Wager for a Wife

by Karen Tuft

  Soon it was their turn. Louisa exited the carriage, assisted by her father, who’d preceded her, and then waited, pulling her wrap a bit more tightly around her, as her mother descended the carriage steps. The sky held the last vestiges of twilight, and the dewy spring air was chilly, creating a blurry halo around the moon in an otherwise cloudless sky.

  It appeared Louisa’s dress was the only cloud venturing out tonight.

  In contrast to the nighttime sky, the entrance hall of the Wilmingtons’ residence was ablaze with light, and Louisa found herself having to blink until her eyes adjusted. A grand chandelier hung overhead, and silver sconces adorned the walls. Perfumes and beeswax mingled together, creating a heady fragrance, and the hum of conversation echoed through the marble hall. The gowns and turbans and plumes of the ladies provided a vivid counterpoint to the formal black the gentlemen wore. Louisa shivered with excitement and anticipation and a touch of nervousness as well.

  After what seemed an age to Louisa, she and her parents finally made their way through the crush to Lord and Lady Wilmington.

  “I daresay you are destined to break many a poor gentleman’s heart this Season, Lady Louisa,” Lord Wilmington said. He was a short, round man with a genial nature, and Louisa had always liked him. “What a dashing young lady you have become. But then, you were always a pretty little thing.”

  “You are too kind, Lord Wilmington,” Louisa said, offering a demure curtsy.

  “Your gown is exquisite,” Lady Wilmington said. She was as short and round as her husband, but the plumes attached to the turban she wore gave her a decided advantage in height over her husband this evening. She leaned in closer to Louisa, causing the purple silk of her gown to rustle and the feathers atop her head to flutter precariously. “I rather like the gauzy fabric, my dear. Rather fluffy and cloud-like. Very becoming.”

  Louisa’s hand darted to her bodice. Had her exasperating brothers managed to arrive ahead of her? Had her mother said something to Lady Wilmington? They couldn’t have; they wouldn’t have. Would they?

  She looked carefully into Lady Wilmington’s face but could see only the same good-hearted amiability the lady always exuded. “Thank you, Lady Wilmington,” she managed to say in a rather strangled voice.

  Lady Wilmington took Louisa’s hand and patted it. “Are you quite well, my dear?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Since Lady Wilmington didn’t add anything to her earlier cloud reference, Louisa decided—hoped, rather—that it must have been a coincidence. A coincidence she had no intention of sharing—especially with her brothers, who would never let her live it down.

  Couples were already taking their places on the floor by the time Louisa and her parents arrived at the ballroom, and the musicians were warming up their instruments on the dais. The first dance of the evening would soon be underway. The murmur of conversation filled the room, and as Louisa looked around the room for familiar faces, all thoughts of clouds faded from her mind.

  Lord Kerridge would be here tonight, and he had asked her to reserve a dance for him. The evening would be filled with dancing, and that meant she would most likely have many dance partners, for Lord Kerridge wouldn’t be able to dance with her more than two dances. She had already penciled his name on her card for one dance. Would he ask her for a second later in the evening—perhaps the supper dance? Were there other gentlemen here tonight she would find as charming as he?

  What if no one else asked her to dance? The thought hadn’t occurred to her before, but it was entirely possible she could end up a wallflower, sitting with Mama and her friends and fanning herself out of embarrassment and boredom. How mortifying that would be if, at her first real ball, she turned out to be an utter failure. Could a worse thing imaginable ever happen to her? She doubted it.

  “Would you care to dance with me, Lady Ashworth, before you settle in with your friends and fret over which young suitors are paying court to your daughter?” Papa asked Mama, interrupting Louisa’s stream of thought.

  Goodness, she was so nervous she was babbling in her head now.

  “You mean before you discreetly head in the direction of the card room, Ashworth?” Mama replied with a coy smile.

  “Precisely, my love.”

  “I would enjoy such a dance, provided your daughter is not left on her own as a result.”

  Ashworth glanced around the ballroom. “You needn’t worry. Halford will show his face at any moment if he knows what’s good for him.”

  As if on cue, Alex and Anthony materialized at the ballroom door, both looking like lambs being led to the slaughter. Louisa hid a smile behind her gloved hand as her brothers spotted the rest of the family and made their way toward them.

  “I’m off to search the ranks for willing—I mean suitable—dance partners,” Anthony announced. “You shall not be left wanting, little sister.” Louisa barely had time to register what he’d said before he was off like a shot and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Lady Cumulus,” Alex said, bowing theatrically to Louisa, a twinkle in his eye. “How soon we meet again! I would be honored to dance the first dance with you, provided you do not become thunderous during our time together.”

  She laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. “Did you or Anthony say something about my gown to Lady Wilmington?” Drat. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to say anything about that.

  “Don’t be silly,” Alex said absentmindedly. “Wait.” He stopped walking. “Are you telling me she actually called your gown a cloud?”

  “Something like that,” Louisa answered, feeling rather grumpy about the entire business.

  Alex grinned.

  “Stop it,” Louisa said, rapping Alex on the arm with her fan, which caused both of her parents to turn and give her reproving looks. “Stop it,” she repeated in a quieter tone, trying her best not to giggle. It was all so ludicrous. “I chose this gown with extreme care, you know. Does it really make me look like some sort of weather phenomenon?”

  “It’s a very delightful, very fluffy gown, Weezy—much better than the monstrosity you wore when you were presented at court last week.”

  Louisa shuddered. “That gown was a monstrosity—all hoops and brocade and ostrich plumes, with that horrid train I barely avoided tripping over as I backed away from Queen Charlotte after curtsying nearly all the way to the floor.”

  “I don’t envy you at all. In fact, I applaud your ability to stay on your feet.”

  The music began at that moment, and Louisa turned her attention to the steps of the lively country dance.

  Throughout the remainder of the evening, she found herself engaged to dance with a number of her brothers’ friends: Christopher “Kit” Osbourne, the eldest son of the Earl of Cantwell; his brother Philip; Sir Richard Egan; and Hugh Wallingham, to name but a few. Obviously, her brothers had listened closely to their father’s orders and done their duty in seeing Louisa had a full dance card for the evening. But they were friends, young gentlemen she’d met before, not suitors, really; at least, they didn’t seem that way to her. She could hardly be interested in someone who felt forced to bestow his favors on her, now could she?

  Dancing with her brothers’ friends hadn’t allowed her much of an opportunity to be introduced to other young gentlemen or to dance with some of the gentlemen with whom she’d already become acquainted. Like the Earl of Kerridge, for example.

  The earl was dashing and witty and was heir to the Duke of Aylesham, making him one of the great matrimonial prizes of the Season. Louisa, as the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth, was one of the highest-ranking young ladies making her come-out this year, if not the highest. While love matches were looked upon with tolerance, many noble marriages were still arranged for practical reasons, especially amongst the higher ranks. Louisa was not a fool. She knew at least that much about the Society into which she had been born. If Lord Kerridge offered her marriage, it woul
d be foolish not to consider it. Marriage to him would eventually make her a duchess.

  She did have a partiality toward the earl. But was this partiality love? She had no experience at all when it came to romantic love. Would she recognize the feeling when it happened? Would the attachment she felt for him grow into something more?

  Oh, but she dearly wished to marry for love.

  “Ahem, Lady Louisa,” a male voice behind her said.

  She turned, smiling, hopeful that Lord Kerridge had finally approached her to claim his dance. Her smile froze.

  Baron Moseby bowed to her. The baron, a widower, had been a rather persistent suitor as of late, and Louisa was not at all interested. “Lady Louisa,” he said again. “I would consider it a great honor if you were to dance—”

  “Sorry, old chap.” Lord Kerridge materialized next to the two of them. “I believe this dance is mine, is it not, Lady Louisa?”

  She cast wide eyes at him, unsure what to say. She didn’t particularly want to dance with the baron, but—

  “I must apologize for being tardy to claim my dance. I was caught up in a rather involved conversation. I do hope you will forgive me.” He winged his elbow out to Louisa, and she tentatively took it. “Sorry again, Moseby.”

  Baron Moseby bowed as Lord Kerridge led Louisa onto the ballroom floor.

  “It seems, like a hero of old, I arrived in the nick of time,” Lord Kerridge murmured as the lines formed for their dance. “I hope you don’t consider what I did too presumptuous, but the very idea of that . . . creature . . . laying a hand on you in any way made my blood curdle.”

  “That comes as something of a surprise since you have been preoccupied with others this evening,” Louisa said, flattered by his actions but a bit surprised by his heavy-handedness. Baron Moseby had been polite enough in his attentions to her, in spite of her lack of interest in return. Besides, she didn’t want to appear too young and eager. “You haven’t even said good evening to me yet.”

  “I must berate myself for my negligence. Good evening, Lady Louisa.” He took her gloved hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “You look quite heavenly this evening—a veritable angel descending to us from on high. Since I believe this is the supper dance, I hope you will forgive my rashness just now and join me for supper.”

  “Very well,” she replied, silently noting that his description of her was a bit cloud-like as well. “I forgive you, and I will gladly join you for supper.”

  “I thought you might,” he replied with a knowing smile. He took her hand in his, and the music began.

  * * *

  The weather improved after William’s first day of travel, and by the time he arrived at Farleigh Manor in Buckinghamshire, the skies were blue and the air pleasantly warm for April. Perhaps this accounted for the small degree of hope he was feeling, he thought as he exited the carriage and watched it drive off toward the stables.

  The main door of the house opened, and a bent, elderly man with white hair approached. Devil take it, if it wasn’t old Grimshaw after all!

  He gave William a very dignified bow. “Welcome home, your lordship,” he intoned in the low, gravelly voice William remembered from his boyhood.

  William chose not to act on ceremony. It was Grimshaw, after all, who’d conspired on more than one occasion to keep William’s boyish antics from getting him in trouble with his father. He grabbed the man’s hand and shook it heartily. “Grimshaw, what a great pleasure it is to see you again and looking so well!”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The man gestured for William to precede him inside.

  The entire staff was gathered in the main hall, which could only mean that the carriage had been spotted in the village and the staff at the manor had been informed of its approach. They all stood at attention now—all eight of them: Grimshaw; Mrs. Holly; Matthew; Samuel; Mrs. Brill, the cook; her daughter Mary, who was the scullery maid; and a footman and maid William didn’t know. Counting the coachman who had brought William here and was still with the horses, that would make nine servants in all.

  It was a small staff for an estate the size of Farleigh Manor, but as William had been anticipating the worst, it was a larger number than he’d expected. He strode over to Mrs. Holly, the housekeeper, who was first in line. She began to curtsy, but he reached for her hand and bowed over it. “Mrs. Holly, it is a delight to see you again and to find you still here at Farleigh Manor.”

  “Oh, you dear boy!” Mrs. Holly exclaimed, digging in her pocket and retrieving her handkerchief. “Welcome home!”

  “Samuel, Matthew, well met!” They had been more like fathers to him than his own had been. He and Matthew shook hands vigorously.

  “It’s a fine day that you’re back with us again at last, your lordship. A fine day.” Matthew gave William some welcoming pats on the back.

  “Boy . . .” Samuel spoke the word in a low rumble that grew into a growl and ended in a laugh as he threw his arms around William and hugged him tightly. He slapped his back and ruffled his hair—and entirely ignored the fact that William was the viscount and Samuel a mere stable master. It felt like heaven to William. He’d forgotten.

  He accepted another rib-breaking hug—this time from Mrs. Brill—and one from Mary, whom William had known all his life.

  “You’re back, Will!” Mary cried, her arms clinging tightly to his waist. Sweet, simpleminded Mary, who had been his best friend during childhood. “I knew you’d come back, and you did.”

  “Ah, my little Mary,” William said. He gently extricated himself from her arms and studied her closely, holding her hands at arm’s length. “You’re a lovely young woman now, aren’t you? I missed you the most, you know.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Because I love you the most.”

  He smiled at her words while the others chuckled.

  “Now, Mary, you mustn’t be sayin’ such things,” Mrs. Brill whispered to her daughter. “Beggin’ yer pardon, yer lordship.”

  “None needed, Mrs. Brill, I assure you.” He kissed Mary’s hand before letting it go.

  He was then introduced to John, the footman, and Sally, the maid of all work. He was already acquainted with the coachman, a red-faced, robust man of middle years named Walter. The entire round of introductions took all of five minutes.

  “May I show you to your rooms, your lordship?” Mrs. Holly asked, apparently feeling that a sense of decorum needed to be put in place for the new lord of the manor after calling him a dear boy.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Holly,” he said, nodding goodbye to the others and following her up the main stairs.

  Once they were out of earshot of the others, however, he stopped her. He was certain the rooms Mrs. Holly was taking him to would be the viscount’s rooms, but they had been his father’s. William had never set foot in them before and didn’t want to now. “I believe I would prefer to stay in my old room for the time being, if you don’t mind.”

  “But—oh, of course.” She nodded in understanding. “As you wish.”

  Mrs. Holly looked older—not as old as Grimshaw, to be sure, but there were lines on her face and about her eyes that hadn’t been there before, and there were more than a few threads of silver running through the brown hair that peeked out from beneath her cap.

  “Luncheon will be ready in an hour, allowing you time to refresh yourself, if you like, my lord,” she said. “In the meantime, I’ll have tea sent to your rooms. Ah, and Mr. Heslop asked me to inform you that he would join you here this afternoon, if that meets with your approval.”

  “He’s not staying here, then?”

  “No, my lord; he elected to stay in the village, at the George and Dragon.” She curtsied and turned to leave.

  “Mrs. Holly—”

  She stopped and turned back. “Yes, my lord?”

  “Mrs. Holly,” he repeated, extending both hands out to her. “I remember many times, in the not-so-very-distant past, when you chose to call me names, such as rascal and scamp and others of a similar nature. Le
t’s not overdo the ‘my lording,’ then, shall we?” He smiled and dipped his chin, waiting for her reply.

  “Oh, you!” she said, clasping her hands at her bosom, and—Good heavens, William thought, she wasn’t about to cry again, was she?—“You were always such a handsome little boy and a good boy, too, and just look at you! All grown up and as handsome a man as was ever born.” Her tears did fall then, and she pulled her handkerchief from her pocket once again and dabbed at her eyes while William patted her on the shoulder. “It is so good to have you back home at Farleigh Manor, Master William, where you belong.”

  “It’s good to be home.” It wasn’t entirely, not really, but now wasn’t the time for expressing such a sentiment.

  He excused himself from her and ventured on alone to his old room, which was located at the end of the same wing as the viscount and viscountess’s suites of rooms. He’d had little opportunity to inhabit it since leaving for Eton. It smelled of a mustiness that came from disuse, which would explain why Mrs. Holly had initially been taken aback when he’d said he preferred to stay here. She must have had the viscount’s rooms prepared for him. Knowing Mrs. Holly, however, she’d have his bedroom aired and ready for him by the time he retired to bed that evening.

  The room looked exactly as he remembered it. The counterpane and curtains were the same ones from his boyhood, made of dark-blue brocade meant to assist in hiding the dirt that was inherent to young males. The same painting still hung on the wall across from the bed—a simple landscape he himself had painted while at Eton. His desk. His bookcase.

  He crossed to the desk and opened the top drawer on the left, removing the object wrapped in cloth that lay inside. It was the small family portrait of him and his parents that had been commissioned when he was ten.