Wedding Wagers

by Donna Hatch

  She hardly kept them waiting a minute before coming to the front parlor. “Why Mr. Partridge, Mr. Cavenleigh, what a pleasant surprise,” the young Lady Daubrey said.

  “Always a delight to see you, my lady.” Phillip bowed over her hand.

  “Oh, pish. When did we get so formal? Do sit and tell me what brings you here today.” She smiled.

  Phillip adopted a conspiratorial tone. “I have come with a shameless plea for your aid.”

  “Oh? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  Phillip took a breath. “I have met an unforgettable young lady, and I am attempting to be more . . . present in her life.”

  “Indeed?” Her eyes sparkled.

  Phillip mentally congratulated his friend Lord Daubrey, not for the first time, for having the good sense to marry the lady. “I have it on good authority that she is to be included in your dinner party tonight, and . . .” The audacious request lodged in his throat.

  She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “You wish to join us? Well of course you may—you know that. I’m certain one more won’t make a difference.”

  Phillip let out a breath. “You are very perceptive, as usual, my lady—and generous.”

  “’Tis nothing, and besides, the Tarringtons are uncertain they can attend since her health has been delicate of late.”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Phillip said. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “I am unaware of the exact nature of her condition, alas. I must pay a call on her tomorrow if she does not attend tonight. Shall you join us this eve as well, Mr. Cavenleigh?”

  “I am otherwise engaged, my lady,” Michael said.

  “A pity. Enjoy your evening, then. Mr. Partridge, do come at seven o’clock.”’

  “Thank you. I am certain you have preparations to complete, so I will bid you a good day.” Phillip stood.

  “Do tell who this young lady is who has so completely turned your head.” An impish light shone in her face.

  “Er . . .”

  “It could be useful you know. I might even arrange to seat her next to you, you know.”

  A good point. And there seemed little reason to keep it a secret. “Miss Meredith Brown, the Staffords’ niece.

  “I have not yet had the pleasure of making her acquaintance, but I am most eager to meet her in person now.”

  Phillip thanked her again, and they took their leave.

  Outside as they climbed into the carriage, Phillip let out a breath. “So far, this has been a successful day.”

  Michael shot him a sideways glance. “Do you plan to continue such methods to pursue this hapless girl until she agrees to marry you?”

  “No, I mean to be more direct and traditional in the very near future. But I had to create another opportunity to speak with her.”

  “Then what?”

  “We shall see what this evening brings. If she warms toward me, I will invite her on a carriage ride with me. I may even convince her to allow me to take her to Vauxhall. She was understandably reluctant to do so today, but I vow I will win her over eventually.”

  “You are obsessed.”

  “Merely determined.”

  They crossed the bridge and headed to Tattersalls, where Phillip dropped off Michael to check on some geldings he had up for auction. Phillip headed back to his bachelor rooms to prepare for tonight’s dinner. After fussing over his appearance until his valet nearly wept, Phillip agonized over how he might secure Miss Brown’s affection. His mother and brother would tell him to be himself. As a younger man, Phillip had suffered no shortage of feminine companionship, but as ladies near his age turned their minds to marriage rather than innocent diversion, so too did they view him through more mercenary eyes.

  Would Miss Brown, despite his impressions of her, also set her sights on his family connections and render Phillip, as a man, invisible?

  He arrived at the Daubreys’ dinner party stylishly late, but not late enough to offend the host and hostess. Upon entering the drawing room, he strode directly to the Daubreys without looking about in search of a certain guest. It wouldn’t do it appear overly eager. Egad, he was a nervous as a lad anticipating his first kiss.

  “So good of you to join us, Partridge,” Daubrey intoned, but a gleam in his eye revealed his knowledge of Phillip’s purpose.

  As they made small talk, Phillip focused on his friends and stiffened his neck to avoid looking for Miss Brown. He would learn soon enough if she had, indeed, joined the party. A footman held out a silver tray with drinks, and Phillip took one but only sipped. He caught himself tapping his fingers on his glass.

  Under his breath, Daubrey said, “You seem a tad jittery tonight, ol’ boy.” His voice betrayed his amusement.

  Phillip tried to send him a glare, but it probably came out guilty.

  Lady Daubrey came to the rescue. “Mr. Partridge, have you made the acquaintance of my friends the Staffords?”

  “Yes, certainly,” Phillip said.

  “Then you must have met their niece visiting from the north?” She gestured to a point behind him.

  Phillip turned. Wearing a simple white evening gown, Miss Meredith Brown stood next to Mrs. Stafford and her daughter, Annabel. How was it possible he’d forgotten how lovely she was? A soft light shone on her face, accentuating the graceful lines of her face and neck. The sweet yet somehow wary expression dared him to discover her thoughts.

  Miss Harris, the young lady whose bonnet Miss Brown had rescued, approached her, and they fell into an animated conversation. The liveliness in Miss Brown’s eyes, the curve of her cheek, the fluid gestures of her hand, mesmerized him.

  “You’re staring,” Lord Daubrey whispered.

  Phillip closed his gaping mouth.

  Lady Daubrey giggled softly. “You, my friend, are lovestruck.”

  A male voice intoned in the perfect blend of authority and boredom, “Dinner is served.”

  Lady Daubrey tugged his elbow. “Escort her to dinner.”

  Phillip almost rubbed his hands together. Lord and Lady Daubrey led the way into the dining room. Phillip pulled himself together long enough to approach Miss Brown. Now would be an excellent time to say something witty or suave.

  He bowed before her. “Er, dinner . . .” He almost slapped his head.

  She blinked. “Why, Mr. Partridge.” She looked him directly in the eye, really seeing him in a way that had been notably absent in other ladies of late. She made no move to take his arm . . . which he really ought to have extended.

  No one would accuse him of being too charming in her presence. He offered his arm. “If I may?”

  “Oh.” She shot a panicked glance at her aunt and uncle’s retreating backs, then at her cousin on the arm of another gentleman. “You? Are assigned to sit with me?”

  He gave her his most disarming smile. “I assure you, since we are far from boats and the river, you are not in danger of taking an unscheduled swim.”

  She stifled a laugh. “Of course not.” Her gaze darted around again. “I didn’t realize you were escorting me to dinner.”

  His confidence cracked, but he fortified his resolve. Somehow, he would win her over. A lady with such a kind and generous heart would surely like him. Wouldn’t she? “It’s only a meal, Miss Brown, not a lifetime sentence.”

  A sheepish smile curved her mouth, and she looked him in the eye again. “Never underestimate the power of good food.”

  “Or charming company?” He gave her his best charming smile.

  For a second, the corners of her mouth softened. Almost instantly, that wary expression returned, followed by a mask of coolness. “I am immune to charm.”

  “Ah. You admit I’m charming, but that you are resistant—or at least, have been thus far.”

  She almost smiled, he was just sure of it. “Why would a man of your rank escort a lady of mine?”

  “Today has been remarkably fortunate for me.” He smiled.

  Her eyes focused on his dimple, and she pursed he
r lips, yet the corners of them lifted. Was it possible she was one of those ladies who found his dimple enchanting? He grinned more broadly. He could barely remember the last time someone had noticed. Usually they were too busy noticing his Suttenberg connection.

  Archly she said, “Fortunate, how? You haven’t knocked anyone into the river today?”

  He chuckled under his breath. “Not yet, but the evening is young.”

  Did her mouth twitch in an effort to suppress her amusement or her annoyance? He’d never found it so difficult to understand a member of the fair sex. Of course, it had never mattered so much.

  “Are you going to escort me to dinner or leave me standing here?”

  With a gentle voice, he said, “I have, if you will observe, already extended my arm.”

  As if seeing it for the first time, she put her hand on his arm with a whisper-light touch. Warmth soaked through his forearm and heated a cold place inside his heart. No woman’s touch had ever affected him thusly. Her hand trembled. Nervous? Excited?

  He led Miss Brown to their assigned places in the dining room and held out a chair for her before taking a seat. “Have you been to London before?”

  “Oh, yes, many times, but this is my first Season. I suppose you come frequently?” As she spoke, each motion of her mouth beckoned, Kiss me.

  He cleared his throat and focused on her words. “I come to London every year to renew acquaintances with friends who come for the Season.” With a close watch on her expression, he added, “And my mother wishes me to socialize more in the hopes I might make a match someday.”

  “You should know, I’m an old maid of nearly three and twenty and have a very modest dowry.”

  It might be a long shot, but a broken heart could be the cause of her chilliness. If she allowed anyone close, she risked getting hurt. Phillip knew a thing or two about that.

  With a gentle smile, he said, “Ladies of three and twenty are hardly old, and your dowry is of little import to me.”

  She paused as if his easy dismissal had taken the wind out of her sails, as it were. Or perhaps she was thinking up a more convincing deterrent. A uniquely invigorating challenge lay ahead of him.

  She moved those luscious lips again. “Yes, I imagine a gentleman of your rank likely has little need of dowry.”

  “Indeed, although somehow it seems arrogant to admit it.” He sent her a self-deprecating smile.

  Quickly, she refocused on her plate and wielded her utensils as if fending off an attack. “Then as a gentleman of your rank, you should know my father’s hands are sullied by trade. He owns a lace mill in Loughborough.”

  Her words hit him like a punch. Neither his mother nor his brother would condone a match with a tradesman’s daughter. Phillip risked alienating his family if he married so low beneath his class.

  He rounded up a playful tone. “Excellent. My mother is excessively fond of lace. I’m sure she could be persuaded to notify her modiste to use lace purchased from his mill.”

  Bitterly, she said, “His mill was damaged last month in riots. He likely won’t be filling any new orders until repairs are completed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Phillip had read the news with mixed emotions, sympathizing with workers protesting terrible working conditions but also cognizant of the destruction of property and the loss of wages to employees.

  “It’s much worse for the workers,” she added with an earnest tone and expression. “His employees were not involved in the riots, but now, due to the choices of others, they are out of work. He’s keeping as many on as he can to facilitate cleanup and restoration, but it will take time before he can rehire all of them. Until then, they go hungry.”

  “I hope he resumes business quickly, then.” For her sake, if not for her father’s, who sounded like an unusual employer, he wished Mr. Brown well. Apparently, concern for the well-being of others, even the impoverished, was a family trait. Admirable. “None of his employees rioted?”

  She set down her utensils, giving him her full attention. “He’s fair and adheres to strict safety standards, so injuries are rare. He even provides a school for his employees’ children and requires that they attend as part of their employment obligations. He won’t allow children to work until after the school day has concluded, and for no more than four hours a day.”

  He held up his glass in a loose salute. “He is a rare breed of factory owner.”

  “He is.”

  He could not mistake the light of pride shining in her eyes. “You must be very close.”

  The light dimmed. “Not as we once were.” She picked up her silverware again and attacked her dinner, but she ate little. A story lay behind that statement, but he didn’t dare probe this early in the relationship.

  A diversion seemed wise. “Whatever happened to the woodman who found a fairy and was granted three wishes?”

  She met his gaze with wide eyes, a lovely shade of blue, unmarred by any other color—no gray or green, just the pure blue of a spring morning sky. “You truly wish to know?”

  “Very much.”

  She shook her head, her brows lowering slightly in confusion. “It’s merely a silly story.”

  “One I have not heard, and you tell it in such a fascinating way that I wish you would complete it.”

  Pure delight lit her expression and brightened her eyes, and that same animation returned as she slipped into the role of expert storyteller. “As you may remember, his wife was angry with her husband’s carelessness in wasting a wish on sausage. Then, she quite unthinkingly added, ‘I wish your sausages were on your foolish nose!’ As you may have guessed, the wished-for food immediately attached itself to the woodman’s nose so tightly that nothing could remove it.”

  He laughed softly and nodded to encourage her to continue.

  “To the dismay of both husband and wife, they were obliged to wish them off, thus making the third wish and at once ending his brilliant expectations.”

  He grinned. “So, the moral of the story is don’t waste your wishes?”

  “Or avoid hypocrisy.”

  He nodded. “An ever more powerful moral.”

  They conversed more easily after that. Far too soon, dinner ended, and the ladies left for the drawing room so the gentlemen might have their time alone. Phillip waited with growing impatience until they could join the ladies. Normally, he enjoyed the male-only after-dinner discussion, but each minute seemed designed to keep him from the young lady who had captured his attention and even a small part of his heart. Perhaps not so small.

  Once the men rejoined the ladies, Phillip went immediately to her. She sat between her aunt and her cousin. Voices and laughter provided the perfect screen to their conversation.

  He held out an arm to her. “Miss Brown, would you do me the honor of taking a turn about the room with me?”

  Her guarded expression returned, a foil against her aunt’s delight and her cousin’s cautiously happy expression. At least he seemed to have won over her family.

  He lowered his voice and all but whispered, “Please.”

  She placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the nearest wall. Skirting the edges of the room, they passed behind Miss Harris sitting next to Mr. Morton, the same gentleman who had escorted Miss Harris to Vauxhall. Miss Harris chewed her lip as Mr. Morton leaned forward as if trying to convince her to do something.

  Miss Brown gestured to the couple. “Do you know the gentleman conversing with Miss Harris?”

  “Mr. Morton? Not well. He seems a decent sort. He’s distantly related to the Earl of Averston.”

  “Is he a libertine?”

  “Hardly. He is rather awkward around the ladies, in fact.”

  “Is he impoverished?”

  He gave her a quizzical look. Why the sudden interest in him? From what Phillip knew of ladies and their taste of men, Mr. Morton was not the type to turn heads. “I do not believe so, but as a younger son of a younger son, he probably needs to marry well.”

/>   “What do you know about Miss Harris?”

  “She’s related to the St. Cyrs somehow. Sweet. A bit shy.”

  “Is she in possession of a large dowry?”

  He had to search his memory. “I am not well informed as to the state of everyone’s incomes and dowries, but I do not recall hearing anything remarkable about hers.” Was it possible she had an interest in Mr. Morton and viewed Miss Harris as competition? But Mr. Morton was all wrong for Miss Brown. Surely she could see that. Finally, he ventured, “Why do you ask?”

  “I am looking for possible motives as to his interest in her.”

  “You do not think she is attractive enough to garner a gentleman’s interest unless he is a fortune hunter?”

  “I think she is young and innocent—the type of young lady such men are most likely to target. She may not know their true motives until too late.” A bitterness touched her voice.

  What had happened to Miss Brown? “Do you think I have a hidden motive?”

  Her glance revealed her vulnerability. “I am mystified as to why you openly seek me out.”

  “I wish to become better acquainted.”

  “I cannot imagine why. I am nobody.”

  With a reckless courage spurred by his sudden determination to win her heart, he asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  She looked away. “No. Not anymore.”

  Phillip almost demanded who had broken her heart so he might find and thrash the scoundrel. Instead, he opted for a more playful tone, “How about love at second sight?”

  With a small, sad smile, she shook her head.

  With the kind of confidence he once wore so easily, he quipped, “I’m willing to let you look at me long enough to change that.” He affected a dramatic pose.

  A true smile broke through as she met his gaze. Truly, she was beautiful when she smiled. He nearly fell on his knees and begged her to marry him.

  Sobering, she tilted her head. “Why, really, are you giving me the time of day?”

  “Because you are a remarkable person.”

  She looked down. “We’ve met only twice before, and briefly at that.”

  “They were telling encounters.”

  She looked at him again, her mouth curving more on one side in an expression that seemed doubtful yet amused. “How so?”