His Lordship's Last Wager

by Miranda Davis

  “So she’s not bad per se,” Percy said, “merely unmanageable.”

  “She’s called the Impossible with cause,” Seelye retorted. “I only acknowledge her good points as one ought in fairness.”

  “In fairness, would you also acknowledge she’s pretty?” Percy pursued.

  “I’m not blind,” Seelye said. “She’s passable.”

  “Anyone with a functioning eye would say she’s spectacular,” Clun put in. “Must have other redeeming qualities, Bess loves her like a sister.”

  “Your baroness loves you, too, which is proof of a disordered mind,” Seelye said sourly. “Lady Jane Babcock is an out-and-out termagant I’ve known since her larval hoyden stage. I may’ve vowed to help marry her off, but I pity the poor chucklehead who ends up with her. He’ll live and die under the cat’s paw.”

  “Oh dear,” Percy sighed. “Poor Seelye.”

  “What do you mean ‘poor’ Seelye?” he asked.

  “Denial. Outrage. And frustration. Aren’t those the signs of trouble, gentlemen? I am tempted to wager that Seelye will be that poor chucklehead,” Percy said and sat through their roars of laughter.

  “No, I won’t. Only an idiot would think that,” Seelye said. “She’d never have me anyway.”

  With a wave of his hand, Percy said, “Et voilà.”

  “Be serious, Percy,” Clun choked out. “He’ll marry some worshipful charmer. On that, I’d lay odds. Hell, if you’re serious, I’d bet a pony on it. It’s high time you lost a wager.”

  Ainsworth finally caught his breath: “Care to back your prediction with more than smug self-assurance?”

  Percy grinned to his canines. “Happily. I say Seelye will marry Lady Jane by year’s end willingly. Nay, eagerly.”

  “Eagerly!” Clun crowed.

  “Eagerly,” Percy repeated.

  “Fetch the book before he comes to his senses,” the duke said.

  “Allow me.” Seelye lunged for the bell cord. “Name any forfeit,” he said merrily. “I’ll never have to pay.”

  “Needn’t be money,” Percy purred, “I can imagine other stakes.”

  “One shudders to recall past imaginings,” Clun said.

  Another toothy grin. “If I win, the losers will accept a lasting reminder of my infallibility. How bad could that be?” Percy asked.

  “Careful,” Ainsworth muttered, “lasting reminders can be a damned nuisance.”

  “I don’t like his smile,” the baron said. “Does Percy know something we don’t, Seelye?”

  “No.”

  “What will we win?” Ainsworth asked.

  “Name any forfeit you see fit,” Percy answered.

  “I acthept,” Clun growled, “Because I recall the fortnight you made me thpeak like a counter coxthcomb to Uxthbridge and hith brother Thir Edward.”

  “Big man, silly lisp, fond memories, aren’t they, Clun?” Percy asked.

  “No.”

  “You’ll wear blush pantaloons lounging down Bond Street?” Seelye asked, still smarting from that indignity.

  “If you wish,” Percy said, “but wasn’t it funnier when a notable pink did?”

  Seelye said, “I’m in.”

  “Me, too,” said Ainsworth. “Remember August in Portugal when I had to wear a monk’s hair shirt because of you? I kept it, Percy. Never washed it. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.”

  They recorded the wager in White’s betting book thus:

  Dated 1 February 1817

  Mr. G. P. bets Lds S. and C. and Duke of A. forfeits to be determined by winner(s) that Ld S will marry Ldy J by year’s end. Eagerly.

  Signed G.Percy

  B. Seelye

  Ainsworth

  Clun

  Chapter 11

  In which a goose serves a gander some sauce.

  The following day, Seelye drove Lady Abingdon’s phaeton-and-pair to Grosvenor Square. Though outmoded, it had these advantages: Jane needed no chaperone in an open carriage, and he need not hire a tiger. At popular destinations such as Richmond Hill, a few local lads always hung about to walk the carriage horses for visitors.

  He wore his minty beaver—hoping to refresh it with country air—and his coat with four capes. Four were the most his three friends allowed him without ‘hilarious’ commentary on his driving skills. Yes, he was cautious in a carriage but only because he preferred to ride on horses not behind them.

  Jane stepped out of the townhouse shadowed by Sutter. Seelye handed the lady into the vehicle and barred her maid.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said and waved the servant away. He ignored her wordless reproach. “Today, I prefer to chat with my lady in private.”

  “Heaven help me,” Jane sighed loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Seelye flicked the reins and drove away. He negotiated London traffic deftly enough, picking his way southwestward down thoroughfares congested with drays, wagons, dust men, hackneys, and town carriages. In time, the city gave way to countryside on a road that meandered companionably with the River Thames. They passed neat manors, rows of regimented trees, and checkerboard fields under cultivation.

  Meanwhile, Jane shifted this way and that to probe beneath the squabs. “There is something—” she said and tugged it out. “Ah, here’s the trouble.”

  He glanced over. She held a palm-sized pistol with an ivory grip. Like the carriage, it was ornately old fashioned. No doubt, his great aunt’s.

  “Mind you don’t anger me,” she said, only half-joking.

  “Hand it over. Carefully.”

  She pursed her lips, looked at him then at the weapon in her lap, thinking it over.

  “Now, Jane.”

  She gave it to him. He let the reins go slack to examine it and check its chamber. After a moment’s hesitation, he told her, “Unless you throw it at me, it’s perfectly harmless.”

  He placed it on the floor between his feet.

  “Pity,” she said and watched the scenery go by.

  They traveled a few more minutes in silence. He hoped a calm discussion in a bucolic setting might encourage self-reflection. And, if God was merciful, reflection would inspire her to gentle her ways. But where to begin?

  In the distance, he made out Richmond Hill, a grassy rise around which the river curved. It was miles off, but the road was clear and the horses fresh. He reined them in to slow their pace.

  Seelye broached the subject of Jane’s future cautiously. Knowing her temperament better, he chose to use a less judgmental approach this time. By asking her questions, he hoped to challenge her assumptions about men and lead her to conclude that a change in attitude was in order.

  “Are you happy with your situation, Jane?”

  “No,” she said without looking at him. “You haven’t slowed enough for me to fling myself from the carriage without injury. Won’t you let me enjoy the drive in peace?”

  “You seem unhappy to me.”

  “As you’ve already made abundantly clear, Lord Seelye, I am a hopeless case. Need I remind you that I can afford to do as I please and tell everyone to go hang?”

  “What has that attitude gotten you so far, other than nicknames?”

  “A delightful degree of autonomy from men,” she replied.

  “Is spinsterhood your goal?”

  Jane didn’t answer. She sat erect, eyes forward, combative even in profile.

  He soldiered on, “I know you a little better now and there’s much to admire. I’m confident you could be happily married, if you will consider what I have to say.”

  “Are you happy with your life, Lord Seelye?” she asked. “You seem bored living at loose ends.”

  Her observation annoyed him, not the least because she was right.

  “We are not discussing my loose ends but yours. Hear me out before snarling off topic.” She fumed in silence so he carried on, “Do you agree that no one is perfect? Everyone has faults, including you?”

  “As you so love to tell me
,” she said. “You have faults, too, sir.”

  “Of course, I do,” he said, perplexed by her return to the pointless topic of him. “I merely wish to suggest that you put too much emphasis on a man’s failings. Why not give more thought to positive attributes that you’d value in a husband instead of criticizing everyone you come across? Is there no one you admire?”

  “There was but come to find out he wasn’t what I imagined.”

  “There, you see? Perhaps you expected too much,” he said. “You may have to compromise a little. To marry a kind man, for instance, you might have to accept that he’s a little dull. That sort of thing.”

  She turned, her blue eyes narrowed. “I am not the one who needs to compromise to achieve his ends. What will you accept to obtain a dowry? Will you accept a wife who is fat? Stupid? Ugly?”

  “Again we digress,” he said, hackles bristling. “I know full well my future wife will likely possess those attributes and several more unpleasant ones. But I am not the topic of this conversation.”

  He snapped the reins hard. The horses leapt forward and she bounced back against the squabs, which shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did.

  Jane righted herself and refused to look at him.

  “Heed me, brat. If you hope to be happy in marriage, find someone with patience,” he said. “Anyone bound to you for life must have a great deal. Or be lucky enough to die young.”

  Her bonnet swiveled slowly. “Is that so?”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s start over, shall we?” He paused to let his temper cool. “As an example, you might value a man’s character, or intelligence, or piety—how do I know what ladies want beyond the obvious? Doesn’t your gender judge us first by money, title, and ton?”

  “Doesn’t that savor of pique, my lord,” she said. “If that is true of my gender, yours is bound to be disgruntled when you don’t quite measure up.”

  The truth angered him but rather than admit she scored another hit, he said, “I merely propose that you identify, say, four qualities you value, then accept the next man who exhibits two of them and be grateful.”

  Her lips pinched into a pale, tight line below her elevated nose. She glared at the landscape with chips of cobalt blue glass and said with frigid dignity, “I shall expect all the qualities that matter to me, Lord Seelye.”

  “Half is more realistic for a lady who’s made herself detestable three Seasons running, rich duke’s daughter or no.”

  “Have you ever considered how unattractive a man is when lecturing a lady on her flaws?”

  “You’re right, Jane. No one likes a scold.”

  She colored and looked away though not for long.

  “Is this your famous charm?” she asked. “Though I shouldn’t complain, I suppose. The more offensive you are, the better I’ll feel disliking you. But do recall that I know every young lady worth your knowing.”

  “Feel free to raise the alarm, Jane. I know how you love to be helpful,” he retorted and raked a hand through his hair to regain his composure. “Dash it, I don’t mean to lose my temper and offend you. I must apologize.” More gently, he told her, “All I ask is that you respect your suitors. Failing that, tolerate them. Judge them by a meaningful standard and not too harshly for they have feelings, too.”

  “And what should I do if a man could use—” she said, a dare in the offing, “—a little constructive criticism himself?”

  “Listen to me, Pest. Take men as they are and never delude yourself that you can improve them. Men only change if they choose to, no matter how much you browbeat them.”

  “Well, if men are as hopeless as I am, I won’t marry at all.”

  “You cannot mean that, Jane.”

  She turned to look at him. Her glare could’ve reduced him to cinders.

  “Oh, can’t I, my lord?” she asked.

  He cursed himself under his breath. Only minutes from Richmond Hill and the day’s work teetered on the brink of disaster. Worse, it was entirely his fault. He let her prick his pride. And his pride, when pricked, made him snide.

  In silence, Seelye drove the phaeton the rest of the way to a turnabout at the foot of the hill. He whistled to the boys loitering by a horse trough. One leapt to his feet and ran over. His lordship flipped him a coin to tend the horses, promising another when they returned.

  “Would you rather walk to the top with me or sulk in the carriage?” he asked her.

  “I prefer a brisk walk to sitting,” she replied, “whatever the company.”

  He went around the carriage to help her down. She set a blistering pace uphill which surprised him. Most ladies in stays were short of breath with the least exertion.

  They gained the high ground quickly. The effort put roses in her cheeks. Other visitors wandered the park-like setting but they stood alone on the hilltop. She looked about her, smiling everywhere except at him. Below, the silvery Thames snaked between its tree-lined banks.

  Too bad he’d left his sketch book and pencils back in his rooms. The scene made a lovely composition.

  With a mental shake, he recalled himself to his task. If reason failed, time for guilt. He would lay before Jane how she taxed Gert, when she needed her strength for the coming travails of childbirth. And if that didn’t shame her into better behavior, he’d level her resistance with Lady Abingdon’s final wish to see her married, an impossibility for the unregenerate Insufferable to fulfill. This was his heaviest artillery, but he’d deploy it without compunction to achieve her surrender.

  He cleared his throat. She turned back to him and her smile winked out.

  “Must I explain why your dwindling marriage prospects still matter, Jane?”

  She opened her mouth to object.

  “You may not care,” he cut her off, “but your brother cares, Gert—in her delicate condition—cares a great deal, and Lady Abingdon frets too much over you. They worry themselves sick that, having set this course, you’ll wake up one day and regret it.”

  She paled but said nothing.

  “Granted, Rostand’s a swine,” he said. “But it’s unfair to punish all men for the lapses of a few. You must admit that at least.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t I? You assume humiliating suitors has no consequence because you’re female and gentlemen can’t fight back, but those you offend find other ways to retaliate. You must stop abusing men for their shortcomings, my girl. Recollect how you hate having your own flaws pointed out. Do unto others, as they say.”

  “They also say what’s sauce for the goose—”

  “Stop interrupting me. I am trying to help you.”

  “How do you propose to do that? I’ve alienated the men I should have married and those left will not do,” she said.

  “It’s not too late. You needn’t dwindle into a resentful spinster.”

  “Who said anything about being resentful? Mary Berry is an author of renown. She and her sister host the most influential salon in London. Seems to me they do as they please and do it quite happily.”

  “They live as respectable eccentrics. Is that what you want?”

  “Not particularly but—”

  “What about children and your place in Society? The fact is, you must marry to remain at the center of our world.”

  “I know that but—”

  “No buts. Find a decent sort of man who appreciates you for more than your money, Jane, and you can have the family and life you want.”

  “And if I want more than that?”

  “What else is there?”

  His question startled her and she became thoughtful. Seelye waited for her response with growing apprehension.

  “That is precisely the question, Lord Seelye,” she said finally. “What else is there?” She started downhill. Over her shoulder, she added, “I must answer that for myself.”

  “She’s going to make this as difficult as she can, isn’t she?” he asked Him, eyes lifted
heavenward.

  When he started after her, his long legs covered the ground quickly. He stepped in front of her to halt her descent.

  “Jane, I’ve made a mull of this and I’m sorry,” he said. “I beg you. Put away the boiling oil. Lower your drawbridge. Raise the portcullis. Let your guard down just a little and allow someone to see you as you really are.”

  “Do I dare in light of how awful I am?”

  “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he admitted and pressed his pounding temples between thumb and fingers. “You seem so unlike the child I knew, you confused me at first. But that’s not who you really are. You’re clever and funny and don’t suffer fools like me gladly. I have seen that you are a true friend who comforts those you love without prompting. Let someone else see those qualities and he will love you for them.”

  “Perhaps I will,” was all she said before resuming her 100-mile stare past him.

  They stood in spiky silence.

  “I’d like to go now,” she said.

  He moved aside to let her precede him to the carriage. He helped her in and paid the boy.

  What am I to do with her, he asked himself over and over on the road from Richmond.

  He slowed the carriage to mind a tight, tree-lined curve. A gunshot’s loud crack snapped him out of his distraction.

  Chapter 12

  In which almost everyone is taken by surprise.

  “Stand and deliver!”

  A burly gunman with a tattered hat worn low stood in the road holding up two pistols, one still smoked. His voice was rough as gravel.

  Seelye hauled on the horse’s traces till the phaeton jounced to a stop.

  “Stay calm, Jane,” he whispered, “I won’t let him hurt you.” To the robber, he called out, “I’m unarmed, sir.”

  “But Seelye—” she whispered.

  “Shh.” He tied off the traces and stepped down from the carriage with hands in view. “I’m unarmed and cooperative.”

  Such thievery was over quickly, Seelye knew. These men only stole what was easy to sell. Unless provoked, he wouldn’t pull the trigger because shooting the gentry would only bring the king’s law down on him.