The Marriage Wager (15 page)

Dominic turned to her, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He took her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“We must go back,” he murmured hoarsely.

Constance nodded. There was nothing in her thrumming body that wanted to do what he said, but she was well aware of the dangers of remaining here. They had probably already caused talk by disappearing from the ball for as long as they had. Her hands went to her hair and gown, smoothing out any disarray she found. She only hoped the look on her face could be erased as easily.

She put her hand formally on his arm, and they strolled back along the terrace. Constance glanced up at him in the soft glow of the outdoor lanterns, and Dominic smiled down at her. She smiled back almost shyly, then looked away, afraid that too much of what she felt must show on her face.

He cleared his throat and said, “I would like to show you around the estate.”

His words were quite ordinary, but the husky quality of his voice sent a shiver through her.

“Yes, that sounds most pleasant,” she replied, fighting for an easy tone of voice.

They stepped inside, continuing to talk in a somewhat stilted way, making plans to go riding together. Constance hoped that the flush in her cheeks would cause no more comment than the pink in others’ faces, brought about by exercise and the large number of people in the room.

“Let me fetch you something to drink,” Dominic suggested, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.” With any luck, a cup of punch would cool the heat rushing through her.

He left her at one of the chairs that lined the walls of the ballroom and started making his way around the dancers to the refreshments at the far end. Constance waited for him, idly watching the dancers as she fanned her face. She did not see the person approaching her from the side until the shadow fell across her.

“What do you think you are doing?” a woman’s voice hissed, sounding like drops of water hitting a hot stone.

Startled, Constance looked up to see Muriel Rutherford looming over her, a tall, slender column of cold fury. Her rail-thin figure was clothed in a simple, even girlish, white ballgown that did little for her looks. Constance presumed the style and color were meant to place Muriel among the young debutantes who made up the bulk of the marriage mart. However, she was clearly past the age of most of them, closer, Constance thought, to her own twenty-eight years than to eighteen or nineteen, and the girlish dress only emphasized the older set of Muriel’s face, stamped with lines from years of disdain. The color, moreover, was not flattering to Muriel’s very white skin, washing out her pallid tones even more.

She frowned at Constance, her face pinched in anger. Her light blue eyes were chips of ice. Her hands were curled so tightly into fists that Constance thought her fan might very well snap in her hand.

“I beg your pardon?” Constance asked coolly, rising to face the other woman.

“How dare you?” Muriel snapped. “I know my mother told you that Dominic and I have an understanding, yet still you chase after him. I saw you flirting with him, leading him out onto the terrace.”

Anger sliced through Constance at the other woman’s contemptuous words, and she was aware of a strong desire to box Muriel’s ears, but she kept her voice calm and quiet as she said, “Careful, Lady Muriel. You overstep your bounds.”

“Stay away from him!” Muriel shot back bluntly.

“If I were you, my lady, I would lower my voice. You would not want to create a scene in front of all these people.”

“I don’t care!” Muriel retorted rashly. “Let everyone know what you are up to!”

“I doubt that you would care to have everyone hear that you are not engaged to Lord Leighton despite what your mother has been saying,” Constance answered, gazing back at Muriel with a quiet, unmoving confidence.

Muriel’s eyes flashed, and Constance thought for an instant that the woman was actually going to slap her. But then Muriel seemed to gain control over herself, and she let out a harsh laugh that held no amusement at all.

“Do you actually think he will marry you?” Muriel asked, her voice dripping with scorn. “Gentlemen like Lord Leighton don’t marry pretty little nobodies like you. They dally with such women, that is all. They marry someone like me!”

“I suggest, Muriel, that you stop talking before you make more of a fool of yourself than you already have,” cracked out a masculine voice.

Both women started in surprise and whirled to find Dominic standing beside them. Neither had seen him approaching. Constance wondered how much of their conversation he had overheard.

He held a cup of punch in his hand, which he handed to Constance with a small, polite bow in her direction. His face was set in a cool, courteous mask, but there was a hard quality to his blue eyes that betrayed his temper.

“D-Dominic.” Muriel looked dismayed. “I did not see you there.”

“Clearly.” He looked at Muriel, and Constance felt a faint twinge of pity even for her, having to face Dominic’s stony gaze. “You and your mother appear to be laboring under a misapprehension, Lady Muriel. You and I are not engaged.”

Muriel looked as if she had sustained a blow, but she recovered quickly, letting out a little laugh and saying, “Of course we have not yet made the announcement….”

“There will be no announcement,” Dominic retorted bluntly.

Muriel sucked in her breath sharply, her eyes widening. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Perhaps my father and your mother should have consulted me before they made their arrangements. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that my father encouraged you and Lady Rutherford to think that I was amenable to my parents’ plans for my future. However, I can assure you that I am not. I never gave the Earl any reason to think that I would marry as he directed. Nor have I at anytime said anything to you or your parents that would indicate that I had any intention of asking for your hand. That much, at least, I know you are aware of. I would have thought that fact would have restrained your mother or you from uttering the falsehoods that you have told Miss Woodley.”

Muriel gaped at him. She recovered enough to say in a low, harsh voice, “Dominic! Do not be a fool. You know that people such as you and I marry for larger reasons than some mawkish sentiment.”

“Muriel,” he replied impatiently, “I am not going—”

“No!” Muriel flung up a hand as if to stop him, pasting on a brittle smile. “Please. Do not. I will not stay here and listen to you say something I know you will later regret, when you have gotten over…this foolishness.” She cast a last dagger of a look at Constance, then whirled around and stalked off.

Dominic’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a dangerous light. Constance thought for an instant that he was about to start after Muriel, but at that moment Francesca swept up on Sir Lucien’s arm, smiling brightly.

“Dominic, my love, there you are!” she exclaimed as if she had not seen him only half an hour earlier, linking her arm through her brother’s and turning him away.

Dominic stiffened, then visibly relaxed his face and turned toward Constance. “I apologize, Miss Woodley.”

Constance was trembling, her stomach quivering with nerves, but she managed to shake her head, pasting a smile on her lips, and said, “No, please, do not worry about it, my lord. I am fine, I assure you. I am growing accustomed to Lady Muriel’s manner of speech.”

“Then you are a much braver person than I,” Sir Lucien told her. “Frankly, the woman terrifies me.”

The others smiled, the tension of a moment earlier eased. Sir Lucien turned to Constance, giving her a graceful bow, and asked her for the dance that was about to start.

Gratefully, she accepted. She needed to be away from Dominic for a moment, to have a chance to recover her temper and her composure, and a dance with as capable and entertaining a partner as Sir Lucien was perfect for her purpose. Constance laid her hand on his arm and nodded a polite goodbye to Francesca and Dominic.

Francesca watched her friends leave, waiting until they were on the dance floor and the music was starting before she turned back to her brother.

“Now,” she said, crossing her arms and fixing him with her dark blue gaze, so like his own, “just what do you think you are doing?”

Dominic stiffened, his eyes sparking with anger. “What? You, too?”

He whipped around and strode off. Francesca stared after him for a moment, then sighed and followed him. She caught up with him outside the ballroom, reaching to grab his sleeve.

“Dominic, wait.”

He pulled to a stop and turned to her, his face a polite mask. Francesca muttered an imprecation under her breath and, glancing around her, took his hand to drag him down the hall away from the music and the noise. Picking up a candlestick on one of the narrow tables along the hallway, she lit it from a sconce, then opened one of the closed doors along the hallway and whisked Dominic inside.

Francesca cast a quick glance around. They were in the small east-facing room that her mother used as a morning sitting room. It was empty of people, the only light in it the candle that she held. She set down the candle on a small table beside the door and turned to face Dominic.

“What do you want, Francesca?” he asked, his voice cold. “Do you also hope for Muriel Rutherford for a sister-in-law?”

“Good Gad, no,” Francesca retorted bluntly. “I should hope you would have good sense than to tie yourself to that icicle of a woman. I do not care whom you marry. But I warn you—I will not have you hurting Constance Woodley. I am very fond of the girl.”

He let out a short bark of laughter that contained little amusement. “You think I am not?”

“I fear that you are too fond of her,” Francesca replied. “I fear that you will lead her on, encourage her to fall in love with you, and then her heart will be broken.”

“Why do you assume that I would break her heart?”

“Because you and I both know that you must marry money,” she shot back.

“Why?” he responded, his voice laced with bitterness. “Why should I marry to please our wretched family? You and I both know how little our family is worth the sacrifice.”

“Yes, and I also know you,” Francesca told him. “You will do your duty. You always have, and you always will.”

He gazed at her levelly. “Would you condemn me to that? You, of all people, know how it is to marry where one does not love.”

Tears sprang into Francesca’s eyes, and she turned away quickly.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Dominic crossed the room and took his sister’s shoulders in his hands, saying in a softened voice, “The devil curse my tongue. I am sorry, Francesca. I should not have said that. You are the last person on whom I should take out my frustration. Please, forgive me.”

She turned and gave him a watery smile. “No, I should ask your forgiveness.” She slid her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. “Oh, Dominic, I do want you to achieve happiness. I truly do. I don’t care about the family or Redfields or any of it, if only you are happy. You should not have to be the one to pay for all the foolish ways our ancestors wasted their money.” She pulled back and looked up into his face. “Do you love Constance? Do you want to marry her?”

Dominic looked at her, his face torn. “I—I don’t know. I am not sure if any of us are even capable of such an emotion. The FitzAlans are a sorry lot.”

Sadly, Francesca nodded. “I fear you are right.” She walked away from him, sitting down in the nearest chair. She smoothed down the material of her dress, saying in a low voice. “The truth is, I married foolishly—we both know that. I did not help myself or the family, either one. I do not wish to see you in such a marriage. I would be most happy if you married Constance. I cannot think of anyone I would more like to have as a relative.”

Dominic shook his head. “No. You are right. I would be a cad to pursue Miss Woodley.” He strolled over to the window and pushed aside the curtain, looking out into the dark night. His face was shadowy and unreadable in the dim light. “I know where my duty lies. I shall marry as I must.”

C
ONSTANCE DID NOT SEE
Dominic again that night, though she glanced discreetly around the ballroom several times. Francesca seemed preoccupied, and more than once Constance saw her frowning.

Constance felt sure that Francesca must be upset over the scene with Muriel. She feared that Francesca regretted bringing Constance into her family home. Dominic’s parents expected him to marry Miss Rutherford; perhaps Francesca had expected that, too. Dominic had said that the family needed money, and Constance could not help but remember Francesca’s skill at saving pennies when they were purchasing her own wardrobe. Perhaps Francesca, as much as any of them, needed Dominic to marry well.

What if Francesca, like Muriel, felt that Constance was to blame for Dominic’s refusal to marry the other woman? Constance could not detect any change in Francesca’s attitude toward her, but neither could she shake the feeling that Francesca was worried.

Constance went to bed feeling uneasy, and the next morning, as she dressed for the day, she wondered whether she should offer to leave Redfields and return to London. She did not want to; her heart felt as if it would tear from her chest if she did. But she could not bring harm to Francesca. She could not repay all Francesca had done for her by being a part of the ruin of her family’s fortune.

If she were not here, Constance thought, perhaps Dominic might be more agreeable to marrying as his family wished. Without the distraction of his attraction to Constance, he might talk to Muriel more, might spend time with her and find…what? That was the problem. Muriel was a cold, disagreeable snob. Constance could not imagine Dominic even liking her, let alone falling in love with her. And Constance’s absence would do nothing to change Muriel’s character. Nor would she condemn Dominic to a lifetime with Muriel, even if she had the power to do so.

She was resigned to the fact that Dominic would not be in her life in the future. They would part in a few days, and eventually he would marry some other heiress, one who was—she hoped—better than Muriel Rutherford. But right now, surely Constance’s being here would not be ruinous to him or his family. Even if Francesca did have financial problems, Constance could not really believe that she would want her brother to marry someone like Muriel.

It would not matter in the long run, Constance told herself, if she stole a few days of happiness with Dominic. There would be no harm, surely, in her riding about the estate with him today, as he had asked her to last night. The only harm, she thought, would come to her own heart.

She knew that she was perilously close to loving Dominic, that every moment she spent with him pushed her nearer and nearer to that state. Some part of her yearned to know that love, to feel all the happiness that such emotion could bring. Another part of her feared it. She had loved before and been pained to lose it, and she knew that what she had felt before for Gareth, both the love and the pain, would pale before what Dominic could bring to her heart.

Constance went to her wardrobe and pulled out the riding habit that Maisie had brought to her two days after their excursion to the village church. It was made of a deep blue velvet and had belonged to Francesca when she was younger. It had been left here at Redfields, and it had required only letting out the hem to fit Constance. Francesca, even though she had been ill, had set her maid to altering the outfit, an action that had touched Constance deeply. She had known Francesca only a few weeks, yet she was kinder than her own cousins or aunt. Maisie had also found an old pair of Francesca’s boots in her closet, and, fortunately, Constance’s feet were the same size, so she was able to wear them.

Constance hesitated, thinking again about Dominic’s absence for the final portion of the last evening. Perhaps he would not wish to take her riding this morning. Perhaps he regretted what he had told her, or perhaps he had changed his mind about Muriel and realized that he must marry her, no matter what. Constance’s heart clenched inside her at the thought.

At that moment Maisie popped her head in the door to see if Constance was ready to have her hair done. “Oh, going riding, are you, miss?” she asked, and came over to take the skirt and jacket from Constance’s hands. “I’ll just press this, then, while you’re at breakfast.”

“I—I am not certain I will be riding,” Constance equivocated.

“No matter. ’Twill be ready. Now, what would you like for your hair today? Something simple and well-pinned, I should imagine, if you’ll be riding.”

Constance agreed and let the woman begin working her artistry.

Minutes later, when she walked into the dining room, Constance found more people around the long table than were normally there. Dominic was seated at the farthest end of the table, beside his father. Across from him, Constance noted, were Lady Rutherford and her daughter. Dominic seemed engrossed in talking to Mrs. Kenwick and her son Parke, who sat between Dominic and Francesca. Constance glanced at Dominic and quickly away, very aware of the eyes of the Rutherfords on her.

Next to the Rutherfords were the three Nortons and Lady Calandra, the Duke’s sister. As Constance slid into the empty seat beside Francesca, Calandra swung toward her with a friendly smile.

“Hello,” she greeted Constance. “Rochford finally gave in last night and let me stay over. He, of course, went home in the carriage.” She rolled her eyes. “The estate manager and the books cannot wait, it appears.”

“I am glad that you are still here,” Constance replied honestly, having liked the lively young woman on sight.

“Oh, yes,” Elinor Norton agreed emphatically. “The more the merrier for our ride.”

“Ride?” Constance asked.

“Did you not know? Lord Leighton is showing everyone about the estate this afternoon,” her sister Lydia chimed in.

“Sounds like a jolly good time,” their brother, Sir Philip, agreed.

Constance’s gaze went to Dominic for the first time. He looked at her rather ruefully, but said only, “Miss Woodley has already agreed. You cannot back out on me now.”

“When we heard Lord Leighton was planning a tour of the estate, we could not help but want to join in,” Elinor went on happily.

Constance looked toward Muriel, who gazed back at her smugly. Constance had little doubt who had spread the word that Dominic was planning a “tour” of the estate.

“No doubt you will be going as well, Miss Rutherford,” Constance said mildly, allowing none of her irritation to show in her voice.

“Yes, indeed,” Muriel replied with a thin smile. “I would not miss it for the world.” She stood up, pushing back her chair. “Now, if you will excuse me, Lord Selbrooke, I must see to some things.”

“Of course, Lady Muriel.” The Earl beamed at her and returned to his conversation with her father.

Constance swallowed her disappointment. Clearly Muriel had overheard Dominic’s plans to take Constance around the estate, and she had seized the opportunity to deny them the time alone together. Given the stony set of Dominic’s face, Constance did not think that Muriel had helped herself very much. She might have outmaneuvered him, but she would not have endeared herself to him.

It was better, anyway, that they had company, Constance told herself. She could enjoy the time together, but she would not have to worry about how to deal with the wayward passion that always threatened to overcome her when she was alone with him. It was much better. Really.

“Are you coming with us, Francesca?” Constance asked.

Francesca shook her head. “No, I think I am too recently recovered. I shall stay with Mama and the other ladies.”

Cousin Margaret was quick to inform them that she planned to go, as did Lord Dunborough, Mr. Willoughby and most of the young men. Indeed, it seemed that of all the young people, only the shy Miss Cuthbert and Cousin Georgiana, afflicted by a fear of horses, would be staying behind with Francesca and the older women.

“Lord Leighton has promised that we shall go to a promontory from which one can see the entire valley,” Lydia Norton announced.

“I am not sure I should want to go so high,” Cousin Margaret demurred.

“It is a bit of a climb,” Calandra told them. “But when you get to the top, you can see the whole countryside.”

“And we shall have tea in the summer house,” Elinor Norton put in.

“It sounds wonderful,” Constance agreed.

She applied herself to her food, letting the excited chatter of the others swirl around her, and attempted to adjust her expectations for the day.

Later Constance left the table with Francesca and walked with her up the stairs to their rooms. When they reached the door of Constance’s room, she smiled a goodbye at her friend and started inside. But she came to an abrupt halt, sucking in her breath in a sharp exclamation of dismay.

There, on her bed, was the dark blue riding habit, which Maisie had obviously pressed and laid out for Constance to wear. But it would never be worn now, for dozens of long rips ran across the skirt and bodice, reducing the garment to shreds.

“What is it?” Francesca asked, hearing Constance’s gasp and following her into the room. When she saw what lay on the bed, she let out an exclamation. “Sweet heaven! Who could have done such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Constance replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “But I have a good idea.”

“Yes, I do, too.” Francesca walked over to the bed and looked down at the torn garment. Then she turned to Constance, a dangerous light now glittering in her eyes. “Don’t worry. We will not allow Muriel to get the better of you so easily.”

Constance smiled at her friend, warmed by Francesca’s ready sympathy and eagerness to help. Clearly, any worries she had had that Francesca might prefer Muriel for her brother were not true.

“But how? We already used your old riding habit.”

“You shall simply use the one I brought with me,” Francesca told her. “Maisie can let out the hem in a flash. The party is not leaving for another hour or so. And I shall borrow my mother’s riding habit. It will not matter if it is a trifle large. I have no one I need to impress today.”

“But I thought you were not going,” Constance replied.

“I wasn’t,” Francesca told her grimly. “But Muriel has changed my mind.”

Francesca rang for her maid and showed her the shredded habit, explaining what she wanted her to do. Maisie, after exclaiming over the damage, immediately set to work on Francesca’s riding habit, the light of battle in her eyes, and Francesca went to her mother’s room to borrow her riding clothes. Fortunately, nothing had been done to the old riding boots, because Francesca’s feet could not fit into her mother’s boots.

By the time the others had gathered downstairs for the proposed ride, Maisie had managed not only to let down the hem of Francesca’s riding habit, but also to tack and pin Lady Selbrooke’s dress so that it fit Francesca.

Francesca and Constance went down the stairs to join the others, who were waiting in the entry hall, and Constance had to hide a smile at the expression of surprise, then anger, that flitted across Muriel’s face at the sight of her. Constance gazed back at Muriel, unsmiling, a challenge in her eyes. Muriel’s face tightened, and she whipped around to face the other direction.

The next few minutes were taken up outside mounting their horses, which the grooms had brought around to the front drive. Dominic came up beside Constance, saying, “I chose Grey Lady for you. She’s a good little mare, calm and biddable, but not a laggard.”

Constance turned to look up at him, her stomach fluttering, as always, at the sound of his voice. “Thank you. I have not ridden much in recent years.”

Her mare, the horse she had ridden since she was fourteen, had grown old and slow, but Constance had not had the heart to replace her. And when the mare had died, her uncle had not purchased a new mount for her.

“I was not sure.” Dominic led her to the mare.

Constance spent some time getting acquainted with her horse, stroking its mane and talking to it. Then Dominic gave her a leg up, and she settled into the sidesaddle and took the reins he handed her. Dominic’s stallion was near hers, and he mounted, taking his place beside Constance.

The small company rode out of the yard and took the trail leading back to the farms that were part of the estate. Dominic rode in the lead, with Constance beside him.

She quickly realized why Francesca had been determined to join them for the ride when Muriel drew alongside them, looking her best on horseback, as Constance had noticed on the trip to the church.

“Come, Dominic,” she said, not even glancing at Constance. “I am sure Arion wants to stretch his legs. Let’s race to the stream.”

“I cannot leave the rest of the party,” Dominic responded equably. “I am the one showing the way, after all.”

“Of course you cannot,” Francesca agreed, trotting up beside them. “Come, Muriel, I will race with you.”

Muriel’s mouth tightened. Riding away from the group with Francesca was doubtless not what she wanted. On the other hand, she was rather caught by her own offer.

“All right,” she said with little grace, and the two women took off with a burst of speed.

Dominic and Constance watched as the two horses streaked out ahead of the rest of them. It was little surprise that Muriel won the race, for she was an excellent horsewoman. However, Francesca turned out to have won the day, for she stayed by Muriel’s side, even when Muriel dropped back to join the rest of the group. No matter how Muriel maneuvered to get closer to Dominic, Francesca managed to wedge herself between them. Constance could not keep from smiling to herself, warmed by Francesca’s loyalty.

Constance could not remember when she had enjoyed a day as much. She and Dominic talked and laughed, sometimes alone, sometimes with others of the party around them. He pointed out the various farms and crops along the way, leading them through the edge of the woods and across the meadows. He knew the names of every person they happened upon, and he could tell the history of any part of the land. It was clear from his voice that he loved the estate. It made Constance wonder even more why he had kept himself away from it for so long. Surely it could not be solely because of his parents’ desire to marry him to Miss Rutherford.