by Donna Hatch
“Indeed, I have.” Somehow, she had managed to sound almost light. “We were discussing how I have yet to visit Vauxhall Gardens.”
“I shall be happy to remedy that for you,” Lord Amesbury said with a twinkle in his eye.
Phillip said in a warning voice, “No need. I claim the privilege of seeing to that happy duty.”
He turned his full attention to Meredith. A desperate sort of longing shadowed his eyes, and faint blue circles under his eyes suggested a lack of sleep. Did he regret his wager? Or was he merely sorry she’d discovered it? Perhaps he had some other game.
“Miss Brown, I believe it is a bit warm in here, is it not? Please allow me to escort you out to the balcony for a breath of air before dinner.”
Meredith clenched her fan tightly enough that it cracked. “I don’t think it’s overly warm.”
“Please.” The pleading in his eyes tugged at her. “Come out with me—only for a moment. I wish very much to have a word with you.”
Annabel nudged her. “Perhaps just as you allowed Mr. Morton to defend himself, you could allow Mr. Partridge to do the same?”
Cora nodded her head so vigorously that her bandeau slipped a little. Michael Cavenleigh wore a similar look of pleading. Phillip touched her arm, whisper light, his expression grave and heart-wrenchingly vulnerable.
Meredith relented. “Only for a moment.”
He held out his arm and waited, desperate, cautious, hurt. Had she hurt him?
She took his arm and accompanied him outside to a balcony. The evening air cooled her heated face. She glanced back to be sure they remained in full view of the room.
He took a breath that seemed to take effort. “First, I am sorry I wagered on you. Second, the wager came as a result of my declaration to Michael that you were the only one for me and that I would marry you one day.”
She went still at his unexpected words.
“He said you would never forgive me dumping you into the river. One thing led to another. The wager came as a result. That is all. Two posturing stallions. It has nothing to do with my desire to court you.”
She searched his eyes, seeking clues to his honesty.
He put a hand underneath her elbow and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I loved you almost from the moment I saw you. I have been sincere in my affections and love you more each day. If you need more time, I will gladly give it to you—even if it takes years. My love for you will remain constant.”
Holding onto her suspicions as if they were her old friends, she asked, “Years? What about your wager?”
He waved away he words. “I’ll muck out his stables if I must. That timeline of marrying you before the end of the Season has nothing to do with you and me.” He took both of her hands, pressed them together, and enclosed them with his. “Please allow me to court you, to prove to you how much I adore and love you.”
She looked down at their hands. Did she dare trust him?
“I would marry you this moment if you would have me, but I’m not asking you to pledge yourself to me just yet. I will give you all the time you need to trust me. Please, please, allow me court you.”
He seemed sincere. How could she know for certain? “When did you make this wager?”
“The day after Vauxhall. I think Michael was, in his own way, trying to encourage me to woo you.” He waited.
She looked up at him and caught her breath at the cautious hope in his expression.
A lump formed in her throat. She whispered, “I do wish to continue spending time in your company.”
He let out a shaking breath. “Then you forgive me?”
She pointed her fan at him. “No more wagers about me.”
His shoulders sagged in relief, and he nodded. “I vow it.”
A half sob, half laugh broke free. “Yes. What about your mother? And the duke?”
“I am working on a plan to handle them.” He tugged on her hand and smiled. “I want so badly to kiss you again, right now, but I’d best not.”
“No, not now.” Shyly, she suggested, “Perhaps we can sneak away later.”
He let out a soft moan. “I can hardly wait.”
“Oh, and I want you to meet my parents.”
He brightened. “They came? I hadn’t heard back.”
She smiled tenderly. “You arranged that.”
He nodded. “You were so unhappy about the estrangement.”
“Thank you. You arranged all this too, didn’t you?” She gestured to the party.
“Lady Daubrey was kind enough to arrange it for us.”
As they returned to the drawing room, they found Meredith’s parents conversing freely with her aunt and uncle, with the Viscount Amesbury, and with the Duke and Duchess of Suttenberg. On Phillip’s arm, she approached them.
Phillip’s tension was palpable, but he made a valiant attempt to appear casual. He glanced between Mama and Papa and Meredith.
Meredith took the hint. “Mama, Papa, may I present Mr. Phillip Partridge?”
After a quick, proper bow, Papa said, “Ah, yes, Mr. Partridge. Thank you again for your kind letter. It was most welcome.”
“If it brought happiness to Miss Brown, then I am happy to have been of service,” Phillip said. “Now that you are here, I must take this opportunity to ask if I might formally court your daughter.”
Papa glanced at Meredith. She smiled and nodded. He returned his gaze. “I understand you had a similar conversation with her uncle recently.”
“Yes, sir.” He held his breath.
So did Meredith.
Papa paused. Finally, he said, “He and I discussed you. We determined that you possess the moral character we require of anyone who has an interest in her. You may court her for as long as she desires it—with your family’s permission.”
“Phillip.” The duchess’s voice, though soft, had an edge to it.
He turned to her. “Mother, Suttenberg, you may not have been aware that Miss Meredith Brown is the young lady I have been courting and who I deeply love. Now that you have met her and her family, I trust you will give us your blessing.”
Phillip’s tension spilled over onto Meredith. They waited while two pairs of eyes shrewdly studied her and their linked arms.
Finally, his brother said to Papa, “It is my understanding that you own a lace factory up north?”
Papa said simply, “I own three, in fact.”
Meredith leaped into the fray, and her words came spilling out in a torrent. “He is a successful businessman and a fair and honest employer who treats his workers better than most landowners treat their tenants. He is successful through hard work and determination, not because his family inherited land from the crown generations ago.”
No one could have mistaken the implication, or the bold, impudent, even disrespectful words. But she couldn’t stand their snobbishness another moment.
The duke glanced at her. A faint lifting of his brows came in reply as he studied her. “Familial devotion is an admirable quality.” To her papa, he said, “Have you suffered losses to your mills in the recent riots?”
“A few looms were damaged, but we made repairs and are now producing up to standards.” He glanced at Phillip. “Her dowry is protected by a trust, if that concerns you.”
“And there it will stay for her own use if she agrees to marry me,” Phillip said.
Meredith’s lingering doubt slipped away. He didn’t want a dalliance. He didn’t want her dowry. He wanted to marry her. He loved her.
“You mistake my meaning,” the duke said to Papa. “I merely asked in the event you needed help getting repairs completed so you could resume production.”
“Very kind of you.” Keeping eye contact with the duke as if they were equals, Papa said, “Your brother seems a good, honorable man who truly cares for my daughter. I have no objection to their courtship. Do you?”
Meredith had never been prouder of him.
The duke paused, glanced at Phillip, then at Meredith. “I have no objec
tion.” Finally, he turned to his mother. “Duchess?”
The stone-faced duchess looked at Phillip in a meaningful way. “Phillip already knows my feelings on the matter.”
Phillip went so still he might have been carved of marble.
She continued, “After our last interview, I made some inquiries. It seems there is a touch of scandal attached to her.” She addressed Phillip. “Do you know of this?”
Meredith knew her past would come back to haunt her but could hardly believe the duchess would bring this up in front of others.
“I do.” Phillip said. “She told me.”
“You are still willing to have someone who is ruined?” the duchess demanded.
Meredith flinched.
In a growl, Phillip said. “What is she guilty of? Being young and trusting and falling in love with someone who lied to her? Haven’t any of you done that?”
Nearly every eye shifted away, even his mother’s.
Phillip drew her closer and put an arm around her. “She is a kind and warm and gracious lady. I love her. I mean to marry her, if she’ll have me.”
Tears blurred Meredith’s vision.
In a softer voice, the duchess said, “It seems you are determined, my son. After meeting Miss Brown and seeing how well received she and her family are, especially by Suttenberg, it seems my concerns are perhaps not as great as I first supposed.”
They all waited.
She raised her hand and gave a small wave. “Very well, court her—all Season.” She emphasized to be sure no one mistook her meaning. “If by the Season’s end you still feel you are suited, you may marry with my blessing.”
Phillip kissed his mother’s hand, then her cheek. Then he kissed Meredith’s hand and cheek. She’d get a more proper kiss later even if she had to instigate it. Her joy bubbled up and filled the room with a rainbow of color.
As the smugly pleased host and hostess led them to dinner, Meredith clung onto Phillip’s arm, hoping her loving glances and tightened hold revealed what she had not yet spoken. With the last of her doubts gone and their family concerns cleared, Meredith could at last tell him.
After a dinner filled with deliberate brushes of their arms and even a discreet hand holding under the table, they at last stole a moment together.
While the rest of the group concentrated on a game of charades, they ducked into an alcove between columns and behind a large potted plant.
“I love you, Phillip Partridge,” she said breathlessly before she lost her nerve.
He let out a smiling breath and closed his eyes. Pulling her into his arms, he said, “I love you, Meredith Brown.”
“And Phillip.” She pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “I was only socially ruined. I vow my virtue is still intact.”
He touched her face. “I would not love you any less if it wasn’t.”
Phillip kissed her with all the love and tenderness and passion of their earlier kiss but with a promise and a bright hope for many more.
Chapter Fifteen
Under a bower of summer leaves, Phillip pushed away his wedding breakfast and tucked his bride against his side. “You look beautiful, Mrs. Partridge.”
Radiant in her wedding gown, she beamed at him. “You look quite dashing, Mr. Partridge.”
Mucking out Michael’s stables two weeks ago when the Season officially ended was a small price to pay to keep his promise to their parents that they court the entire Season before becoming engaged. It was a small price to pay to reassure everyone they knew each other well enough to make this mismatch into a marriage. Yes, well worth it. As consolation, Michael vowed he’d still ride a mule through Hyde Park tomorrow. A true friend.
During their courtship, they had even visited Vauxhall together. Twice. Without tipping over their boat.
He kissed her cheek. “Do you believe in love at first sight now?”
“I believe in attraction at first sight and that it can become love later,” she said with a conciliatory tone.
“How about love at first sight that grows into a deeper love with time?”
“Very well.”
He pulled her to a stand.
With a mischievous, knowing look, she tilted her head to one side coquettishly. “Is it time to go?”
“We’ve had the obligatory breakfast, the carriage awaits, and our honeymoon is about to begin.”
After the well-wishers saw them off, Phillip pulled her close on the seat in the carriage. “I wager our first child will be a boy.”
She swatted his arm. “You promised; no more wagers about me.”
“It’s not directly about you.” He grinned and kissed her playfully.
Then he kissed her with purpose. As the coach rolled along to their new life, he poured out his love and commitment to his beloved wife. She returned it and more. Phillip had the one who really saw him, who truly knew him, and who loved him with all of her generous heart.
The End
More romances by Donna Hatch:
About Donna Hatch
Donna Hatch is the award-winning author of the best-selling Rogue Hearts Series. She discovered her writing passion at the tender age of eight and has been listening to those voices ever since. A sought-after workshop presenter, she juggles her day job, freelance editing, multiple volunteer positions, not to mention her six children (seven, counting her husband), and still manages to make time to write. Yes, writing IS an obsession. A native of Arizona, she and her husband of over twenty years are living proof that there really is a happily ever after.
For sneak peeks, specials, deleted scenes, and more information, visit Donna’s website: www.donnahatch.com.
Twitter: @DonnaHatch
The Final Wager
By Heather B. Moore
Chapter One
Lord Victor Roland, Earl of Locken, scowled as two men bumbled into the private room at White’s. The card game had finally turned in his favor, and now this interruption. The game was by invitation only, and if these two had made it past Mr. Graham, then there was going to be trouble.
Victor rose to his feet, using his cane to cushion his ankle injury from riding two weeks before. Victor’s three companion players rose to their feet at the intrusion as well. “Who let you in here?” he demanded. That was when he recognized one of the men as John Baldwin, Earl of Southill. “Southill?”
The man’s blue eyes connected with Victor’s. “Locken! The rumors are true. I said I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it for myself, didn’t I, Ludlow?”
The man with portly cheeks, who was apparently Ludlow, nodded.
“When someone told me that Lord Locken was the Captain Sharp who dominated the gambling tables, I didn’t believe them,” Southill continued. “Because the only Lord Locken I knew barely passed mathematics at Eton.”
Victor ignored the insult as he eyed Southill. They’d been at Eton together, yes, but that had been over a decade ago. Southill had changed—not just aged—but he looked as if he’d spent the night on the street. First, he reeked of cheap brandy; second, his cravat was soiled with a dark stain. His deep green vest was out of fashion by at least a couple of years, and the edges of his jacket sleeves were frayed. Had the man fallen on hard times? From Victor’s questionable memory, Southill had inherited an earldom upon his father’s death.
Southill stuck his hand out, and Victor reluctantly shook it.
“You’ve grown into your role, my friend,” Southill said in a jovial tone. “I remember you as rather short and sort of dim. Always had plenty of spending money, though. Should I be addressing you as Your Grace?”
“Not yet, my man,” Victor said, trying to keep his tone conciliatory. “My father might have one foot in the grave, but he is still Duke of Wycliff.”
Southill nodded. “Ah, all the best to your family, then.”
“And how is your family?” Victor asked. He’d heard of the Earl of Southill’s death the year before, but Victor didn’t know how rich of an estate was bestowed upon Southill.
The man might be getting booted out of this room in about ten seconds.
Southill straightened. “Three months past my year of mourning. And I’m enjoying my new role as the Earl of Southill.”
The man’s words rankled Victor. If Southill was an earl now, in possession of land and wealth, why did something seem so off about his manner and appearance? Victor folded his arms. “What brings you here tonight?”
Southill grinned. “I’m here to win.” He looked over at his friend Ludlow. “Isn’t that right?”
Ludlow chuckled. “That’s what you did tell me and everyone else in White’s.”
“Tell him what else I said,” Southill prompted.
Ludlow obliged. “Lord Southill has come to beat the best gambler in London.”
Victor slowly turned his gaze to Southill. “And why is that?”
Southill’s blue eyes widened a fraction. “Let’s just say I’ve lost a few bets, and I aim to earn it all back. And what better way than to win it from the richest gambler in the city?”
“What makes you think I’m the richest gambler?”
“Because rumors are that you never lose and have been dubbed a Captain Sharp,” Southill said. “But you haven’t played me yet.”
Victor had more questions, but he’d been issued a challenge, one that he never could turn down. It took him seconds to make up his mind. “One game of vingt-et-un,” Victor said. “But your friend here has to leave.”
Ludlow sputtered; Southill sent the man on his way.
Victor took his seat along with his playing companions, Lord Hudson, Mr. Gilbert, and Lord Duncan. Victor took up the cards and dealt them. Victor might not have been a mathematics expert at Eton, but he was good at reading people. He could spot a bluff instantly and knew all the telltale signs of deception. When someone claimed they had a one or two, Victor instinctively knew if he should double the stakes. That was why he’d only agreed to one game with Southill. Something wasn’t right with this man, and if Victor doubled the stakes, he sensed that Southill would be in trouble.
