The Wolfe Wager (9 page)

“You mustn’t be as stubborn as your father. It will gain you nothing.”

“Nor must you.” She gathered her skirts and ran out of the room, although she knew she could never escape the anguish.

Carolyn sighed as her niece went up the stairs at a frantic pace. There must be a way to convince Vanessa to resign herself to the dual tragedy in their lives. So easily she could share Vanessa’s grief and her dreams of having Corey return home alive, but Carolyn had become a pragmatist in the years since she had left her father’s house. Dreams were for the young and the foolish. Clear-headed thinking was the only way to achieve one’s ends.

Hearing the housekeeper’s voice in the other room as Mrs. Sturgis directed the staff in setting up the tables for cards, Carolyn listened as well to her memory. It urged her to recall the advice Penelope had given her. She had allotted Vanessa several months to find a husband among those loitering about the edges of the Marriage Mart. The young woman had made no decision, so it was up to Carolyn to persuade her niece to do so.

It would not be easy, but Carolyn Wolfe Mansfield never shrank from a difficult task. With a smile, she raised her chin and went to the writing table near the hearth. Selecting a sheet of her finest stationery, she drew out a bottle of ink. She faltered for only a moment before she began to write the note she had been composing in her mind during her conversation with Penelope.

“Lady Carolyn Mansfield is pleased to invite Lord Brickendon to …”

“… an evening of cards and conversation among dear friends. I am sure your presence would both surprise and delight my niece, Lady Vanessa Wolfe.”

Ross tossed the invitation onto a table in his comfortable book-room. It was his favorite place in the elegant town house on Berkeley Square. In the chamber set on an upper floor of the house, he could shut out the hubbub while he enjoyed reading the newspaper. None of the fancy furniture that filled the other rooms on the first floor had invaded this room where a man could feel comfortable enough to untie his cravat, toss aside his collar and boots, and sit with his stockinged feet on a footstool.

Light splashed from a single window onto the dark green rug as Ross stretched for the bellpull. He gave it a sharp tug. He owed Lady Mansfield an answer to her generous invitation, which was to more than the evening’s party. Lady Mansfield was urging him to pay court on her lovely niece.

That
would surprise the lovely Lady Vanessa Wolfe … if he had been silly enough to consider courting her for anything other than a silly wager. Setting himself on his feet, he went to the window and looked out at the street through the steady patter of rain. He laughed lowly.

The wording of the invitation suggested Lady Mansfield did not know that her niece already had asked him to attend the gathering this evening. Had Swinton been honored with an invitation as well because he had spoken with the marquess’s daughter last night? This would not please Franklin, but nothing in their wager would prohibit any of them from attending Lady Carolyn Mansfield’s card party this evening.

After all, hadn’t he suggested this wager in the hopes of finding some entertainment amid the otherwise dreary end of the Season? What better way to be entertained than to watch his inept friend try to win the hand of a woman who clearly wished to leg-shackle herself to no man?

This evening was certain to be exactly the entertainment he had hoped for.

Chapter Six

Vanessa scowled at her reflection in the glass. She was wearing her second best gown. Aunt Carolyn had urged her to don her best, but a recalcitrant streak had coaxed Vanessa to show her vexation with the evening’s arrangements by choosing this gown. The pink lace along the rounded collar of the white silk dress matched the normal color of her cheeks. Tonight, however, her cheeks were fiery with her high emotions.

And where was the smile she had vowed she would wear to disguise her true feelings? This was the first time she had to live by that pledge to seek her lost happiness at the same time she looked for Corey. She could not turn her back on her troth so quickly. Not when everything might depend on her ability to be fetching and agreeable tonight. Until she had dismissed Sir Wilbur Franklin from her list of possible sources of help, she needed to treat him with every bit of charm she possessed. Who could know where this might lead? The pompous man might be able to offer the very assistance she sought.

Leale pinned flowers in Vanessa’s upswept hair. “Do sit still. Otherwise I suspect I shall stab you.” The abigail’s voice strained past the hairpins she held between her lips. Her forehead puckered beneath her silver-gray hair as she put each pin carefully in place.

“I fear the wound would need to be mortal for me to avoid this gathering.”

“Don’t grumble, my lady. Your aunt is only concerned with your well-being.”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. Leale must have seen, because the older woman began to chuckle.

Standing, Vanessa heeded her abigail’s plea not to upset the roses in her hair. Her voice was as prickly as the thorns along their stems. “Leale, I’m tired of everyone debating which man Lady Vanessa Wolfe will marry. Look what happened when I was little more than pleasant to the baronet. Now I must endure listening to him air his vocabulary all evening.”

“Fortune and title have brought you a fame you do not wish.”

“No one would care a rap about me if Corey was here.”

Leale’s voice gentled. “But he is not, and you have an obligation you must not ignore. Think of what your sainted father would say if you are unwed at the Season’s end.”

“My father was no saint, Leale. And what do you think he would have said if I had leapt at the first proposal offered to me?” she asked bitingly. “Do you wish me to be a complete block?”

“Of course not. I wish you to be as happy as you deserve to be. You have been too serious for too long.”

“You sound just like Aunt Carolyn.”

“Mayhap you should heed the advice of two people who care deeply for you.”

“If you cared deeply for me, you would leave me to live my life as I see fit.” Vanessa sighed as she saw tears glistening in her abigail’s eyes. This night was doomed to be a complete disaster if she started it by causing Leale to weep. “By the elevens, Leale, I’m nearly ready to cross the Channel myself to find Corey. That’s the only way I can see to rid myself of these unwanted suitors. I daresay they would not traipse after me into Boney’s dominion.”

Leale abruptly laughed. “Most young women would envy your predicament. They long for a suitor they can give their heart to.”

“As I do.” She drew on her silk slippers and tied the ribbons over her stockings. When Leale did not answer, Vanessa discovered her abigail regarding her with puzzlement. “Do not look so taken aback. Of course, I yearn to meet a man I can love, but he has not appeared yet among the
ton
.”

“I know what kind of man you want,” Leale said with a sniff. “You want a mixture of your father’s obsession and your brother’s misguided courage and the heroes in the books you read. Such a paragon doesn’t exist. Even if he did, you would ignore him, because you think only of finding your brother.”

“I must think of Corey before my own happiness. Certainly he would do the same for me.”

“Would he?” Leale picked up a pair of shoes. “Did he think of your happiness when he beat hoof to France to win glory for himself?”

“He—”

“Never said a word to you after that last argument you had. I remember your shock when you read the note he left behind for you. Don’t be a moonling just because he was.”

The abigail stamped out to leave Vanessa staring after her, for once at an utter loss for a reply.

“My dear lady, how radiant you look! Where is Sir Wilbur? I had hoped to greet both of you upon my arrival.”

Vanessa’s smile felt like a smirk, but she kept it on her face as she greeted Penelope Downing, who was accompanied by her dour husband who seldom said more than a single word. Not that poor Mr. Downing had a chance. Penelope filled every silence with her own chatter. Her neighbor was not the first to ask with little subtlety about Sir Wilbur. As she had to those who had preceded Penelope, Vanessa said, “The baronet has yet to arrive. I know my aunt is anxious for his arrival.”

“I am sure he is eager to spend the evening with you.”

“I am sure.”

Penelope turned to gush a greeting to Aunt Carolyn. When they put their heads together, clearly conspiring, Vanessa restrained her chuckle. Next Season, when Penelope fired off her sister’s daughter, the activity on Grosvenor Square would reach a new high in a whirl of parties and flirtations. Vanessa liked the idea of someone else being the center of their intrigues. It was regrettable that the girl was still in the classroom
this
year.

“Good evening,” came a rich voice from her left.

Vanessa’s smile became sincere when she saw a striking, muted blue uniform that stood out among the drab, evening wear worn of the other gentlemen. The guinea-gold haired man, who touted a bushy mustache, was tall enough to wear the uniform with dignity. His black boots shone so brightly in the lamplight that Vanessa had to avoid looking at them.

A multitude of buttons on his coat rattled as he bent over her hand. “My lady, it is, as always, a delight to be in your company.”

“Captain Hudson, I thought you were in garrison.” She smiled. She was accustomed to his effusive compliments. He had teased her since she was little more than a child, and she always enjoyed replying in kind.

“Even an old soldier is allowed a bit of leave.”

“You are hardly old, Captain.”

He touched his temple where silver glittered among the pale strands. “Old enough to remember you with scraped knees and a black eye from trying to get your cat down from a gnarled tree in your father’s orchard. What a gawney I was not to ask you to marry me while I was down on my knees to bandage yours!”

“I fear I would have made you a poor wife at the exasperating age of nine.” She laughed and added, “Aunt Carolyn, I believe you know Captain Victor Hudson.”

Carolyn offered her hand. Vanessa was certain she had never seen her aunt look so lovely. Dressed in white silk, Aunt Carolyn had left a tendril of hair loose to drape across the unblemished skin of her shoulder. A single strand of pearls was her only decoration. “We have met, but it has been several years since I last had the pleasure of your company, Captain. I am so delighted you could join us this evening.”

“It may have been several years, but those were years that have had no effect on you, my lady.”

“You were always a jester.”

“But never have I minced on the truth.”

Vanessa hid her smile behind her fan, which was the same pink silk as her gown. Aunt Carolyn should flirt with handsome men more often. Her dark eyes glittered like twin stars, and her lips offered a warm smile. Aunt Carolyn should not be wasting her life trying to find her reluctant niece a husband.

Vanessa’s smile dwindled as another guest approached the parlor. Sir Wilbur Franklin should have instructed his man to select another waistcoat for him, because this bright red one strained too tightly across his broad corporation. When he wore it with a forest green jacket, he could have been an oversized leprechaun from the far side of the Irish Sea.

She looked past him, but saw no sign of Lord Brickendon. Irritation pricked her. The viscount had told her he would be here. Chagrin followed that unbecoming thought. Lord Brickendon was not at fault for her discomfort. She had let Sir Wilbur think there could be friendship between them. Now she must be a good hostess. Perhaps there were intriguing depths to be found in the fubsey baronet. She could always hold onto that hope … faint though it might be.

“Horrible night,” Sir Wilbur said in lieu of a greeting, and her hopes waned. “Have you closed your windows, my lady? It would not do for you to take a chill. It would not do a bit. My sister often complains of the damp weather here in Town. One look at you, and I can say it is not fit weather for a delicate lady like you.”

“Why don’t you come into the parlor?” she asked to halt the advice spilling from his mouth. “The windows are latched, and I think you shall find the room overly warm.”

“’Tis not me I fear for, but your health.”

“You are most kind to think of me.” Commonplaces served her best with him, but they tasted acrid on her tongue. She preferred Captain Hudson’s candid teasing.

“Not kindness, but
my
pleasure.”

Vanessa fought a grimace. She must not reveal her distaste with his blatant attempts to woo her. Wishing someone would interrupt their conversation, she realized—with a quick glance about the room—that everyone was anxious to watch the baronet pour the blarney over her. She tried to listen to his prattle, but an ache between her eyes threatened to overtake her whole head. How long could a man be all jaw with no head? He spoke without pausing for so much as a comment from her. She wondered if he would notice if she simply walked away. When Sir Wilbur abruptly stopped and asked if she would like a glass of wine, she nodded, glad for the respite on her ears.

She saved her sigh of relief until Sir Wilbur was pushing his way past the other guests. Being false was difficult for her at best, and tonight she was not at her best. Again she looked about the room for Lord Brickendon. She had thought he would be faithful to his promise to attend this evening. Dismay flooded her. He had vowed, too, to say nothing of the day’s events. If he had not been honest about coming tonight …

“I assume,” Aunt Carolyn said softly, intruding on her horrifying thoughts, “you said nothing to convince the good baronet to leave your side.”

Vanessa was about to reply with rare heat, then saw her aunt’s eyes sparkling with good humor. Her frustration faded. No matter how much her aunt might try to persuade her to give the baronet consideration as a future husband, Aunt Carolyn would never force her to enter a marriage that was doomed to unhappiness.

“Mayhap I am the one who should take insult,” Vanessa whispered, “for he was anxious to trade my company for that of a bottle of wine.”