The Wedding Wager (10 page)

He turned away from her, and looked into the fire for a few moments. Odd, how her words had stung a dormant fantasy of his back to vivid life for a moment. He had best forget it, though.

He reminded himself that it didn’t matter that Charlotte was more likely to complain about the damp than admire the most sublime mountain view. It didn’t matter that she would never thrill to the sound of a hawk keening over the fells, or understand why he sometimes stole out at night to enjoy the sight of Ullswater by moonlight, much less join him. Charlotte was kind and respectable, and sincerely cared for him and his family. He would find no more suitable bride.

“I’ll probably never fall in love,” he said. “But I’m sorry. For all I know you may still wish for a grand romance.”

“Not at all,” she replied with a suspicious degree of vehemence.

He didn’t like the hopeless look in her gray eyes, or how it accorded with the sober color of half-mourning she wore. Somehow, he had the conviction that her air of desolation was not entirely due to her father’s death almost a year ago.

“Some coxcomb has hurt you,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me, so I could have pitched him into the lake?”

“No one has hurt me,” she replied, with a weak attempt at a smile. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she relented. “He merely never thought of me.”

He wondered briefly who it was that she had loved, and decided it would be rude to ask.

“Do you still cherish hopes of this man?” he asked.

“I do not.”

“I am sorry,” he said, hearing the sad finality in her voice. He wondered if perhaps the object of her affections had already married.

They both stared into the fire for a few moments, then Philip broke the silence.

“I do not mean to press you, Charlotte, but perhaps you should consider marrying me. Your cousins do not value you as they should, and you know how much
I
need you.”

He struggled to suppress the pain that still resurfaced at the thought of his parents’ death. It had happened in the autumn, over a year ago, but as if it were yesterday, he could remember seeing them depart happily for a short visit with friends in Grasmere. It was on their return that a sudden storm had broken out, just as they were descending Kirkstone Pass, frightening the horses into a headlong bolt, causing the accident that left Philip and the rest of the family stunned with the suddenness of their loss.

All too vividly, he remembered how his brothers and sisters had looked when he, the eldest, had struggled to break the news to them. He could still feel the bite of the cold wind that had blown the day his parents had been laid to rest in the Lynthwaite churchyard. He’d done his best to master his own grief, and to shoulder the responsibilities that had been thrust so abruptly on his then twenty-four year old shoulders.

There were times when his best did not seem good enough.

“I am sorry,” said Charlotte softly. “I
do
understand.”

“I’ve no worries about Jane or William,” he said, reflecting on his two oldest siblings. “Jane is very happy with her husband in Derbyshire, and William seems to have been born for a life at sea. I can manage the younger boys, but the girls . . .”

“I know,” said Charlotte with ready sympathy. “Marianne has grown very headstrong, hasn’t she?”

“Another governess left us today.” He sighed. “Marianne never used to be so troublesome. When I remember what she was like before the accident, I wonder . . . Perhaps it is only that she is sixteen.”

“It is a difficult age. But surely your cousin can manage her?”

“Between us, I can say Cousin Dorothea is a very silly and quarrelsome woman. When Marianne misbehaves, Dorothea usually ends up blaming the governess, and Marianne doesn’t mind either of them. I don’t know what to do. If only my mother were alive! How should I know when a girl is ready to wear her hair up, and go to assemblies? And then there is Lizzie. She is only five years old. God knows I’ve tried to do my best by her—”

“And there you have succeeded thoroughly. I’ve never seen a more sunny-tempered child, and she adores you.”

“Don’t you see?” he asked impatiently. “She is so affectionate because she fears the people she loves will go away. She cries when I’m obliged to go away on business for a few days. She has terrible nightmares, too. I need someone—and not a mere servant—who can be with her always, to comfort her in the night. You could do that.”

For a moment, it seemed to Philip that Charlotte was wavering. He supposed he should be pleased by it.

“Come, Charlotte,” he continued. “You can’t be comfortable in this household. Don’t you think you would be happier at Woodmere Hall, surrounded by every comfort you could wish for, and family who care for you?”

“Thank you, but I have already made other plans,” she replied. “Mama and I are going to remove to Maldon Cottage. I shall stay with her a few months, to help her become established there, but come summer I must advertise for a position.”

“A position?”

“I am going to become a governess.”

“A governess?” he asked, feeling a rising indignation.

“Yes. Mama’s jointure is not sufficient to support us both.”

“It was never meant to!” he protested. He softened his voice when he saw her wince. “I know as well as you that your Papa always intended you both to continue living at Maldon Park with your cousins.”

“He made no formal provision for that to happen, so Cousin George and Cousin Amelia can do as they wish.”

“Even if it means turning you out of your home,” he said grimly. “You had better marry me, then.”

“No, Philip. I truly am sorry for your predicament, but I cannot marry you while my heart is given to another.”

“Very well,” he said. “I won’t mention this again. In fact, I am sure we will both be more comfortable if we do not speak of this to your family. If over the next few months you should change your mind, let me know.”

She looked grateful for his consideration, but said firmly, “I will not change my mind. Please do not hope for it.”

Once again, he felt only relief at her refusal. He chided himself for being selfish. What were his needs compared to his family’s? Now that Charlotte had refused him, he’d have to look beyond the small circle of families in their valley to find a bride. Perhaps he could try to meet someone at the assemblies at Keswick or Penrith, but the prospect had little appeal. He might be considered a good catch by local standards, but he’d no desire to wed someone who only wanted the security he could provide her.

If he
did
meet a likely candidate, it would take time to get to know the lady and her family; time he didn’t want to spend away from his family and lands. Then there was always the chance she would not wish to marry him. He was certainly no Adonis; no doubt he was too big and swarthy for a lady’s taste.

He looked back at Charlotte. She was staring pensively into the fire again. He wished he could do more for her, but he had offered her all he could. Perhaps it was best he allow her to continue dreaming of her love, whoever he was.

Still, it was time he gave up such dreams himself. Once he had hoped to find a soul mate; now, he was reasonably sure she did not exist.

* * *

For the third time since she had entered the small salon, Lady Catherine Harcourt checked the time on the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Her hostess, Lady Hetherton, had seen fit to light this little-used room in her London house with only a single branch of candles. By its light Catherine could see that it still lacked twenty minutes to midnight. She could faintly hear strains of music—a waltz—but the room seemed remote enough from the main activity of the ball for what she had planned. Tonight, if all went well, her life would change forever. For the better, she hoped.

If only her plan did not fail . l. .

She resumed her restless pacing, but moments later, she heard footsteps outside. Two ladies, one tall and golden-haired, the other a diminutive redhead, appeared on the threshold. Catherine smiled and ran to embrace them.

“So you received my messages! Did you have any trouble slipping away?” she asked.

“Not at all,” said Juliana. “Pen tore a flounce, and I offered to help her pin it up. No one noticed we did not go to the ladies’ retiring room.”

“I never thought a propensity to destroy clothing would be so convenient,” said Penelope with her fugitive, impish grin. “Well, I never wanted this dress anyway. It might look better if I were tall and beautiful, like you two. But I’m not, so it makes me look like an over-decorated pastry!”

Catherine looked at her sympathetically. There was no denying it; the myriad of ribbons and satin rosebuds decorating Penelope’s gown did nothing to enhance her looks. Her short, slight figure was lost in the over-trimmed dress, and the pink rosebuds clashed vilely with her red hair. Moreover, Catherine saw that a rosebud was already missing from one of Penelope’s flounces.

“Yes, I know there’s a rosette missing,” said Pen in a resigned tone. “We couldn’t find it, and my aunt will undoubtedly scold me for being careless and ungrateful. But I never wanted this dress, or a Season for that matter!”

“You are not the only one whose relations have the most horrid taste,” said Juliana. “Just look at me! Grandpapa always has to see exactly what I am wearing before I ever leave the house, and make certain it is sufficiently ostentatious. With the result that I look like a jeweler’s window!”

“It’s not so bad,” Catherine replied. “Sapphires and diamonds do suit you.”

Juliana tossed her head, making the bejeweled butterflies in her hair sparkle. “Pooh! I feel like a walking advertisement: tradesman’s heiress seeks peer of the realm for marriage, ranks above viscount preferred. Besides, I wish I were dark like you. I look like a Dresden shepherdess—totally insipid!”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” said Catherine. “But you know
his grace
will not even let me visit either of you. If he knew, I would be scolded just for talking to you now. Not that I care, of course.”

Catherine watched the discontented faces of her school-friends. This London Season, the first for her two friends, was just barely beginning, but already Juliana was restless and Penelope miserable. She hated seeing them so unhappy; they were the sisters of her heart, more like family than her own.

She had been desperately lonely her first months at Miss Stratton’s select school. As the daughter of the Duke of Whitgrave, she had met with awe or thinly veiled jealousy from most of her schoolmates. Then Juliana had arrived, and Catherine had quickly discovered they shared the same sense of adventure. When Penelope came to the school a year later, shy and dowdy, still in mourning for the death of her parents, she had been instantly snubbed by the catty set. Catherine and Juliana had come to her rescue. Since then Pen, with her whimsical sense of humor, her imagination and her generosity of spirit, had more than repaid their kindness, and everyone at the school developed a healthy respect for the “Three Disgraces,” as they came to be known by the teachers and pupils alike.

Catherine knew that despite her rank, there was little she could do to help her friends at present. In her father and stepmother’s eyes, the granddaughter of a Cit and an undistinguished orphan on the fringes of society were not fit companions for the daughter of a duke. The duke and duchess didn’t—
couldn’t
—understand that she would allow nothing to come between her and her old schoolmates. However, if all went well tonight, she would be free of such restrictions forever.

“So tell us what you are planning,” said Juliana, breaking the unhappy silence. “Why did you ask us to meet you here?”

“I wanted to tell both of you before anyone else knew. I am eloping tonight. With Lord Verwood.”

Both her friends stared at her for a moment. From their shocked expressions, Catherine deduced that they had heard at least some of the gossip surrounding the rakish baron.

Juliana was the first to recover. “What a delightful adventure! I wish you very happy.”

Penelope looked thoughtful. “But Cat—what about his reputation? Is it true what they say—that he once seduced and abandoned a young lady of quality?”

“He has assured me there is another side to the story, which he hopes to be able to tell me some day.”

“Do you believe him?”

As she had done a number of times in the past week, Catherine thought back on the one private conversation she had had with Verwood, when he had taken her up in his phaeton for a drive about the park, causing a minor scandal that had annoyed the duke and duchess immensely. Verwood had behaved in a perfectly gentlemanly manner, and had seemed honestly sympathetic to her plight. His tolerant, easygoing gallantry was a balm to her spirit after all that had transpired last Season.

“Yes, I believe him,” she replied. “I think Verwood is not quite so black as he has been painted.”

“Are you quite certain he is not a fortune hunter?” asked Juliana.

“He has quite enough money of his own,” Catherine replied. She decided it was not worth worrying her friends with rumors that the Verwood fortune was out of all proportion with the modest lands the family held in Cornwall.

“Well, I suppose it
is
romantic,” said Penelope. “But are you sure you are in love with him, Catherine?”