Wicked Wager

by Mary Gillgannon

  Marcus shook his head. “I never expected that a wife would be so much trouble.”

  “Are you still determined to get the wedding over with and then send her back to Horngate?”

  “Of course. Why would I have changed my mind?”

  James shrugged. “No reason. Just thought you might be having second thoughts. Getting tired of being inconvenienced and all that.”

  “Horngate is worth a few days of trouble,” Marcus snapped.

  ****

  “Miss?”

  Penny opened her eyes. At first she didn’t know where she was. Then she looked up and saw a young woman with startling red curls and a freckled face leaning over her and remembered Maggie, the Irish servant who helped her undress the night before.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, miss,” Maggie murmured. “But Mr. Revington said to get you up. I guess he means to take you to the dressmaker for some new frocks.” She motioned to a cup on the table beside the bed. “I brought you some chocolate.”

  Penny sat up and yawned. Picking up the cup, she took a swallow. “Oh, lovely.”

  “I’m glad you like it, miss. As soon as you’re finished, I’ll help you get dressed and do your hair.”

  “Oh, my hair.” Penny ran her fingers through the tangles and sighed. If she kept to her plan, she’d have Maggie put it up into her usual messy knot. But she was tired of appearing gauche and unkempt, and she really didn’t want to present herself that way in London. “I wonder if there might not be a way to curl it.”

  “Well, the one parlor maid who worked here last fall did leave some curling tongs behind, so we could try,” said Maggie. “But I’ll warn you, I never done no hair curlin’ before. You might say it would be the last thing to come to my mind.” As she motioned to her own head of springy curls, Penny couldn’t help laughing. She felt quite comfortable having Maggie wait on her. The maid appeared to be a good-hearted sort, for all her lack of experience as a lady’s maid.

  Between the two of them, they got Penny dressed. Then Maggie went down to get the curling tongs while Penny brushed out her hair. Maggie returned, and after heating the tongs in the fireplace, approached Penny, seated on the bed. “Here goes, miss.”

  Maggie grabbed a strand of hair and wrapped it around the tongs. “How long should I hold it?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Penny. A few moments later, the distinctive smell of burning hair floated to her nose. “That’s enough, I think!”

  Maggie removed the tongs and they both stared at the slightly singed curl that resulted.

  “I’m not sure…” Maggie began.

  “It’s fine,” said Penny. “Let’s try another one.”

  This curl turned out a bit better. But the tongs cooled quickly and Maggie had to keep reheating them. When they had Penny’s hair only about half curled, a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Penny, are you ready yet?” Revington called.

  “Not…not quite,” she answered.

  “What the devil are you doing in there? It smells like burning feathers.”

  Penny suppressed a giggle. The doorbell rattled. “Give us a moment, sir,” called Maggie.

  They heard a sigh of aggravation, then footsteps receding down the hall.

  “Don’t you fret,” said Maggie. “We’ll manage this yet. Mr. Revington’s a real impatient bloke, but he’ll be pleased as punch when he sees you. The curls really do wonders for you.”

  Penny got up from the bed and went to look at herself in the glass over the dresser, turning her head so she couldn’t see the uncurled part of her hair. Maggie was right. She actually looked rather attractive. The next moment she felt a twinge of uncertainty. If her goal was to disgust Revington so he’d give up on marrying her, she shouldn’t be trying to make herself look nice. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her wretched cousin Adrian had always acted as if she was utterly repulsive, and a part of her was determined to prove him wrong.

  Maggie returned with the tongs and Penny sat again so she could finish. As soon as she was done, Penny grabbed her pelisse and reticule and started downstairs. Revington was waiting for her in the library. He jumped up when he saw her. “There you are. I have the phaeton waiting outside. The groom’s been walking the horses.”

  He took her arm and led her briskly toward the door. Penny felt a flash of irritation. He hasn’t even noticed my hair!

  But as he helped her into the phaeton, he glanced at her and his eyes widened. “What have you done with your hair?”

  “I had Maggie curl it. Do you like it?”

  “Like it?” A strange expression crossed his face. “Why…yes. It seems quite flattering.” The next moment he frowned. “I was going to engage a maid for you, but perhaps you could get by with Maggie.” His gaze shot up to meet hers. “Since you won’t be in London long.”

  “That’s perfectly fine with me.” Even as she said the words, she realized she should have insisted he get her a maid. She must remember her goal to inconvenience him as much as possible. And also cost him as much money she could. She felt irritated with herself. What was it about this man that made her want to appear agreeable and pleasing?

  As they set off, with Marcus driving, she asked, “Do you drive everywhere you go?”

  “Usually. I like to take charge of my circumstances and not rely on anyone else.”

  His words echoed what James had told her. Revington liked to feel in control. If she could make him feel as if marrying her would cause his life to spiral out of control, he would almost certainly give up the idea.

  On the way to Bond Street, they passed numerous stylish open carriages. Revington nodded to many of the occupants, as if he was acquainted with them. While the men took little note of Penny, the women regarded her with frank curiosity. She wondered if Revington was embarrassed to be seen with her. Glancing at him, she saw that he appeared cool and distant, his usual demeanor.

  They reached a street full of shops. Revington pulled the team to a halt and handed the reins to a waiting osteler. He helped Penny out of the carriage and they started down the street. As they drew near to a sign proclaiming Madame Dubonet, Modiste. Penny recalled what James had said, and exclaimed, “Can we go in here?”

  Revington halted, frowning. “I suppose so. This is probably as good a place as any.”

  A striking red-haired woman met them coming out, her low-cut gown revealing an expanse of lush white cleavage. “Marcus,” the woman said. “How lovely to see you!” Gazing at his face, she gave a lilting laugh.

  Revington appeared startled at first. Then he smiled tightly and bowed. “Elizabeth.”

  The woman turned and stared pointedly at Penny. Marcus cleared his throat. “Ah, yes…. That is…” He took a breath. “Elizabeth, may I introduce my-my fiancée, Penelope Montgomery.”

  The woman stared at Penny, her blue eyes wide. Then she smiled, an altogether false smile. “Charmed, I’m sure.” She turned back to Revington. “What happened? Did your famous luck finally desert you? If you were that desperate for blunt, you could have sought out your friends. There was no need to get leg-shackled.”

  “That’s not the way of it at all, Elizabeth,” Revington snapped.

  “Of course not.” Elizabeth gave another trilling laugh. “I’m sure it’s quite a love match.” Nodding to Penny, she added, “Congratulations, Miss Montgomery. I wish you every happiness.” She moved away, still laughing.

  Penny clutched her reticule, feeling insulted and something else, something like…jealous.

  “Paid no heed to her.” Revington guided her into the shop.

  They were greeted by a petite, impeccably groomed woman Penny guessed was Madame Dubonet. “What may I do for you, monsieur, demoiselle?” the woman said, bowing.

  “My…fiancée.” Revington gestured to Penny. “She needs some new clothing. Dresses, and, er…everything that goes along with them.”

  “Everything, monsieur?”

  Revington glanced at Penny, frowned, and then turned back to Madame Dubonet.
“I suppose so.”

  The modiste beamed. “’Twill be a pleasure, monsieur. Demoiselle is a natural beauty, but we can make her absolutely stunning. Does monsieur have certain colors or styles in mind?”

  Revington looked startled. “I’m afraid I’m completely out of my element in this.” He motioned vaguely. “Whatever you think will be suitable. The main thing is, she needs at least one change of clothing as soon as possible.”

  “Oui, monsieur.”

  Marcus started toward the door. All at once, he seemed to remember himself. He glanced at Penny, then at the modiste. “I’ll be back in two hours. Will that give you enough time?”

  “Oui, monsieur. She’ll be ready.”

  As the door shut behind him, Madame Dubonet gave a delighted laugh. “Demoiselle is most fortunate.”

  Penny was still thinking about Revington’s interaction with Elizabeth, and the familiar, almost intimate way she had spoken to him. She turned her attention back to the modiste. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

  Madame Dubonet beamed at Penny. “I was saying how fortunate you are. Many men are not so indulgent. They set the cost they will endure and refuse to spend any more. But monsieur has left that all up to us.”

  “Oh, indeed he has.” Penny suppressed a smile. The modiste obviously felt Penny could spend as much as she wished, and Penny wasn’t about to tell her otherwise.

  Madame Dubonet drew Penny into the light by the window. “You have lovely skin, and your features are quite refined. With a little effort, we can make you an incomparable.”

  Penny smiled, feeling uncomfortable. This was likely part of what made Madame Dubonet so popular. She knew how to flatter her clients and make them feel attractive. Of course, she was under no illusions. While she might not be as awful to look at as Adrian implied, she was certainly no great beauty.

  “Now, we must get started,” Madame Dubonet exclaimed. “Two hours is not long. First we must measure you, then pick out fabric. Come into the dressing room, demoiselle, and we will get started.”

  She led Penny to a small chamber with looking glasses on every wall. Penny was stripped down to her shift and pantaloons, and Madame Dubonet began to measure her. “A pity that the classical silhouette is all the rage, as it favors the well-endowed woman rather than slender figures such as yours. But with careful fitting, we can make the most of what you have.”

  The modiste’s words made Penny think of Elizabeth. She said, “As we were coming in, there was a red-haired woman leaving. My fiancé greeted her as Elizabeth. I wondered who she is.”

  The modiste gave her a shrewd look. “Ahh, that would be Demoiselle Valant.” She patted Penny’s arm. “Don’t trouble yourself about her. She’s what is known as demi rep.”

  “What’s a demi rep?” Penny asked, then immediately felt embarrassed by her lack of knowledge. “I afraid I haven’t been in London long, and I don’t know what everything is called.”

  “A sweet young thing like you wouldn’t know, of course.” Madame Dubonet raised her brows meaningfully. “A demi rep is a woman of questionable reputation. Someone who trades sexual favors for…gifts from gentlemen. Sometimes such a woman will only have one wealthy patron. Others, like Demoiselle Valant, may have several. If you are concerned that Monsieur Revington might enjoy the company of such a woman, don’t trouble yourself. Demoiselle Valant could never compete with someone like you.”

  “I wasn’t concerned, merely curious.”

  “Of course, demoiselle.” The modiste snapped her fingers and a young girl with golden curls appeared from behind the curtain. “Giselle, if you would bring me a bolt of mauve muslin. And the blue sprigged batiste as well.”

  Penny’s neck and shoulders grew stiff as Madame draped, pinned, and arranged. Giselle brought several more bolts of fabric, as well as a selection of ribbons and lace that Madame said would be used to trim the garments.

  Penny had plenty of time to contemplate what Madame Dubonet had said about Elizabeth. Was it true that Revington was one of many men who’d been intimate with Demoiselle Valant? If so, why did it matter so much?

  It didn’t matter, of course. She had no interest in Revington. None at all. Indeed, if she succeeded in her plan, she’d never have to see him again.

  At last, the fitting was over. As the modiste was helping her dress, Penny asked hopefully, “Are we finished?”

  “I’m afraid not. Monsieur implied you needed a whole new wardrobe. We still need to select undergarments. We stock several fashions. Long and short pantalettes. With lace and without.”

  “I had no idea there would be so many choices!”

  Madame Dubonet shrugged, smiling faintly. “Perhaps several of each style then, since you can’t decide?”

  Penny nodded. “Yes, I think that would be ideal.”

  “And of course after you leave here, you will need to purchase slippers, hats, and reticules.”

  “Of course.” Although she was frankly sick of shopping, she mustn’t lose sight of her goal. She followed the modiste into the public area of the shop.

  Marcus was waiting near the entrance, impatiently tapping his driving whip against his thigh. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Penny said.

  “When will her things be delivered?” he asked the modiste.

  “I will have at least one of the gowns finished and sent ’round tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s finally over,” Revington exclaimed as they left the shop.

  “Not quite,” Penny said. “Madame Dubonet pointed out that I must have new shoes and perhaps a hat or two.”

  Revington grimaced. “I suppose you’re right. But it will have to wait until another day.”

  Chapter Five

  Marcus tried to quell his irritation as he escorted Penny back to the phaeton, which he’d left some distance down the street. He couldn’t believe how much time all this was taking…and heaven knew how much money. But he supposed James was right, and it was churlish of him to be so resentful. After all, he was getting some fine, valuable property out of the arrangement, while Penny was essentially losing her independence.

  As he helped her into the rig, he felt a stab of guilt. If Adrian weren’t such a worthless wretch, Penny might have married quite well. She was very attractive, and Horngate was a decent dowry. But now, thanks to the worthless Withersby, she’d been robbed of any choice in who she married.

  Not that he would be such an awful husband. He wouldn’t mistreat her or seek to control her. Indeed, once they were wed, she could go back to training horses, if that was what she wished.

  He tossed a halfpence to the boy holding the team, then climbed in beside her and took up the reins. Before setting off, he cast a glance at Penny. With her new hairstyle, she looked quite appealing. If he had to marry, he could do much worse. He was really coming off quite well in this. Under the circumstances, the least he could do to buy her a few new things.

  ****

  Was her plan working? Penny couldn’t tell. Although Revington appeared quite irritated at the shop, the look he just shot her wasn’t one of aggravation or distress. Indeed, there’d been a kind of longing in his expression.

  What would she do if she couldn’t dissuade him from marrying her? She might have to consider the possibility. Not only was he clearly a stubborn, determined man, but despite all her efforts, he didn’t seem averse to her company. She should never have had Maggie do her hair. That was a mistake. All these clothes she’d just been fitted for wouldn’t help either. Madame Dubonet obviously knew what she was doing; Penny’s new garments would make her appear as attractive as possible. She should have stuck to her original plan and retained the look of a gauche, disheveled country maiden. Somewhere she’d gotten off track. She’d have to think of a new plan.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts that before she knew it, Revington was helping her down from the phaeton. “By the way,” he said as they started up the brick walkway to the house, “I asked James to find a clergyman to marry u
s. That way, as soon as your new wardrobe is finished, we can have the wedding and everything will be settled.”

  Penny nodded politely, although the news hardly pleased her. It looks like my wretch of a cousin is going to get his way!

  As soon as they entered the townhouse, Bowes announced, “Mr. Ludingham is waiting in the drawing room.”

  Turning to her, Revington said, “I’m certain you’re tired from shopping. Why don’t you rest until dinner?”

  “Of course.”

  Upstairs, she sat on the bed and tried to sort out her thoughts. Somehow she had to find out more about her future husband and what motivated him. A sudden thought came to her. It was rather audacious, but it seemed like the only way to learn more about Revington.

  After changing from the sensible half-boots she’d worn to go shopping into a worn pair of slippers, she crept down the stairs. She glanced around for Bowes and then made her way to the doorway of the drawing room. From here, she could just barely hear Revington and James’s conversation.

  “As soon as the wedding is over, I’m heading to Horngate,” Revington was saying. “Things looked fairly well kept, but I’d like to make some improvements to the house.”

  “You intend to reside there?” James asked. “What about making a living? The deep players are here in London. Horngate is quite isolated. Even in the village, I doubt you’ll find many men willing to play cards for money. If you do, there’ll not be much for you to win.”

  “I’ve been frugal these last few years. I’ve enough saved up to live on for a while, even if I make some improvements to Horngate. Also, this horse-breeding business might potentially be very lucrative.”

  Penny could barely suppress her gasp of dismay. Bad enough that Revington planned to reside at Horngate, but to learn he wanted to involve himself with the horse business outraged her. Whatever was she to do?

  “Really, Marcus, I never saw you as a country squire. I truly don’t understand what’s got into you. Why would you want to give up your comfortable life here in London to live out in the sticks and raise horses?”