Lady's Wager (12 page)

“A wager.” Edward snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Why
didn’t I think of it before?”

“Think of what?” George slammed his book shut.

“I know how to win Miss Stuart but I’ll need Lady
Redding’s help.”

“No you don’t. You need to march over to her house and
refuse to leave until she accepts you. It’s what I did with your mother. We
didn’t make things so complicated in my day.”

“Miss Stuart is too
headstrong for such a direct approach.” Edward regarded his father in triumph.
“For Miss Out and Outer a plan is a very necessary thing.”

*****

Charlotte sat in the window seat in her room, attempting
to concentrate on a medical treatise but her mind continued to wander back to
her dreadful evening in Rotten Row. She wasn’t sure what concerned her more, Aunt
Mary finding out about the near kiss or Lord Woodcliff declaring his feelings
for her.

Charlotte abandoned her book for the window and watched a
cart filled with barrels rattle by on the street below. She didn’t want him to
care for her any more than she wanted to lose her heart to him, for there was
still the matter of his lack of money. It made everything he’d done tonight
seem like a ruse to win a rich wife, except for the honesty in his eyes. Where
the Comte’s eyes had remained reserved, Lord Woodcliff’s had been eager and
tender. The Comte’s words had always been well measured, but Lord Woodcliff
spoke with his heart. He also listened to her, not in the forced manner of the Comte,
but as she’d always wished a man would.

Charlotte snapped the curtain shut and stormed to her
dressing table. How foolish she’d look after all her protestations to change
her mind about him. Everyone would enjoy watching her regret her words. And
what of her freedom? She wasn’t ready to toss it away, not when there was still
so much to be done with the hospital and the country clinic.

Charlotte picked up her quill, intending to complete one
of her many unfinished letters but she couldn’t concentrate. Never in her life
had she been so confused. She’d always been able to find answers to every
problem—tonight every answer created a new question, until Charlotte found
herself arguing in circles.

A quiet rap at the door drew her attention.

“I see you’re still awake.”Aunt Mary walked into the room
and sat down on the bench. Beneath it Minnie watched with wide eyes but didn’t
get up. “I’m worried about you. You hardly ate any dinner and you were very
quiet this evening. It’s not like you.”

“I have a headache,” Charlotte tossed off, attempting to
resume her letter.

“Nonsense, you never have headaches. Did you and Lord
Woodcliff quarrel?”

She didn’t dare look at her aunt but continued to write.
“No, he displayed the most ungentlemanly behavior and I dismissed him.”

“That’s not how John described it.”

She whirled to face her aunt. “You shouldn’t listen to
servant’s gossip.”

“John has been with us too long for his word to be
considered servant’s gossip,” Aunt Mary scoffed. “What happened between you and
Lord Woodcliff?”

“We didn’t quarrel.” Charlotte laid down her pen. “He
declared his feelings for me, then took advantage of me.”

“Charlotte, no man has ever taken advantage of you,” Aunt
Mary tut-tutted.

Charlotte’s pride bristled. “This is a serious matter.”

“Of course, my dear.” Aunt Mary nodded solemnly then
patted the bench beside her. “Come, sit by me.”

Charlotte reluctantly joined her aunt who took her hands
in her own small ones.

“You’re like a daughter to me and we’ve always been good
companions but there will come a day when your uncle and I will no longer be
here for you. You’ll have your freedom and your fortune but who will you have
to care for you?”

“I have friends,” she weakly protested, scooping Minnie up
out of the basket and clutching her against her chest.

“And they’ll be a great comfort to you but no friend can
offer you the love of a husband, or a child. I’ve enjoyed the love of a husband
and with you my dear, the comfort of a child. I only want the same for you.”Aunt
Mary took Charlotte’s face in her hands. “My dear, you keep your own counsel so
I can’t begin to guess the truth of the situation.”

Aunt Mary paused, waiting for Charlotte to tell her but Charlotte
couldn’t, not when she wasn’t even sure.

“If you don’t have feelings for Lord Woodcliff,” her aunt
continued, “then follow your heart, but don’t allow whatever reservations you
have about marriage to close you off entirely from love.”

Aunt Mary kissed her on the forehead then slipped out of
the room.

Charlotte stroked Minnie’s soft fur as the tears slid down
her cheeks to wet the back of her hand. Fear was keeping her from love, and
there seemed nothing she could do to overcome it. She detested this weakness as
much as the lonely future Aunt Mary had laid out for her. She could change it
all if she wanted to, but she didn’t know how. Even if she found a way to quiet
her worries, after tonight, Lord Woodcliff wasn’t likely to want her or give
her a second chance. He’d laid out his feelings to her and she’d stomped on
them. She didn’t deserve his regard.

Charlotte followed Aunt Mary into Lady Redding’s drawing
room, still debating her decision to attend the salon tonight. Although she
adored these evenings, Lord Woodcliff had been invited and she wasn’t sure what
would happen when they met again. He might cut her as one of her other spurned
suitors had done in the past. If he did acknowledge her, she wondered if they’d
fall into insults or merely exchange pleasantries then retreat to opposite
sides of the room. She hoped they could converse so she might discover if there
was still a chance with him, or if she even wanted one. It’d been a full day
since Rotten Row, but time hadn’t made things clearer for her, and as the hour
for departure had approached, she’d grown so anxious and confused she’d barely
been able to settle on what to wear. At last she’d chosen the red dress from
Almack’s instead of her blue one, hoping the red gown reminded him of their
pleasant time together.

She eagerly scanned the room for him, only slightly
relieved when she failed to find him among Lady Redding’s guests. If he wasn’t
here it was because of her, but she put the thought aside. It was better not to
see him, to let the vision of his blue eyes, the soft feel of his hands in hers
fade quickly than to draw out their parting through the balls and soirées of London.

Charlotte attempted to distract herself by taking in the
large drawing room. She’d always admired Lady Redding’s taste for neoclassical
decoration, though the full length portrait of her on the far wall was a bit
ostentatious. The portrait had been painted by Mr. Gainsborough in Lady
Redding’s youth and Charlotte could hardly fault the grand lady for displaying
it so prominently.

On the opposite side of the room, Elizabeth played the
pianoforte. The ring on her left hand glistened in the candlelight as her
delicate fingers moved over the keys. Lord Ashford stood beside her turning the
pages of her music. In between stanzas, they exchanged a sweet smile of
affection which made Charlotte’s chest twinge with the same envy she’d
experienced early in the evening at Almack’s. She could’ve enjoyed a similar closeness
with Lord Woodcliff, if she hadn’t ruined it.

“See my dear, love can be wonderful,” Aunt Mary whispered
then slipped off to join Lady Redding.

Perhaps, but so far it’d only proved terrifying and
awkward.

Charlotte approached Elizabeth, listening as the younger
woman finished her piece.

“Charlotte, have you heard the happy news?” Elizabeth rose
from the instrument, and held out her hand to display her brilliant diamond
ring.

Charlotte admired the ring then hugged her friend. “I’m so
happy for you, Elizabeth, and for you, Lord Ashford.”

“We wish the same for you,” Lord Ashford replied and Elizabeth
laughed merrily.

“Charlotte has pledged never to marry.”

“Perhaps all she needs is a gentleman to catch her fancy.
Here comes one now.”

Charlotte turned to see Lord Woodcliff and his father
enter the room and suddenly, she wished she’d worn the blue dress. Her pounding
heart must be visible through the low-cut bodice of her red one.

“I think you’re very mistaken, Lord Ashford.” She fanned
herself in an effort to cool her flushed face and cover her chest.

“No, I don’t think so. Edward, come here,” he called
across the room and Charlotte fought the urge to smack him with her fan.

She still had no idea how Lord Woodcliff might react to
her and she didn’t wish to engage in any sort of heated discussion with the
gentlemen in Lady Redding’s salon. She examined the clasp of her bracelet as
Lord Woodcliff strode toward them, then chided herself for losing her nerve.
She raised her head, deciding to meet his look boldly, no matter what it might
be. She was surprised to find him smiling at her, as handsome tonight beneath
the wavering candlelight as he’d been in the long shadows of Hyde Park.

Regret piled on top of the mountain of emotions already
crushing her. She shouldn’t have pushed him away, or given up before she’d even
had the chance to know his heart, or her own.

“Miss Stuart, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He bowed,
his pleasant greeting stunning Charlotte silent. He turned his attention to the
happy couple. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

“You have a date at the church as well, Edward,” Lord
Ashford reminded him.

Panic rushed through Charlotte. Perhaps Lord Woodcliff’s
good humor was due to his having forgotten all about Rotten Row and her. During
the Season it wasn’t unusual for a gentleman to quickly transfer his affections
elsewhere when his first suit was disappointed. She probably wasn’t the only
woman he’d courted, perhaps just the richest. Her embarrassment turned to
indignity followed by a whole parcel of quick remarks she bit back. She didn’t
want to intrude on Elizabeth’s and Lord Ashford’s happiness with her own ill
mood.

“What can you mean, Henry?” Lord Woodcliff seemed as
puzzled as Charlotte and just as eager for Lord Ashford’s response.

“You’re to be my best man, of course.”

Charlotte lit up with a hope tempered by the sting to her
already bruised pride. She’d always possessed a firm grasp on her emotions, now
they were bucking about like some untrained horse. It was utterly exhausting.
For all her satisfaction in not being a silly goose, she was certainly behaving
like one tonight.

“Miss Stuart, would you care to view Lady Redding’s
portrait with me?” Lord Woodcliff asked.

No. Yes. Heavens, this is ridiculous.
He was a Viscount
not a highwayman and there was no reason to be uneasy in his presence. In fact,
his willingness to be with her should be considered a success. She’d ended his
infatuation and they could still be on easy terms with one another, though
friendship seemed a poor substitute for the deeper relationship he’d offered
her in Hyde Park.

“I’d be delighted,” she answered, grateful her steady
voice didn’t betray her scattered thoughts. “Elizabeth, Lord Ashford, would you
care to come with us?”

A modicum of protection against being alone with him
wouldn’t hurt either.

“No!” They both answered at once, exchanging startled
looks.

“What I mean is—” Lord Ashford stuttered before Elizabeth
stepped in.

“We said we’d speak with Lady Treadwell about something—”
her voice trailed off before Lord Ashford jumped in.

“Yes, something important. Please excuse us.”

They hurried away as though Charlotte was on fire and they
were afraid of being burned.

“What’s wrong with them?” she wondered. “I’ve never seen
either of them act so peculiar.”

“Like most lovebirds, they probably want to be alone,” Lord
Woodcliff surmised, decidedly less irked by their sudden departure than
Charlotte. “Shall we view the portrait?”

“At once.”

They were not two steps across the room when Lord
Hatteston approached from the refreshment table, his plate piled high with the
usual delicacies provided by Lady Redding’s French cook.

“Edward, introduce me to the young lady,” he demanded.

“Miss Stuart, my father, Lord Hatteston.”

Charlotte curtsied to the older lord who smiled
approvingly at her.

“It’s a pleasure Miss Stuart. Edward tells me you had to
outrun Napoleon himself to escape France?”

“We did, but a quick carriage ride was better than living
for who knows how long under Napoleon’s tyranny.”

“I’m glad. It shows spirit. I like a girl with spirit and
opinions. Such a woman does a man well.” He clapped his son on the back before
leaving to rejoin his party.

Lord Woodcliff turned to Charlotte with a smile similar to
his father’s but much more sheepish. “You must excuse him, he’s spent a great
deal of time in the country among hunters.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I like an Earl with spirit
and opinions.”

Lord Woodcliff threw back his head and laughed, drawing
the attention of the room and surprising Charlotte. She’d never seen him so
animated and, even with the regret of having rebuked him scratching at her, his
good mood lifted hers.

“You do have spirit,” he said at last. It wasn’t the amusing
compliment of his father, but one as fine as the diamond pin in the center of
his cravat. She studied his eyes and in their blue depths was the same affection
she’d caught in Rotten Row. At once she understood Elizabeth’s eagerness to be
alone with Lord Ashford. If she could have Lord Woodcliff to herself she’d
gladly take the opportunity, perhaps even enjoy the kiss she’d been denied
yesterday.

I’m glad I wore the red dress.
No, it didn’t matter
what she wore or how he regarded her. She didn’t want to kiss him, or did she?
Of course not, it was only the heat of the room and Lord Woodcliff’s flattery playing
on her.

“Now let’s see the painting, I’d like your thoughts on the
artist.” He offered her his arm and she took it, allowing him to lead her
across the room.

Every brush of her dress against his leg and each shift of
his muscles beneath her hand made her keenly aware of him beside her. She
pressed her lips together, wondering what it would’ve been like in Hyde Park to
have settled her cheek against the palm of his hand and inhaled the very
maleness of him as he covered her lips with his. She gripped him tighter,
steadying herself against the shock of her thoughts and the impression of his
sturdy shoulders above hers. Try as she might to convince herself she possessed
no real interest in him, her fluttering heart and tingling fingertips told her
otherwise. It didn’t bother her as much now as it had in the middle of last
night. If he wanted to be alone with her, it meant she hadn’t put him off her
entirely.

At last they reached the portrait and Charlotte let go of
him, grateful for something to concentrate on other than his body beside hers.

“It’s an excellent work,” he remarked, tilting his head up
and to one side to take in the impressive painting. “It must have been painted
during Mr. Gainsborough’s Van Dyke phase.”

Charlotte studied the portrait, determined to regain her
usual level-headed attitude and stop fawning over the man like some befogged
chit. “I don’t think so. The colors are too bright. This was most definitely
done during his Rubens phase.”

“You’re certain?”

“Of course. Van Dyke is much too muted to inspire colors
like these.”

He examined the painting again and she waited for him to
agree but instead he shook his head. “No, I still say Van Dyke.”

“But look at the trees in the background, they’re too
small to be attributed to Van Dyke’s influence.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Of course.” She checked her insistence, determined to
remain pleasant with him. ”I’ve seen enough of Van Dyke’s work to know.”

“Would you be willing to wager on it?”

“Wager?”

“Yes. Wager.”

“You have a strange sense of humor,” she dismissed his
suggestion, noticing Lady Treadwell watching them from where she sat with Mr.
Taylor on the settee.

“I’m very serious.”

The amused but pointed look in his eyes told her he was
and she hardly knew how to respond. It would be madness to accept such a
suggestion yet the temptation of this little adventure proved appealing. It was
certainly a better way to settle the matter than arguing.

“What would you wager?” she hazarded in hushed tones,
looking past him to where Aunt Mary sat chatting with Mrs. Knight, glad Aunt
Mary was unaware of the conversation taking place beneath the Gainsborough.

“Mr. Taylor will settle the matter for us. If I’m right,
I’ll no longer trouble you with my sentiments and attention.”

The heat of the room rose twenty degrees and every
rational thought she’d commanded during their discussion fled, except one. She
should walk away, refuse to keep entertaining this ridiculous proposal.

“And if you’re correct?” She could scarcely imagine what
it might mean.

“You’ll accept my hand in marriage.”

He does still care for me!
Enough to risk his
future on a wager.

The dread she’d experienced the morning she’d waited for
the Comte filled her. Lord Woodcliff wanted her very public declaration and if
he turned out to be no better than the Comte, all society would witness her
disgrace. She drew in a long breath, forcing it past the tightness of her chest
before she let it out. He wasn’t like the Comte, and this wasn’t a game to him.
It was obvious in the subtle shift of his weight from one leg to the other and
the stiffness marked by worry which crept in beneath his boldness. He was
serious about his feelings for her and their future. If only she could be as
certain.

She flicked a glance at the portrait and the regal
composure of Lady Redding’s attire and expression. The wager rested on a simple
fact and she knew enough to judge the influence of one painter’s style upon
another. She could accept the wager and when he lost, not hold him to his
promise to leave her be. Then, there’d be ample time to properly decide the
matter of their futures. But what if she was wrong about the Gainsborough like
she’d been at Mr. Taylor’s?

“No thank you, Lord Woodcliff. I leave wagers to the
gentlemen,” Charlotte answered as politely as possible, not wanting to offend
him.

“A young lady brave enough to stand against the opinion of
society and remain unmarried must relish the challenge of a friendly wager, Miss
Out and Outer,” he smirked.

She balled her hands at her sides. “What did you just call
me?”

“Miss Out and Outer,” he taunted without shame.

Her bracelet grew snug on her wrist as her hands tightened
even more. She could end this now with a laugh but she’d never been one to back
down from a challenge. “If you desire a wager, then let’s have one and our
answer.”

She couldn’t wait to see his conceit wither when he
learned she was right.