Fortune's Lady (15 page)

After being introduced to so many self-absorbed, heedless young men who spared little, if any, thought for the responsibilities of their aristocratic heritages, Althea had never expected to discover a kindred spirit in the worldly Marquess of Harwood, whose reputation for gaming and women of ill repute hardly suggested that he would give a second thought to country concerns, much less the plight of the rural poor.

Althea climbed into bed that night looking forward to the next day with more pleasure than she had since leaving Lincolnshire for London. It seemed that she had a friend at last.

The next morning, however, brought a rude awakening.

Jenny appeared with her mistress’s morning chocolate, wearing an anxious look. “It is Master Reggie, my lady, and he looks to be in a rare taking. Wishes to see you immediately.”

“Thank you, Jenny.” Althea scrambled from bed and dressed hurriedly. Her cousin rarely rose before noon. Something must be seriously amiss for him to be calling at the unheard of hour of nine o’clock.

One glance at her cousin as she entered the drawing room confirmed Althea’s suspicions. Something was dreadfully wrong. The immaculate Reggie was rumpled and unshaven, his ordinarily cheery countenance pale and haggard. Clearly he had been up all night.

“Reggie, whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, Allie.” He hurried over to take both her hands. “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost it all.”

Lost what, Reggie?” Althea led him to a sofa and sat, pulling him down gently beside her. “Lost what?”

“All of it. Everything. My family is right; I
am
a complete nodcock.”

“Now calm down and tell me what happened.”

“Well”—he gulped—”I have been after the Marquess of Harwood forever to let me play against him. You needn’t look at me like that, Allie. I know you warned me, but
you
beat him and, well, a fellow has his pride. Can’t let it be said that his female cousin can win against the cleverest card player in town while he does not even dare to try his own luck. At any rate, it made no difference, for he refused to play against me, until last night, that is. He was in the card room at Brooks’s when I looked in some time past midnight. He was among friends and in a jovial mood so I challenged him again. He declined again but his friends would not let him. They told him not to be so high in the instep, but he told them that he refused to ‘pluck country pigeons.’ Me, he called me a
country pigeon!
I told him that I would not suffer such an insult, that he could either meet me at the gaming table or at the dueling ground. Seeing that I was deadly serious, he finally agreed to one game of piquet. I told him that since he had chosen the game, I would choose the stakes. There was no way a gentleman could refuse, so I wagered my estate against his.”

“Reggie! You did not!”

“Well, his place in Essex is worth twenty times what Kennington is. I was compelling him to accept a wager that would force him to show all the world that he took me seriously.”

Althea shook her head at the follies of male pride.

“I could see that he did not like it—you know the way his eyes narrow and it almost seems as though he can look straight through a person. But at last he agreed. He also called me a ‘young fool’ under his breath. I was not meant to hear it, hut I did.” Reggie’s face darkened at the memory and he swallowed hard. “At any rate, I had rather he known as a fool than a coward.”

“He asked me to set a date and offered to have the game in the privacy of his lodgings, but I was having none of that. I told him we should do it then and there. I shall not bore you with the details except to say that he beat me in very short order.” Reggie paused to look at his cousin earnestly. “He is very good, isn’t he, Allie?”

She nodded grimly as he dropped his face into his hands and groaned. “I do not know what I shall do. Now I do not even have the ready to buy a commission, and I
will
not go to Augustus. I got myself into this, I shall just have to get myself out.”

Althea smiled and held out her hand. “I am afraid so, Reggie, but all the same, I shall try to see if there is anything I can do.”

“No, thank you. It just helps to have someone to talk to, and you are a brick for not throwing it in my face that you told me not to. Oh, I wish I had listened to you!”

‘“I am certain you will think of something, Reggie. You can be very resourceful when you set your mind to it. Remember how you fixed the rowboat when we put a hole in it landing on the island?”

He smiled faintly at her and rose to take his leave. “Thank you, Allie. You are the only one in the family who has any use for me.”

Privately Althea thought her cousin was the only one in his family worth knowing, the rest being prosy old bores pompous enough to make her own parents look positively frivolous. But it would do him no good to hear that now. “Nonsense, I am simply the only one who speaks well of you to your face. The rest are like Papa and Mama, who believe that praise spoils a person.”

Reggie shook his head slowly. “No. It is not like that. You truly are good, whereas I have been nothing, but ... Well, never mind that.” He straightened up. “I got myself into this trouble; I shall just have to get myself out.” His face crumpled for a moment. “But however shall I? At any rate, I shall not bore you with any more useless complaining. Thank you for listening, Allie.” He turned and hurried from the room before his cousin could frame a reply.

Althea paced the drawing room furiously for some time after Reggie had left. He had told her that he did not need her help, but that was not going to prevent her from venting her fury on the perpetrator of her cousin’s misery, or from taking revenge.

But all her pacing did little to help her master the anger and the corroding sense of betrayal that threatened to overwhelm her. How could the man who had seemed so sympathetic and understanding the previous evening have turned into such a monster of callousness before dawn, and to the man he knew to be her cousin!

How could he have agreed to match his own superior skill against an amiable young man who clearly possessed more hair than wit? And how could a man whose own father had gambled away his heritage deprive someone else of his?

The dreadfulness of it all knew no bounds. That the one person in all of London whom she had come to trust, yes, even to like, should behave so despicably was more shattering than Althea cared to admit. Had she been as big a fool as Reggie? Had she been duped by those shared confidences, that special light in his eyes when he smiled at her, the concern in his voice when he spoke of her plans, into thinking that she meant something to the Marquess of Harwood, that they were friends?

She slumped back down on the sofa, her face in her hands. An aching misery made her throat feel painfully tight. Tears stung her eyes, but she would not let them fall. She sniffed, swallowed, blinked hard, and stood up.

No, she was
not
going to give in to her distress like a weakling; she was a Beauchamp after all. She might as well take advantage of the one useful thing her parents had given her—pride.

Not only was she not going to give in, but she was going to triumph. She was going to win back Reggie’s land, in addition to the good faith the Marquess of Harwood had stolen from her, and she was going to do it before she was another minute older.

Banging the door to the drawing room behind her in her haste to carry out her plan, Althea hurried back to her bedchamber where Jenny was tidying up her mistress’s things. “Jenny, I must go out. I shall need the new walking dress that was just delivered and my azure silk pelisse.”

“Yes, miss.” The maid quietly did as her mistress instructed, but she was bursting with curiosity. Everyone knew that Althea’s cousin never arose before noon at the earliest and spent at least two hours closeted with his valet, never appearing abroad much before three o’clock. Something must be seriously wrong. And her mistress, who had been bred to maintain an icy calm in the face of disaster, was trembling so badly that her hands shook as she allowed Jenny to help her out of one dress and into another.

“Thank you, Jenny. Now, will you discover, if you can, whether or not Mama has gone out? She spoke of consulting with Madame Celeste over material for the ball at Carlton House.”

“Yes, miss. I shall not be a moment.” More curious than ever, the maid went to find out what she could about the Duchess of Clarendon’s whereabouts. Obviously her daughter was planning on going out somewhere, and just as obviously, she did not want her absence or her destination known.

Chapter 17

In fact, Althea was forced to wait over an hour longer until the duchess’s carriage rolled off toward Bond Street. Barely able to contain her impatience, she was unable to distract herself with reading or correspondence, and had to content herself with pacing her bedchamber until Jenny came to report that the duchess had left. “Thank you for doing that, Jenny. Now fetch your cloak and bonnet. We are going to pay a visit to a ... a blackguard.”

“Oh, miss, are you quite sure that ...”

“Quite sure. There is only one thing to be done, and I shall do it.” And holding her head high, Althea marched down the stairs with her maid scurrying behind her.

She kept up the pace all the way down South Audley Street until they turned the corner of Curzon Street, but
her furious pace slackened as she drew closer to the Marquess of Harwood’s door.

When Reggie had confided the tale of his losses to her she had been immediately ready to go do battle, but now that she had nearly reached her destination, she began to question herself. What if he were not there? She could hardly follow the Marquess of Harwood about town hoping to challenge him to a card game. What if he refused? What if she lost?
Enough, Althea,
she scolded herself.
Where is that stupid obstinate Beauchamp pride now that you need it?
Taking a final deep breath she mounted the steps and nodded to Jenny to lift the knocker.

Ibthorp’s grizzled countenance remained impassive as he announced Lady Althea’s arrival to his master, but his brain was working furiously. A woman calling on his master was significant enough in itself, but a well-brought-up young lady calling for the second time was a serious event. Was this the reason behind the marquess’s uncharacteristic attendance at several dull but fashionable
ton
events, or his sudden decision to appear at Almack’s? Ibthorp could have been knocked over with a feather the previous evening when his master had ordered him to lay out his satin knee breeches.

“Knee breeches, sir?” he had asked in amazement.

“Knee breeches,” the marquess had responded firmly.

“Very well, sir.” Ibthorp had followed orders as a good servant should, but his tone had clearly suggested that his ordinarily trustworthy master had taken leave of his senses.

Now Ibthorp knew why. Their caller was something quite out of the ordinary, with that regal carriage and the be-damned-to-you-all sparkle in those magnificent blue eyes.

“Lady Althea Beauchamp,” he announced unnecessarily as Althea swept into the room.

“Why, Lady Althea, what a ...”

Althea cut the marquess short. “How could you! I thought we were friends. How could you behave so despicably to anyone, but especially to someone who is like a brother to me—no, closer to me than any brother I would be likely to have.”

Gareth’s welcoming smile vanished and his eyes narrowed. “You have been speaking to Reginald, I gather. Young fool.”

“Of course he is a fool. And you knew he was nowhere near your equal, yet you agreed to play against him anyway. And here I thought you were a man of honor. I can see how wrong I was.”

“Errors in judgment being difficult to conceive of in someone as perfect as the incomparable Lady Althea Beauchamp, and even more difficult to accept.” If Althea’s tone had been cool, Gareth’s was positively icy, his gray eyes as dark as flint in his white, set face.

“At least I
try
to behave well.” Althea’s heart was thudding so loudly she could hardly hear herself speak.

“A useless exercise. I learned not to attempt the impossible years ago, so I gave it up.”

“Well, I have come to give you the opportunity to rectify that situation.”

‘‘How kind. Lady Bountiful here to redeem a lost soul. No, thank you. I do not need redeeming. I prefer a life without illusions. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other people to ruin.” His air of sneering nonchalance was belied by the tightly clenched hands held rigidly to his side, hands so tightly clenched that every tendon, every blood vessel stood out as clearly as an anatomical drawing.

“Then ruin me.” Althea sat down at a small table and pulled out a new deck of cards from her reticule. “I shall play you for all that Reggie lost.”

“Very noble of you, I am sure. But what if you lose? Ladies in general have nothing but their jewels or their, ah, honor, to stake in games of chance.” His glance swept her from head to toe in a way that made Althea’s face grow hot and her skin tingle ail over.

Some unknown and treacherous part of her made her wonder if losing would be all that unpleasant after all. Pride, however, quickly reasserted itself. “I will win,” she vowed.

“But if you win he will not thank you for it.” Eyes never wavering from her face, Gareth took the chair opposite from her,

“Nevertheless, I will win, and fairly, too. Do not underestimate me, my lord. I am clever enough to know if you let me win.”

“You do me too much honor. I leave such outmoded chivalric ideals to fools like your cousin.” But his gray eyes were softer now. The hard, bright glitter had vanished to be replaced by an expression of wary admiration.

There was no doubt that she looked magnificent with her cheeks flushed and the deep blue of her eyes made even deeper by the blue silk pelisse that she now removed, as well as the white satin bonnet. Without the pelisse she looked a good deal younger and more vulnerable, the high lace collar of her walking dress emphasizing the delicate oval of her face and the soft lines of her lips.

For a moment Gareth hesitated. Should he make her happy? All he had to do was restore the estate to her useless cousin. He glanced again at the dark, fringed eyes regarding him steadily across the table. No. She would not thank him for such weakness. She wished to beat him, to win back the estate from him fairly and squarely. Then he would give her what she truly wanted—the card game of her life.