she truly does resemble me.”

“Oh, trust me, you two will get on like a house on fire.”

Jonas Wedgwood was banging the doorknocker of the house in Bruton Street five minutes before eight that morning. Morrison didn’t seem in the least surprised to see this very early visitor.

“Mr. Sutton is at breakfast, sir. If you’d come this way.” He escorted Jonas to a small room at the back of the house, where William was consuming his first
breakfast; the second and less serious took place when the ladies eventually made an appearance.

He looked up from his veal cutlets as Jonas was announced. “Come in … come in … take a seat. What’ll you have? These cutlets are very fine, but I can vouch for the deviled kidneys, unless you’ve a hankering for the black pudding and the oat cakes. Can’t get those in London, but m’cook knows exactly how I like ’em. Try ’em, dear boy.”

“Thank you, sir. I haven’t had an oat cake for two months.” Jonas helped himself liberally from the sideboard. “And blood pudding, too. Wonderful.”

William nodded his approval. “These southern folk don’t know good food … all this namby-pamby fricassee and coddled eggs. How’s a man supposed to do a day’s work on that?”

“How indeed, sir.” Jonas sat at the table with a laden plate and nodded his thanks when a full tankard of ale was pushed towards him.

“So.” William buttered a hunk of bread. “What was it you wished to talk about?”

Jonas choked on his oat cake. In the joys of such a familiar breakfast, he’d actually forgotten for a moment what had brought him there. He recovered quickly, took a swallow of ale, and stated, “I wish to offer for your daughter, sir.”

William nodded. “Always did like a man who didn’t beat about the bush,” he said. “What does Abigail think of this?”

Jonas looked a little shocked. “I haven’t approached her directly, sir. It wouldn’t be proper before I spoke with you.”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense. If a man likes a maid, he makes it clear, and if she likes him, she makes it clear back.”

“I do think Miss Sutton … Abigail … returns my regard,” Jonas said with some difficulty. “Nothing has been said exactly, but …”

William laughed and refilled his tankard. “Yes … yes. I think you’re right. Well, you have my blessing, my friend. Whether you’ll have Mrs. Sutton’s is another matter. She’s her heart set on a magnificent marriage for Abigail.” He shrugged. “I’d have no objection if I thought the child wanted that, too, but I’m not so sure about that. I think she’ll be more comfortable among her own kind.”

“Oh, yes, sir, so do I,” Jonas said with so much enthusiasm he blushed brick red. “I can give her everything, sir. Every comfort, her own carriage, a fine house, a harp—”

“Don’t, I beg you.” William lifted an arresting hand. “You’ll regret a harp to your dying day. A pianoforte, maybe.”

Jonas dropped his eyes to his plate, trying to conceal his amused agreement with his love’s fond papa. “Whatever you say, sir.”

“Well, I’ll talk to Abigail and then to Mrs. Sutton, and we must hope for the best in that quarter.” William
returned his attention to his breakfast and his newspaper.

Jonas knew better than to renew a conversation that was clearly over. He finished his breakfast with enjoyment, rose, thanked his host, and made for the door.

“Come back this evening, Jonas. Take your pot luck with us,” William instructed as the young man opened the door. “If you’re going courting, best to start right.”

“Yes, sir.” Beaming, Jonas went into the hall and out into the chill but sunny morning, feeling as if all was right with the world.

William completed his own breakfast and went into the library to start on the day’s business. At ten o’clock, he heard his wife’s voice from the hall telling Morrison to serve breakfast, and a few minutes later, Abigail’s light step sounded on the stairs a moment before she put her shining head around the library door.

“Good morning, Papa.”

“Good morning, m’dear.” He beamed at her. “Fresh as a daisy, pretty as a picture, as always.”

Her blue eyes sparkled. “Mama said to tell you breakfast is served.”

“I’ll be along in a minute.”

Abigail closed the door and went into the dining parlor, where Marianne was already seated in front of the teapot. “Is your father coming, Abigail?”

“In a minute.” Abigail took her seat at the table and smiled her thanks as a maid set a plate of eggs in front of
her. She glanced covertly at her mother, trying to gauge her mood. Marianne had said nothing to her daughter last night, apart from bidding her good night as usual, and Abigail was curious to know what her mother had thought of the evening.