His Lordship's Last Wager

by Miranda Davis

  “None of them are gentlemen.”

  “You are too uncompromising if you reject every man who’s ever lost his temper, or felt the urge to box the ears of an annoying brat, or sought out cruel entertainment.”

  “Have you?”

  “I have lost my temper and been cruel on occasion, though I’ve regretted it,” he apologized to her obliquely.

  “At least you’re honest. I can admire that.”

  “Yes, at the very least, there’s that,” he said, stung.

  “Does it make me impossible to want to respect the man I marry, Lord Seelye?”

  “When your standards are impossible, it makes you dashed difficult, yes,” he replied. “When you expect perfection, men are bound to fail and resent your disapproval. No one is perfect. As it is, they only put up with your lectures and disdain because they like to look at you and to feel your eyes on them.” He wasn’t speaking for men in general but only one, and that one blundered on, “Your attention can be captivating—even when you’re heaping scorn. It’s the damnedest thing.”

  “Is that why I am intolerable?”

  “That is the venting of male spleen,” he admitted. “You’re above the touch of most men.” (Himself included.) “It shouldn’t surprise you that they become angry when you dismiss them.”

  His bluntness stole the color from her cheeks.

  “Come, you need some air,” he said and steered her out of the dance to a set of tall french doors.

  “You ought to ask if I should like to take the air,” she corrected.

  “Good God, it’s true.”

  Jane looked up at him. For a moment, her froideur slipped and she asked, “Am I so awful?”

  “Yes, by Jove, you are,” he said. “I would’ve never believed the imp I knew could grow into such a stiff boots.”

  “You cut me up first,” she said and turned to slip away.

  He caught her arm.

  “You’re right. I was unkind but not unfair. You’ve wounded a great many innocent men, Jane. And you were the Intolerable long before I turned up to reproach you for it.”

  “Why do you care, Lord Seelye?”

  “Honestly, I don’t,” he said. “But others whom I care about do.”

  “Leave me be,” she whispered, her eyes bright.

  “‘Fraid I can’t. Why do you do it, Jane? Why do you behave this way?” he asked, genuinely baffled. “It doesn’t appear to make you happy.”

  “Once upon a time,” she said, “being difficult was part of a plan. Now, it’s too late for second thoughts.”

  “It’s never too late. You can come about. Frankly, I’m relieved to find you’re not immune to constructive criticism.”

  “Well, if not yet immune,” she said, “I will be soon from repeated exposure.”

  He chuckled at her wit and said, “Come now, Jane, let me help you make a fresh start.”

  He slipped an arm around her. There was nothing untoward in this except an inappropriate sensation rippling down his spine but no one could see that.

  “It’s not all bad,” he leaned near to say. “You’re the Invincible, too, so well done you.”

  He made that up on the spot to cheer her. Instead, she closed her eyes. He spied telltale moisture gathering in her lashes.

  Damnation.

  “No waterworks, Jane, not on your birthday. I’ll never hear the end of it from Gert,” he said and unlatched the balcony door for her.

  “I’m not crying, I’m angry. And frustrated,” she said without moving.

  “Right, sorry. Come on,” he ordered and nudged her through the curtains onto a balcony overlooking the back garden.

  It was chilly. Jane stared off into the darkness. Her bare shoulders shone like cream in the moonlight so he draped her shawl over them and stood close to warm her. He blotted her eyes dry with a handkerchief and returned it to his coat pocket.

  They stood in silence until Jane spoke up. “I can’t help that my eyes water when I’m furious. What I want never matters. Rules come first. I must behave impeccably or bring shame to the family. I have never put a foot out of place among the lilies. Yet, because I speak my mind occasionally and say ‘no’ frequently, I’m the Insufferable.”

  “Everyone abides by rules, Jane. You needn’t be so—”

  She rounded on him. “Stupid?”

  “Lord, no. Never that. I would’ve said toplofty.”

  “I’m not arrogant,” she said. “There are times when I must be off-putting, that’s all.”

  “Why? Isn’t your superiority common knowledge?”

  “I meant that I am never toplofty for my own gratification.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Perhaps I was when I thought I could have whatever I wanted. That assumption was arrogant, I’ll allow. But I’ve been out for years. All my friends have married or become betrothed while I waited for the perfect man—a ridiculous notion, I realize now. Then you of all people come at me with daggers drawn. I am furious because I have been so foolish for so long.”

  “Thus, the toast of London bemoans becoming stale bread,” he said. “Still, realizing your mistake is an excellent start.” He tipped up her chin and without thinking used her childhood nickname, “I think that’s enough for now, Pest.”

  “There’s more?” she asked. “Why hold back? List all my faults, Lord Seelye. At this point, it could only help.”

  He didn’t quite believe her invitation. To buy himself time to think, he raked a hand slowly through his hair.

  “Well,” he began cautiously, “as I’ve said, you’re too critical of others and much too vocal about it.”

  “And who are you to judge?” she asked. “I can do nothing right because you disliked me on sight.”

  “What’s there to like?” he asked. “It’s as if you want to raise every man’s hackles. Why is that?”

  She tried to step away and stumbled. He caught her up to keep her from tumbling over the rail. He felt her heart pound against his chest and his own take up the rhythm. He released her gently.

  “Did you ever care for me, Lord Seelye, or were you kind out of pity?”

  “That was a long time ago but I do know I never pitied you.”

  “No matter.” She stepped away to stand on her own. “Now that I’ve grown up, I don’t need your approval. In fact, I think you criticize me to feel better about yourself like every other man of my acquaintance. You needn’t lecture me, my lord, I understand my error in judgement. I am determined to turn the page and begin a new chapter in my life.”

  “Excellent! If you wish to start afresh, I suggest you celebrate your friends’ happiness instead of complaining about it.”

  “And give tabbies like Lady Twickenham more to snigger at?”

  Seelye took her by the shoulders. “Who cares?”

  “Easy for you to say.” She shrugged his hands off. “Everyone adores you.”

  “Not everyone.”

  She thawed slightly, “True, I know of at least one exception.”

  “If I am liked, my lady,” he said earnestly, “it’s because I make an effort to consider others’ feelings. Whenever I fail at it, I don’t blame them for disliking me. I try to make amends or do better the next time.”

  That silenced her, but only for a moment.

  “You have been horrible to me, Lord Seelye. How will you make amends?”

  “I will help you put the past behind if you’ll let me,” he said and brought her hand up to kiss her knuckles lightly.

  His gesture left her lips sweetly parted in surprise. He felt another inconvenient pull of attraction and recoiled.

  “Don’t look so gobsmacked,” he said and opened the door for her. “I do have address. I’m known for it.”

  “That you are, Lord Seelye,” she said. “Indeed, I was imagining how you might redeem me by performing this play act in front of the ton. You did wonders flirting with a hopeless case last year.”

  “You haven’t the freckles or the shyness to ca
rry it off.”

  “Then ignore me.”

  “‘Fraid I can’t do that either,” he said and drew her back into the whirl of her birthday party.

  Chapter 6

  In which a birthday wish is granted too late.

  17 November 1816

  Grosvenor Square

  Of all her birthdays, this was the most grueling. Yes, Jane had heard comprehensively about her faults long before Lord Seelye weighed in, but she had always been spared on this one day of the year. Worse, nothing said before ever wounded her the way his criticism did. Pride kept her from explaining herself to the man she once loved.

  Being near Lord Seelye was already excruciating enough.

  She detested how her pulse raced when they waltzed, despised that it felt as though the violinists played the strands of her nerves wherever he touched her. She wanted to remain unaffected, but after years imagining their first dance, she was bound to feel intoxicated when swept up and spun round in his arms.

  Circulating among guests after their tête à tête came as a relief. She made a point of accepting best wishes warmly but danced only when she wished—with two exceptions. His lordship claimed a second dance during which she remained mute, preoccupied with—and dreading—the possibility of sitting beside him at dinner.

  She slipped off to the dining room to shift his place card far from hers if necessary.

  To her relief, he was nowhere on her side of the table. She found her own place card between an august but taciturn admiral (ideal) and Seelye’s friend, the Hon. George Percy (less so but acceptable). Those seated beyond her dinner partners were unexceptionable. She was safe. Wherever his lordship sat, he could not address her without committing a social gaff.

  By the time the duke and duchess led everyone into the midnight dinner, eating was the only part of the evening Jane anticipated with any pleasure.

  Rules of etiquette prohibited diners seated at table from conversing across it. One turned to one’s right or left to make conversation. This, Jane knew perfectly well. As did Lord Seelye who, as it happened, sat opposite her.

  A proper lady nibbled the morsels of food she coaxed onto fork with knife between the prescribed pivots in her attention, no matter how her appetite goaded her. A gentleman most certainly did not importune that lady while she chewed what little propriety allowed her.

  At dinner, Jane did as she ought. Lord Seelye did not. He tried to catch her eye during the soup and fish courses. She ignored him, fuming down at her plate.

  How often was she reminded a duke’s daughter must live her every waking moment in that rarest, most suffocating atmosphere ‘far above reproach’? How often did she have to bottle up her appetites, ambitions, and frustrations like combustible substances? Why, if she didn’t have to wear a gown of gossamer silk with delicate, little puff sleeves and easily-torn lace flounces, and if she hadn’t worn stupid dance slippers of the softest, most useless kidskin, she’d haul off and kick whomever established those rules right in the slats. Then she’d try for his lordship under the table.

  Someday, she would do what she wanted. Not here or now, she admonished herself, there were George and Gert to consider. But there would come a time when she’d do as she pleased no matter what the consequences. (If only she knew what would please her.)

  She nurtured these hoydenish heresies throughout subsequent courses involving meats and greens. Yet, not a single syllable of her wayward thoughts altered her countenance. Remaining placid despite exasperation was one of the few useful skills she’d acquired under the tutelage of a starched-up nanny, a dour governess, her mother, her older sisters, and a scrupulous sister-in-law. The other skills were how to read and write and forge George’s hand.

  George, bless him, mostly abstained from correcting her. He was satisfied to grumble about his ‘nuisance of a sister’ and leave it at that.

  During this meditation, Seelye pssst’ed at her from across the table.

  Jane ignored this, too, for one must not converse through sprays of flowers in sterling epergne centerpieces. She prayed for baleful glares at him or a cleared throat from somewhere along the table.

  But no, nothing.

  Even Gert, a dragon on etiquette, paid him no heed. Evidently, everyone turned a blind eye and deaf ear because he was Lord Seelye and so blasted charming that he could fart in Canterbury Cathedral during Evensong and the archbishop himself would wink.

  Seelye kept hissing at her until she finally looked up at his annoying, effulgent self.

  “You have—” he whispered and gestured with a fork to a visible crevice between two of his teeth.

  She peeked to her right at Mr. Percy, who happened to address the diner to his right, and then at the admiral, who addressed his plate. With mouth closed, Jane probed the spot with her tongue. She made every effort to dislodge it inconspicuously then lifted her lip at Lord Seelye for confirmation it was gone.

  He shook his head, grinning.

  Bad enough his speech on the balcony nearly reduced her to tears. Now, he made her too self-conscious to open her mouth at dinner. What next? Trip her during the dance afterward? No, even he could not expect a third set with her.

  If only she could contrive a way to mortify him in retaliation, that would be a fine birthday gift.

  * * *

  Jane did blush prettily when off balance, Seelye mused. It was an endearing chink in her highly polished armor. Even so, he shouldn’t tease her. There was no seed or bit of green in her teeth. It was childish of him to pretend it.

  Why her cool beauty provoked him to schoolboy antics he couldn’t explain. He let her hunt for it and imagined his own tongue following the same course. He’d slip between her lips and she’d taste of champagne and berries.

  What in God’s name am I thinking?

  To banish the thought, he shook his head.

  Jane went pale, sealed her lips, and looked down at the silverware by her plate. She toyed with a spoon, peeking left and right. While he watched, she took up the utensil and smiled at it.

  Clever girl.

  But another naughty impulse prompted him to say, “Isn’t that so, Lady Jane?”

  She cracked the spoon down on her plate and slit her eyes at him.

  “Surely, you don’t mean to address me. Only a philistine would.”

  “He’s up to no good, my lady,” Percy said at her side. “Ignore him.”

  “Excellent advice, sir,” she said and smiled too warmly at his oh-so-attentive friend.

  Seelye felt a twinge of annoyance that dashed all enjoyment of the jest. Well, perhaps it was more than a twinge.

  Footmen appeared with trays of dried and candied fruit for the table.

  “Sugar plum or fig, Lady Jane?” Percy asked, offering to serve her.

  “Lud, no!” she cried and shielded her mouth with her ungloved hand. Her fingers, like the rest of her, were perfectly formed.

  “Don’t like figs myself however artfully preserved,” Percy said smoothly.

  The admiral helped himself to the fruit undeterred by tiny seeds.

  Jane drank from her crystal water goblet to end conversation.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Percy told him through the centerpiece.

  “Just bamming my sister-in-law,” he said.

  She inhaled slowly and scowled at him. When she was little, she used to laugh along when he pranked her. Now, her flame-blue eyes scorched him.

  Ah, well, too bad.

  For the rest of the meal, she ignored Percy (which was rude of her) and him (which was only right and proper).

  Trouble was, George’s little sister unsettled him. She didn’t have to needle him for him to feel pins and needles whenever she was near. No need to apologize for getting a bit of his own back. It was nothing but a silly jest.

  After dinner, Jane danced with every other man present. Or so it seemed as he looked on.

  When the party finally ended in the early morning hours, people streamed from the duke’s mansion in a happy hubb
ub. Seelye dawdled. He found Jane in the book room, where a long table bowed under the weight of gargantuan flower arrangements and prettily-wrapped packages. Three candles in wall sconces cast wavering shadows against the opposite wood-trimmed wall.

  “George and Gert have retired,” she said.

  “Having at your gifts?”

  “I’ll open them in daylight when I can make a list for thank-you notes. I wouldn’t want to separate a card from its gift in the dark.”

  “How conscientious of you,” he said and walked his fingers over the presents toward her. “‘Fraid I haven’t a gift for you yet.”

  “I never expected one.”

  “I’m not so purse-pinched as that, pea goose. Is there something in particular you’d like?”

  She turned her back to straighten presents randomly.

  “Whatever you choose will be in good taste. You’re known for that.”

  “Have I ruined it by asking for a suggestion?” He believed he had, but Jane surprised him.

  “Not necessarily,” she said, “let me think.” When she turned to face him, her sly expression made him uneasy. What she said stopped his strolling fingers mid-stride. “There was a time, my lord, when I’d have asked for a kiss.”

  Her boldness should’ve shocked him, but some perverse parts found the notion appealing. His heart, for one, quickened its pace at the prospect of kissing a beautiful woman. The short hairs on his arms, for another, stood at attention. And there was the usual prickling of skin at the nape of his neck whenever he faced danger.

  How to sidestep the temptation?

  Ah, yes, anger her.

  “Never been kissed? Good Lord, Jane, unbend! You can’t expect me to help you with that, too,” he said.

  Color stained her cheeks.

  “I most certainly have been kissed!” She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified by her indiscretion. Through her fingers she asked, “You won’t repeat that, will you?”

  Her mistrust landed like a slap.

  “No,” he said, “I’m a gentleman.”

  “In that case, I’ll have you know men have tried to steal kisses since the first day of my come-out. Some, I let succeed so I need no lessons of yours.”