At such gatherings, Seelye made every effort to be an amusing guest, too. He could relate anecdotes about Wellington’s dealings with Uxbridge (who had cuckolded the duke’s brother, caused his divorce, then married the man’s ex-wife). Seelye had a genius for mimicry and could in turns imitate the duke’s acerbic, Irish-inflected understatement, Uxbridge’s nasal mockery, a French soldier’s snotty insults, a Portuguese peasant’s mutterings, and a Spanish matron’s outrage.
His uncanny ear for dialect once saved lives, but that was a tale he would never recount in company, the event too troubling to acknowledge. He thought of Maguilla as little as possible. It put a damper on one’s appetite—a travesty when food was delicious, plentiful, and free.
Broadsheets quoted Seelye’s bon mots and described him as ‘the rapier among sabers,’ referring both to the quality of his repartee and his physical stature among the Four Horsemen.
He never complained about tittle tattle either, but then he’d never suffered at the hands of gossipmongers the way Ainsworth had. (Poor fellow was lumbered with the nickname ‘Mayfair Stallion,’ for God’s sake.)
As the approachable one, Seelye almost never used the sharp point of his wit against those deserving a good poke in their pretenses. He preferred to spank them gently with the flat, flippant side of his razor-sharp tongue. So no one held a grudge for long after Seelye teased him or her—except Jane. (But that was bound to happen even if he hadn’t been rude. She was famously prickly.) Still, how she came to be the Impossible mystified him.
When Jane first came out, Seelye had received triumphant letters from his sister, the Duchess of Bath, declaring their sister-in-law the Season’s undisputed Incomparable.
He hadn’t seen Jane since her childhood, but she was a taking little creature, bright as a button and full of mischief. He assumed men would rejoice in her spirit as much as her more tangible assets.
Everyone expected Jane to accept one of the many flattering offers for her hand over the next two years. But no, she refused all comers.
A few weeks before Waterloo, his sister had confided by post: ‘I am at wit’s end. Jane has rejected so many that by now they call her the Insufferable or the Impossible, I forget which. Perhaps both. What,’ her grace begged him in closing, ‘am I to do with her?’
‘Fear not, my friend,’ scrawled the Duke of Bath in a postscript to his wife’s letter. ‘If Wellington and the allies can’t defeat Bonaparte, I’ll dispatch Jane to mow him down like all the rest.’
George’s jest hadn’t made sense at the time. But days after meeting her, Seelye still smarted from her carving up his self-esteem and handing the bloody filets back to him—‘nothing but a wastrel lordling drowning in the River Tick.’
The truth stung. Too often he reproached himself in the same vein, but something about her barb slipped under his skin like a sliver and festered.
He’d be damned if he’d give her low opinion of him another thought.
After returning to London from Bath, Seelye strolled through the milling throng in Lord and Lady Castlereagh’s opulent ballroom. When the Duke and Duchess of Bath were announced, he glanced over. He had no need to hear her name next. There she stood, the dazzling Lady Jane Babcock.
The room hushed for a moment and he, too, caught his breath. Her hair, her face, her figure, all exquisite. She was tall though not remarkably so, slim yet shapely. There was something else about her that made the air crackle.
Why her presence gave him a start, he couldn’t say. His body simply registered its effect. He’d suffered a similar jolt the first time he saw her, though he attributed that to an overlong bout of celibacy.
Jane dressed as sumptuously as one would, if one were a rich duke’s daughter. She wore a silk gown of cream and white vertical stripes with a net overskirt that shimmered with every movement. The effect mesmerized the room. Her evening dress had but one flounce of lace, a restrained flourish that by its obvious quality still emphasized the expense of her ensemble. Long pale gloves accentuated sleek arms, bare where others wore armlets of precious metal or pearls. But then, she had no need to wear her wealth on her sleeve.
Jane paused in the arched entrance with head held high, every inch a diamond of the first water, bedecked with a sparkling host of her own kind. The glittering gems about her neck, dangling from her ears and encircling her head, brought ‘Ice Maiden’ instantly to mind.
She held herself gracefully, effortlessly composed. Gleaming pale hair was arranged on her head and spilled to her shoulder in a perfect tumble of ivory satin curls. Her evening shawl, a wisp of figured silk and embroidery, hung carelessly from the crooks of her elbows.
Her mousy-looking friend, Lady Iphigenia Thornton, was announced after her and they stepped into the ballroom like the sun and moon arm in arm. Everyone acknowledged Jane with nods and bows that she acknowledged politely.
In the glow cast by countless candles, the artist in Seelye admired the perfect oval face she tilted toward her ally. Rose petal lips pursed or quivered without guile. With her confidante, she looked not the least dangerous.
Only her eyes betrayed her.
Society encouraged its women to adopt a bored, languid manner, which all too often dulled their expressions. Jane still had a hellion’s conspiratorial gaze however much she tried to hide it behind an ivory brisé fan.
He preferred not to meet again so soon after their contretemps and kept an eye on her while considering his escape. Yet, an inborn impulse to mend fences overruled his instinct for survival. He approached her warily through the crowd to claim a set.
Jane looked up when he was a few steps away. In childhood, her eyes had been an adoring cornflower blue. Flashing up at him now, they were the hottest part of a chemical fire.
Without a word, she steered Lady Iphigenia in the opposite direction. The cut direct.
He overheard her friend say, “Jane, he’s your—”
Followed by Jane’s much quieter, “He is nothing to me.”
* * *
“He’s your brother-in-law!” Iphigenia said in her unfortunate whisper.
Heads swiveled out of curiosity.
Lord Seelye stood a few paces away, his expression unreadable.
Jane hushed Iphigenia and led her as far from him as the ballroom’s dimensions allowed. She didn’t care if it was insulting. He deserved worse.
“Wonderful,” she groaned. “Golden Lord Seelye who uses his wit to deadliest effect—blah, blah, blah—has come to deal me another blow. Is that the one you mean?”
Iphigenia looked askance at her. “I take it you two have met.”
“Phidge, didn’t you know his lordship gave me a brutal public setdown in Bath? I assumed you’d already heard it bruited up and down Mayfair. I don’t doubt the sniggering lasted for days once the glad tidings arrived.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Nothing? Not a word about how witty Lord Rapier shaved the Ice Maiden down to size?” Jane asked.
“Was it as bad as that? I’m so sorry. I know how much you love him.”
“Loved, Phidge, henceforth we use the past tense if we mention it at all.”
“Perhaps he’s not himself. It was a long war,” her friend said. “He was bound to be altered by it.”
“What you say seems obvious now,” Jane said. “And makes me feel more stupid to have cherished feelings for him all that time.” She drew herself up, correcting a slight deviation in her posture. “He was kind to me when I was young. George never wanted me around, but Seelye never treated me that way. He had too much compassion for the unwanted.” She hesitated, considering her words and swallowed hard. “But I cannot love a man who would make sport of me to amuse his chums. The time will come when his lordship needs a fortune and I shall sit by laughing as he scuttles off to the continent in shame.”
“But you’ve always said he was the one you’d mar—”
“Not if he were the last man on earth. Not if Noah came to me during the deluge and said, ‘Yo
u may only board the ark with him.’ I’d rather be drowned, Phidge.”
“If not him, Jane,” her friend asked, “then who?”
Who indeed.
Jane still hoped for children and a kind, loving husband, but who could that be? No one she’d met matched the Lord Seelye she remembered. Not one. In fact, the more men pursued her, the more she cherished him because, while countless suitors were happy to court an heiress, only one young man had been considerate to a lonely child when there was nothing to gain from it.
“My plans must change but I haven’t thought it through yet, Phidge. I might start a salon like the Berry sisters,” Jane said more stoutly than she felt. “I’ll serve excellent food and wine, surround myself with thoughtful people, and we’ll do important things. Who knows who I’ll meet that way? You and your betrothed will be welcome, of course.”
“Don’t be hasty, Jane,” Iphigenia said.
“Hasty? I’ve waited ten years to be insulted by a man who’d be lucky to marry me. Long ago, he was kind but he doesn’t belong on a pedestal.” Despite the lump in her throat, she concluded, “Either I’ve outgrown my infatuation for Lord Seelye, or he’s outgrown what I once loved about him.”
Chapter 3
In which our hero bets his life.
Early November 1816
“Of course, I have a reason for my summons, insolent pup,” Lady Abingdon replied to Seelye’s question. “Always said you were a rogue, devilish clever but impudent.”
His grin mirrored hers.
“And I’ve always said you’re a chronically meddlesome battle axe,” he teased back.
He glanced at the room’s other occupant, Miss Esther Banke, Lady Abingdon’s self-effacing nurse. This worthy sat by a window in the far corner and evinced deafness. He nodded to her when she peeked up from her needlework to offer a tight smile. Without a word, she looked away to restore her invisibility.
“How are you, my lady,” he asked, though he was shocked by his great aunt’s obvious indisposition.
“If there’s an upside to dying, it’s this,” she said, “one has the opportunity to discern one’s true friends and unburden oneself of the rest. The new Duchess of Ainsworth calls on me when she can. She is excellent company. As is Jane. She keeps me abreast of the on dit. Have you seen her lately?”
“I have,” he answered without elaborating.
Her ladyship studied him then changed the subject, “Illness is mostly dull work. I must receive morose ranks who troop in wringing dry handkerchiefs, anxious to leave lest I expire during their visit.” She plucked at the lap rug draped over her diminished lap. “Perhaps I won’t die just to keep them on tenterhooks.”
“Good. Life would be infinitely duller without you,” he said. “May I ask why you’ve summoned me, or rather how I’ve earned your disapproval?”
“Disapproval? You are an acquired taste, one might say, but evidently I’ve acquired it,” she said. “I am concerned about you. I had hoped you would not follow in your brother’s wavering footsteps. Exmoor gambles too much.”
Seelye shrugged and said nothing. Why explain the difference between gambling and his wagers? He rarely played games of chance or threw money away in foolish bets on raindrops or pigeons. He took calculated risks and they earned him a few quid more often than not. Besides, who of his kind didn’t wager? White’s betting book overflowed with evidence of the pastime’s popularity.
“How do you find civilian life?” she asked.
“Predictable,” he said and tugged on the ribbon hanging from his waistcoat pocket. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, so he fiddled with his quizzing glass rather than meet her eye. “I can now declare with absolute certainty that the world is flat.”
“How can that be? You’ve made such a splash in the ton. Congratulations by the way.”
He looked up. Her tone was anything but congratulatory. She sounded the way he felt, as if it meant nothing. Could she read his thoughts, he wondered.
She was lecturing, “Still you go out of your way to belittle Lady Jane, who is not only the best ton but your sister by marriage.”
“I only belittle those who require it. Why take up cudgels for her?” he asked in turn. “She wields her own quite handily.”
“Because she is another taste I’ve acquired,” her ladyship said.
“That may be. But unlike Jane, I don’t go out of my way to leave a bad taste in everyone’s mouth,” he said. “She gets what she deserves.”
“She deserves your compassion.”
“On what grounds?”
“It was not easy for the chit to come out after two successful sisters and years later remain unattached.”
“She’s had offers. George should have put his foot down.”
“Pfft! The duke is governed by your sister.”
“Gert wants her married off, too,” Seelye said. “If they’ve abandoned hope, what can I do?”
“Help her. I hadn’t thought you such a clunch. You made that red-headed hobgoblin the dernier cri last Christmas. I presume you wanted to manage a miracle of sorts during Advent. Or was it another of your odious wagers?”
“She was a sweet girl, but the ton tabbies would make sport of her over a few freckles. I disliked how she was treated is all.”
“A few freckles? She was positively piebald but thanks to you she was fired off as few mothers could hope. She’s a viscountess now.” Lady Abingdon fixed him with a penetrating stare. “You made the ton stop sniggering and take a closer look. When they did, her appealing qualities shone.”
“She already possessed those qualities, ma’am, I had no need to instill them.”
“Yes, yes, but who was she to you? Nobody.”
“It was a challenge. No one thought it could be done.”
He also won a sizable purse on the wager at White’s. But this, he kept to himself.
“She had a decent portion. Why didn’t you woo her?”
“I cannot bring myself to play on a young girl’s naïveté to get her money. Not yet, at least. My conscience will only allow me to pursue mushrooms with no illusions. In fact, I’d welcome the name of any female who might find me sufficient. I’ll pass it on to Gert for formal introduction.”
“Bad enough you turn some fright-faced elf into last year’s Original,” Lady Abingdon said, “now you make Jane the butt of your jokes.”
Her ladyship gripped the arm of the chaise and took rasping breaths. Her pallor alarmed him.
“Pray, don’t let me vex you,” he said and took up her hand. “Shall I pour you some tea? Or sherry?”
She shook her head.
When at last her breathing eased, she said, “I should’ve known better than to think you could pull the thing off. It’s far too challenging. Jane’s been out for years and she’s no shy miss. Did you know she’s called the Impossible?”
“I had not heard,” Seelye perjured himself to spare her the upset.
“Only think what a coup it would be for you if you carried it off. A true miracle. Despairing mamas would swarm to lay palm fronds at your feet.” She gave him a sly glance. “Sadly, the ton cannot be led so easily a second time—even by you.”
“Oh, no?” he said and calculated the benefits of succeeding: Gert’s worries over, Jane muzzled by marriage, and invitations aplenty for the foreseeable future.
“Are you so sure of yourself, scamp?”
“About that, I am. I may not deserve it, but I do have some influence in the ton.”
“Jane would be a challenge of quite another magnitude, Seelye. But I suppose we’ll never know what wonders you can or cannot perform,” she said cagily, “unless we wager on it.”
“I never wager with a lady.”
“I’m not a lady, brat, I’m your great aunt,” she said. “Since my time is finite, I bet that you cannot make Jane’s fourth Season her last and see that she’s married to a worthwhile man.”
“She’s already decimated those,” he said. “Who’s left?”
&nb
sp; “Must I make our wager more interesting?”
“I will not—”
“Two thousand pounds.”
The amount staggered him. What he could do with that sum made his mind spin in happy suppositions.
At length, he sobered and said, “I haven’t 200 guineas to bet with.”
“Two thousand if you do it.”
“Against what forfeit?”
“Your carefree bachelor’s existence, of course. You’ve no great desire to join the dreary hearse and plume cortège of debtors, exiles, and suicides, have you? If you cannot do it, you’ll marry a chit of my choosing.”
“Who?” he asked with equal parts of curiosity and dread.
“For heaven’s sake, I’ll find a girl with a dowry and brains enough not to bore you. You’re a marquess’ son and one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” she said. “That should do.”
“Seems rather negligible to me,” he said.
“Hmm, I had not anticipated humility.” She pursed her lips in thought then brightened. “Fine, woo and propose in earnest. If the girl rejects you, that’s her folly.”
“Excluding Jane. She’d rather shoot me.”
“Quite true. But you know, in moments of clarity, I foresee the future like a gypsy—or so I imagine,” Lady Abingdon mused aloud. “And I believe I shall live to see you wed or dead.”
“Managing Jane won’t kill me, ma’am.”
“No, of course not. Never mind an old sock like me.” She laughed another dry rasp and admitted, “I’m rather too blue-blooded to be a proper gypsy anyway.”
“I warn you, I’ve little more than what’s left from selling out. And it was never much.”
“Pish tosh! Your desire for a calculating mushroom does not set the bar high,” she said. “Besides, you say you can do it.”
He put away his quizzing glass and said what he ought, “We needn’t wager, it’s enough that you want it done. I’ll help Jane for your sake alone. That is, if she’ll accept my help.”
His Lordship's Last Wager Page 3
