Wedding Wagers

by Donna Hatch

  Phillip considered. Would Suttenberg and the duchess be so opposed that they would resort to such measures? He pictured summers, Easter, the Christmas season—even informal dinners—without his family. Having the bride of his choosing by his side might fill that hole, but at what cost? Family tradition ran strong, and the Suttenberg bloodline was a carefully guarded commodity. Generations of great matches had kept the family powerful and prosperous. Phillip would be rocking the proverbial boat by stepping out of traditional guidelines. He risked much. More importantly, he did not wish to subject Meredith to another form of familial denunciation. But he could not imagine giving up Meredith Brown simply because her father owned a factory instead of an estate.

  Mr. Stafford watched him silently. Finally, he said, “If marriage is not a likely outcome, I insist you stop pursuing her immediately—before you raise her expectations and subject her to gossip again.”

  Again? Her heartbreak must have been public, making a difficult situation even worse. He ached for all she’d suffered.

  Phillip set his jaw. “I understand, sir, and I agree wholeheartedly. I will do what I can to convince my family to give their blessing. Perhaps if they met her, they would see in her what I see.”

  Mr. Stafford pursed his lips. “Gain their approval, or you may not call upon her again.” He returned to the group.

  A disheartening condition. Phillip paced and tested the words he might use to convince his family to see Meredith Brown for who she was, not for her family connections or the lack thereof. He would fight for her. She was worth it.

  Chapter Ten

  The day after that magical afternoon Meredith had spent playing lawn games with Phillip Partridge and that unforgettable moment by the swing, Meredith greeted her new friend, Cora Harris. While Aunt Paulette chatted in the parlor with Mrs. Harris, Meredith and Cora linked arms and crossed the street to the small neighborhood park. Enormous shade trees spread a canopy overhead, a haven for twittering birds and scampering squirrels.

  Cora described a theatrical production she’d seen the previous night. “I wish you could have been there. There were ever so many members of the ton there—grand lords and ladies wearing their finest. Oh, and that scandalous Lord Hennessy with his mistress.” She sighed. “I know it’s asking much, but I really hope if my future husband takes a mistress that he’s at least discreet. I couldn’t stand the humiliation if he weren’t.”

  Meredith snorted. “Husbands ought to be faithful, just as they expect fidelity from their wives.”

  Cora’s voice hushed. “If husbands don’t find their wives attractive, as mine surely won’t, it seems common for them to stray.”

  “They ought to have self-control regardless of their wives’ attractiveness,” Meredith said flatly. “And no more talk about your husband not finding you attractive. You are lovely in many ways.”

  “At least Mr. Morton seems to think so.”

  Meredith gathered her courage. “He does seem to, but I fear he may not be sincere in his attentions.”

  “Why do you say that?” Wide, innocent eyes turned to her.

  “For one thing, it’s common knowledge that you have a substantial dowry. This makes you an automatic target for fortune hunters.”

  Cora frowned. “My parents have been very open about that since this must be my only Season.”

  “Why?”

  “My younger sister is in love with a boy from our village, and my father has this old-fashioned notion that the elder sister must marry before the younger, so they have determined to try to find me a husband this Season so Sarah can marry this summer.” More quietly, she added, “Sarah is pretty.”

  “Cora, you are pretty in all the ways that matter. And men who fail to see that are fools.”

  Cora smiled. “You are a dear.”

  “You may not think so when I tell you what I think I ought.” Meredith chewed on her lower lip. She’d done this twice before, but it was no easier now. “Sweeting, I asked about Mr. Morton, and I heard from more than one source that he only courts young ladies who have large dowries.”

  Cora went very still. “He does”

  In a flat voice, Meredith delivered the blow. “He proposed to at least two of them.”

  Her friend let out a shaking breath.

  “He is a known fortune hunter, Cora. You are a means to an end.”

  Cora’s chin trembled. “He told me he loves me.”

  “I, too, have fallen for that line. Twice. Both turned out to be liars. I know how convincing men can be when they say that.”

  Cora’s eyes filled with tears. “He kissed me last night. It was so . . . pleasant.”

  Meredith understood that, too. “I’m sorry. I thought you should know.” She guided her distraught young friend to a park bench and drew her down to sit.

  Cora sniffed. “I have no other prospects. No one else has paid me any attention.” Her shoulder shook. “I thought he truly cared. He said he loved me most ardently. Those were his words. Loved me. Ardently.” She put a hand over her mouth. A tear leaked out of each eye.

  Gently, Meredith said, “It’s your choice whether you choose to marry him. Many marry to make a good match, or to please their families, or even because they no longer wish to be a burden to their families and have no other prospects. But I don’t want your heart to be broken, thinking he loves you only to discover his true motive later.” She handed Cora her handkerchief and held her hand while her friend grieved.

  Finally, Cora dried her tears. “Thank you for telling me. That must have been difficult.”

  “It was.” Meredith pushed out a breath. “What will you do now?”

  “I’m tempted to tell him I will never see him again, but my family is so happy. Perhaps I ought to discuss it with my parents before I decide.”

  “That sounds wise.” She paused. “If you take my advice, you’d send him packing and seek another. It’s early in the Season. You deserve better”

  Cora dabbed her eyes. “We ought to return home before Mother worries.”

  When they returned, Mrs. Harris was saying her goodbyes to Aunt Paulette. “Oh, there you are, Cora.” She took a second look at Cora. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “I learned that the only reason Mr. Morton is courting me is for my dowry.”

  “Oh, that.” Mrs. Harris waved her hand. “I suspected as much. But that’s why you have a dowry, dear. I am confident if he marries you that you will make the best of it.”

  Meredith snapped her mouth shut and looked downward, lest she glare daggers at Cora’s insensitive mother. After they left, Meredith opened her mouth to decry Mrs. Harris, but her aunt beat her to it.

  “Many mothers are a great trial.”

  The statement took Meredith off guard, and she laughed as she removed her hat and gloves. “I suppose. If I am ever blessed with children, I will endeavor not to be.”

  “You do that.” Aunt Paulette kissed her forehead.

  A motion outside the bay window caught Meredith’s eye. She smiled from the inside out as Mr. Phillip Partridge mounted the front steps. “He’s here.”

  “Mr. Partridge?” her aunt guessed.

  “Oh, Aunt. I fear very much that I might be starting to . . . like him.” She unbuttoned her pelisse.

  “Of course you are. I’m starting to like him.”

  “But what if he turns out to be exactly like—”

  “What if he isn’t? What if he is exactly the kind, genuine, caring person he seems?” Aunt Paulette said.

  Could her aunt be right?

  The door knocker clanged, and Meredith hurried to remove her pelisse and smooth her hair. A moment later, Phillip Partridge entered. Something about his smile felt very private, as if he’d only ever smiled this way for her.

  He greeted her aunt, asked about the family, and then turned his full attention to Meredith. “I have a taste for an ice and hoped I might entice you to join me.”

  Meredith smiled. “An ice sounds lovely.”

 
; She put back on her pelisse, hat, and gloves and took his offered arm. Outside, a young tiger sitting in the fold-down seat nodded solemnly at her. Mr. Partridge handed her in and took a seat next to her, his thigh brushing against hers, so warm, but not as warm as the currents zinging through her.

  After enjoying an ice at Gunter’s, where they laughed over the antics of children playing nearby, he drove to the park and left his curricle and team with the tiger, who held the reins with practiced ease.

  Arm in arm, Meredith and Mr. Partridge strolled together as if they had always been this comfortable. They followed the path in to a less-used area of the park where a breeze murmured in the trees and a red squirrel scampered up a trunk.

  He pushed out a weighted breath. “Your uncle gave his permission for me to court you on the condition that my family agrees to any possible future union between us.”

  “Ah. That was the conversation you had with him yesterday.” Future union? Was he thinking of marriage?

  “It was. I know that feels rather like putting the cart before the horse, since you may decide that we don’t suit, but I must honor your uncle’s request.”

  Her heart began an unsteady thumping, half hopeful, half fearful. “What, exactly are you saying?”

  “I am not at liberty to ask you to marry me yet.” Turning to face her, he enfolded her hands in his and looked into her eyes with clear adoration and hopeful vulnerability. “I love you, Meredith Brown.”

  She went very still. Nothing about his proposal resembled the others. This one rang of sincerity.

  In his beautiful voice, he continued to weave his spell. “I want nothing more than to marry you—if you will have me.”

  He wanted to marry her—not ask her to be his mistress. He would marry her even though he believed her dowry was small, even though her father came from the working class.

  He stepped in so close that his breath warmed her cheek. “My family will not approve unless I proceed carefully with them, but I plan to do all I can to convince them. I’m certain once they meet you, they will see in you what I see.”

  He deserved to know all about her. Even if it meant he’d change his mind. She had to tell him.

  “Mr. Partridge . . .” She moistened her lips, but her voice all but left her.

  “Phillip,” he said.

  He might regret granting her permission do something so intimate as to use his Christian name. Her knees shook. “You should know that I have been engaged. Twice.”

  He went still. After a heartbeat, he put his hand on her arm and leaned in closer. “Tell me,” he whispered. He brushed his lips over her temple. A thousand little candles lit inside her.

  “I . . .” She grappled for coherent thought. Her confession might change everything. “I thought it was love at first sight. My father refused to allow us to continue courting. He said my suitor was a rake and would make a poor husband, but I was foolish and refused to listen to reason. I thought we were in love. So, we eloped. Or so I thought.” Her voice caught.

  He went still but didn’t step away. Instead, he put his free hand on her other arm.

  “My father caught up to us before we’d gotten more than an hour down the road. Later, I learned we were not on our way to Gretna Green after all. He had not planned a marriage—only a seduction.” She swallowed through the pain of his betrayal.

  He tightened his grip on her arms. At least he hadn’t recoiled in revulsion.

  “Everyone assumed I’d been ruined and tutted about how fortunate I was not to have had a child.” Sickness thickened in her stomach. “Once enough time passed to prove to gossipers that I was not increasing, my parents sent me to live with my paternal grandmother. They said it was to give the scandal a chance to die down, but I knew the truth: they despised me. They could hardly stand to look at me.” After all this time, it still cut her all the way through, leaving a ragged, bleeding wound. “Occasionally, they write formal, polite letters, as if I were a distant relative.” She let out her breath in a half sob. “I read about my father’s mill in the newspaper.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  She dragged in a shaking breath. “About a year later, I received a second proposal from a suitor. I thought he was different. He sought permission to marry me from my grandmother, but she suspected his feelings were not genuine, that he was only after my dowry. She offered him money to leave. He snatched the money without a backward glance. I never saw him again.”

  Silently, he kissed her brow again, taking the sting out of those frauds in her past. But the consequences remained.

  Her voice shook. “If anyone in London learns of my scandalous past, it would taint you and your paragon of a brother.”

  Firmly, he said, “I am not interested in gossip.”

  “But the Duke of Suttenberg has such a high standard of excellence. And your mother . . . no duchess would want her son embroiled with a lowborn, scandalous woman. Your family—”

  “Will need to be won over. But no more now than before you told me.” He pulled away and looked her in the eye soberly, earnestly. Then, a faint smile curved his lips. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, the Suttenberg reputation is strong enough to withstand a whisper of gossip from years ago that may or may not have followed you here from up north.”

  With a wan smile, she teased, “That’s the most arrogant thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  His smile turned to a grin that showed his dimple. “That’s because I’m so confident in my stunning good looks and charm that I need not boast.”

  A huff of laughter bubbled up inside her. “You are correct on all accounts, of course.”

  He raised his brows. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”

  She pursed her lips, but it collapsed into a rueful smile. “I suppose I did.”

  “You, my dear, are everything lovely, and I will happily compliment you each time I see you. I look forward to trying to earn another compliment in a few years.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll hand one out that soon.”

  Laughing, he pulled her into a strong embrace and held her close. “Admit, it; you love my dimple.”

  “I adore your dimple,” she breathed. “And I adore you.”

  His heart thumped against her, and he pressed his lips into her hair. She sank into him. Her body and soul let out a sigh that at last they’d found their missing parts only supplied by him. If she’d known how wondrous—how healing—it would be to allow Phillip Partridge to hold her, she might have relented sooner. But she hadn’t been ready sooner. Now? Now she was ready. Not just ready—starved.

  He loosened his grip and pulled his head back enough to look at her. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips tingled, burned, ached. Unbearably slowly, he lowered his head, coming closer, ever closer. An agonizing tightness in her stomach clenched as he moved with all the languid motions of a master torturer. A distressed whimper wrenched out of her. She closed the gap between them, guided to his lips by a magnetic pull. His kiss was sweet and gentle at first but turned to consuming hunger that only fanned her need. Through it, she received his message: he truly loved her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Phillip cantered his horse on the long, winding drive to the Suttenberg home, Edgeworth House, on the outskirts of London. The Tudor structure with Elizabethan and Georgian additions once reposed in a pastoral area, but as London grew, other homes cropped up nearby. Still, the house and surrounding grounds retained its old-country charm with expansive lawns and spreading shade trees. Sheep grazed on the hills of the estate, and peacocks called as they fanned their glorious tails. The setting sun cast purple shadows on the drive, but Phillip knew the way so well he could have traveled it with his eyes closed.

  After dismounting and tossing his reins to a servant, Phillip dashed up the short flight of stairs to the front door.

  The butler opened the door before Phillip knocked. “Welcome home, sir.”

  Phillip handed off his hat and gloves. “Good evening, Barnes. Is
the duchess home?”

  “Indeed, sir. She is in her bedchamber dressing for dinner, I believe.”

  “Thank you.” It had taken Phillip years to convince the old family butler that he need not announce Phillip to his own mother. Smiling again over that small victory, Phillip strode up the stairs two at a time, unable to contain his nervous energy. Meredith Brown’s surprisingly passionate kisses fueled his determination.

  No amount of rehearsing had produced the right words to say to his mother. He’d simply have to speak from the heart and hope she would be more receptive than expected.

  He knocked at her door. “Mother?”

  A pause. “Phillip? Come in.”

  He pushed open the door and stepped in. Wearing a blue brocade evening gown, she sat at her dressing table while a maid styled her dark hair. Her reflection smiled at him from the mirror.

  “This is a surprise. What brings you here, son?”

  “Can’t a son pay a call to his mother without there being a specific purpose?” He crossed the room and kissed her cheek.

  “He could, but he seldom does.” Her smile softened her gentle scolding.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I am chastened.”

  “We shall see. If you are truly chastened, you’ll pay me a visit once in a while, just to bask in my wisdom and maternal affection.”

  He chuckled, his nervousness making it sound choked. “Yes, Mother.” He sat in a nearby armchair so he could look her in the eye. “Mother, I know your social calendar is quite full, but I have come to ask you if you will host a small dinner party for some friends of mine.”

  “Of course. I am not entertaining much this Season, so I’d be happy to throw together one for you. Who would you like to invite?”

  “Lord and Lady Daubrey, the Harris family, Michael Cavenleigh, perhaps Cole Amesbury”—the viscount seemed to like Meredith, so that might help Phillip’s cause—“and the Staffords.”

  She nodded. “As you wish. A dinner party that small will be no strain.”

  “Could you pull it together in a few days?”