The Dowager's Wager

by Nikki Poppen

  “Here’s my hostess now,” he said when she neared. “You’ve done a splendid job, Bella. I feel like a guest at my own party. There’s nothing for me to do”

  “You were the perfect host,” Isabella returned. “Thank you for taking time with Caroline. She wanted to meet you so very much”

  “She’s a nice girl. I enjoyed talking with her. I have wanted to meet her ever since I traded names with Alain at the Valentine’s party.” Tristan crooked his arm. “Let’s go up. Tomorrow will be busy with the hunt and the ball. If I know you, Isabella, you’ll be up early and in the stables before anyone else.”

  The morning dawned gray but dry. The overcast weather would be perfect for hunting, Isabella noted, pulling back the curtains at her window. She dressed quickly in a dark green riding habit with breeches underneath and headed for the stables. Last night, Middleton had consented to let her ride the stallion. She was in alt.

  Isabella stopped inside the stable door and inhaled the fragrance of horseflesh. Hay and horse were comforting smells to her. She proceeded to Hellion’s stall and fished a slice of apple from her pocket. She held it on her flat palm and offered it to the horse. He whickered and then ate. She petted him and spoke to him in reassuring tones before lead ing him out to curry and saddle. She hummed as she worked, so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice anyone enter the stables until a pair of boots caught her eye while she picked Hellion’s hooves. Hellion’s nostril’s flared.

  “Alain is right, Isabella, that horse is half-wild,” Tristan said in greeting.

  “Good morning.” Isabella looked up from grooming Hellion. She critically surveyed Tristan. Did the man have to look so good all the time? He cut a superb figure, as he well knew, in his riding attire and polished boots, swinging a crop at his side.

  “I assume you’re riding him today. I think it’s folly to try and handle such an animal from a side saddle,” Tristan advised.

  “I agree. I am not using a side saddle.” Isabella smiled and lifted her skirts to her knees. “I’ll be riding astride. I have it on good authority that you appreciate a rider with a fine seat. I wanted to make sure mine was amply on display.”

  “About Beatrix, I didn’t know she was going to be here,” Tristan began. “I hope this doesn’t alter our plans to announce the betrothal tonight?”

  “You must catch the informant, Tristan. That is our foremost concern. I must know that you’re safe,” Isabella reminded him, worry evident in her eyes.

  “I agree, but I am not sure that he’s here. He should have a scar, just a faint one on his cheek where I nicked him. I know everyone here and none of them bear the mark. I don’t want to waste our ball because he didn’t show up.” Tristan grinned wickedly and stepped closer. Isabella knew he would have kissed her if other hunters hadn’t appeared in the stable at that moment to claim their mounts. Reluctantly, she drew back and made a great show of grooming Hellion.

  Within a few moments, the stable was the scene of orderly chaos as grooms hurried to saddle horses. When all was ready, Isabella mounted Hellion next to Tristan in the yard as everyone assembled to drink from the hunt cup and to hear the master of the hunt blow his horn. Then they were off with Hellion leading the way. She was in high spirits. Tristan was safe for the moment. The informant hadn’t shown up. Beatrix made a bid early in the hunt to ride in the front of the pack with Isabella and the other neck-or-nothing riders but soon found Hellion out of her league and dropped back to ride with Middleton, much to Isabella’s gratification.

  By the time the hunt ball commenced that evening, Isabella felt her world had finally started to right itself. There was little chance of danger tonight. She could revel in the moment. She looked down the staircase before she descended. Tristan stood in the hall chatting with Caroline Danvers. He was wearing the celery waistcoat with silver buttons that Isabella had gamely sent him, under a black evening coat with black trousers.

  He turned and smiled up at her. His eyes raked her appreciatively. Isabella knew she’d chosen her gown of dark green velvet wisely. Tristan beckoned for her to join him and she sailed down the stairs to his side. She didn’t leave his side until eleven o’clock when he quietly whispered he had to go. She looked at him strangely. He had not said where he was going or what he was doing, but she nodded her consent, her eyes following him until he was out of sight. When he did not return in fifteen minutes, she went looking for him.

  Isabella glanced around in the hall for some clue as to where Tristan had gone. A crack of light coming from underneath the estate office drew her attention. As she neared, muted voices reached her ears. Tristan was not alone. She pushed open the door and halted at the sight of Beatrix, Middleton and Tristan. Middleton sat behind the massive desk. Beatrix perched on the arm of Tristan’s chair at an awkward angle. Tristan’s back was to her. Beatrix turned and Isabella gasped. Beatrix held a naked blade in her hand. She must have had it held against Tristan’s neck. It would explain her awkward angle. She realized Tristan’s hands were tied.

  “Come in, we’ve been expecting you.” Beatrix waved the blade, gesturing to the empty chair next to Tristan.

  “What is going on in here?” Isabella demanded with all the authority she could muster while her mind grappled with the situation.

  “Sit down.” Beatrix returned the blade to Tristan’s neck and pressed. A small bead of blood shone red. “I mean business tonight, my lady.”

  Isabella sat. Her worry for Tristan overrode any fear she might have for herself. “Are you hurt?” she asked Tristan.

  Beatrix exploded. “This is not a garden party, Lady Westbrooke. I am the hostess here. You will not speak unless I instruct you to do so. Failure to follow my instructions will cause things to go poorly for your man, although I doubt you’ll be so willing to claim him when we’re finished tonight.”

  “You will not kill us,” Isabella challenged haughtily. If she’d learned anything in her years as the marchioness it was to not show fear. She’d been a young hostess who’d had to prove herself. She’d stared down more than one supercilious matron in her day. This coarse, coldhearted woman who dressed herself in finery and masqueraded as acceptable Society would not cow her.

  “There’s more than one way to kill, my lady.” Middleton rose from the chair behind the desk and came around to lean on the corner of the massive structure. “Knives and pistols are sometimes too easy.”

  Isabella would give a monkey to know what Middleton was doing in the center of all this drama. He was a singleminded sportsman who spent his time in the country to hunt and ride. When he wasn’t in the country, he was traveling to exotic locales for the hunting there. Supposedly. With a flash of insight, she thought he might as well have been in France. No one truly knew if he’d actually gone on to Germany or wherever else he purported to go.

  Beatrix chimed in. “Yes, there’s more than one way to kill. One doesn’t have to die to be dead. One can go through the motions of living and still be dead inside. That is indeed a great torture, to know you have year after endless year to live with your empty self. Isn’t that right, Tristan? It’s what you did to me, and now I’ll return the favor.”

  She kicked him hard in the leg for good measure. Tristan winced. That was when Isabella noticed his legs were tied as well. However did they manage to get Tristan trussed up like a goose?

  Beatrix read her thoughts. “We knocked him out, my dear Lady Westbrooke. Middleton lured him away from the ballroom and I coshed him on the head from behind. We’d have never subdued him otherwise. You do know he’s famous for his fighting abilities in our dark circles?” Beatrix stood up and began to walk the carpet that lay in front of the desk, content that she had Isabella’s compliance for the moment.

  “You see, Lady Westbrooke, the good viscount is a private agent for the Crown. He performs all kinds of nasty deeds under the cover of being a social buffoon, who is only good at wooing ladies and giving fabulous parties.”

  Isabella felt triumphant. “I know that
. Tristan has discussed his military career with me” She was aware of their game now. They wanted to turn her from Tristan. When Tristan had said he worried about the informant using her as leverage, she had thought only of a kidnapping. But now she knew what Beatrix and Middleton meant when they’d said there was more than one way to kill. If this was to be a game of wits, Isabella was well armed.

  Beatrix gave a cold smile. “Ah, so you know. Do you know everything? Do you know that he killed my brother?”

  Isabella cast a brief look at Tristan. He too was surprised by the news. It was the first time he’d spoken since she’d entered the room. “Don’t tell lies, Beatrix. I don’t even know your brother or that you have one.”

  Beatrix’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The man on the docks in Paris was my brother. Tall, golden haired and young. You sent him home bleeding. He died three days later.”

  “He ambushed me with two others. He knew the risks. Treason is not a game played for cheap stakes.”

  “Nonetheless, I loved him,” Beatrix spat back. She turned her cold blue eyes on Isabella. “You love your brother as well. We have something in common. Perhaps I will have done you a favor by the end of the evening. Moreland killed my brother, and he came here to hunt yours. When Tristan was busy confessing his many sins to you did he mention that one of his leading suspects was your brother, Baron Wickham?”

  “Alain? Whatever for?” Isabella cried in shock. She looked to Tristan for a plausible explanation, but it was Beatrix who spoke.

  “All he had to go on was a physical description of the intruder who’d broken into the town house and whatever physical characteristics he could recall from the melee at the docks. I believe your brother matches the description ideally.”

  “So do numerous other men!” Isabella retorted. She followed Beatrix’s gaze as it moved to Middleton.

  “Exactly,” Beatrix purred in satisfaction. “As you’ve guessed, Middleton and Wickham are of the same height and general features as my brother. But Alain made the mistake of visiting Moreland’s town house and actually showing interest in the cards. He even took some one evening when Moreland was away. Your brother made it easy to frame him by spending so much time away at undisclosed locations. It would have been lovely to actually see Tristan send his dear friend and his betrothed’s brother to his demise, but we needed the cards for ourselves. So we’ll have to settle for having swiped the information and upsetting Tristan’s marriage plans.”

  Isabella’s stomach churned at the story Beatrix spun. Surely, Tristan hadn’t really thought the informant was Alain? Beatrix was cruel. It was not beyond her to fabricate a story to fit her needs. Isabella stiffened her spine. She would not give Beatrix the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. “Why are you doing this? I think you risk much for very little in return.”

  “There is nothing little about revenge!” Beatrix shot back. “He murdered my brother and he foiled plans to put the rightful emperor of France back in power.”

  Isabella turned to the silent Middleton. “What of you, sir? What do you stand to gain by abetting such treason?” Middleton said nothing but Isabella could guess. He was besotted with Beatrix. He had hardly taken his eyes from her. He probably promised to marry her and make her his countess. Isabella couldn’t imagine why Beatrix would consent to marry a man whose pockets were to let. Then she recalled the information in the coded cards. They weren’t collecting it for their own use, they were collecting it to sell to someone else.

  “I am rich,” Isabella said, mostly for Middleton’s benefit. “Sell me the information for three times the price your connection was paying you.”

  “Why would you want it?” Middleton asked curiously, his interest piqued by that sum of money.

  “I don’t want it. It means nothing to me,” Isabella said with a casual air. “But you need money, both of you do. If you sell the information to me, I’ll destroy the cards and there will be no threat of being caught and tried for treason. There will be no proof.” She could see Middleton weighing the possibilities. She could practically read his mind. He could afford to marry Beatrix and he could stay in England. No doubt they would have to start up somewhere else after this latest deal.

  “No. That is not the plan,” Beatrix said sharply to Middleton. “That information is needed to help free Napoleon. We need the shipping schedules.”

  Tristan joined the verbal fray. “What if the information is false? Then you will be hunted by those you are trying to help and you’ll have turned down a great sum of money.”

  Middleton bolted upright from his lazy pose at the desk. “What are you saying? Have you been feeding false information?”

  “Perhaps, but then again it might all be true. Beatrix stole information from me before. She knows the information in the `love notes’ was true once.”

  Beatrix pressed the knife hard against Tristan’s skin, breaking it. Blood welled. Isabella stifled a scream. If she screamed Tristan would be dead before help could reach them. “Tell them the truth, Tristan,” she urged.

  “Wait” A malicious grin spread across Middleton’s face as he stepped forward. “You’re going around it all wrong, Bea. When hunting, one learns that animals only give themselves up to save their young or their mates. Gresham here will never tell you the truth if it’s only his neck at risk. But the lovely Lady Westbrooke’s is another story.”

  Beatrix’s hand relaxed on the knife hilt. She gave Middleton a flirtatious look. “That assumes he cares a whit for her.” She turned her gaze on Isabella. “Do you think Tristan will rescue you? Does he love you enough to pick you over his duty to his country? It may be that he only pretended to care about you in order to get close to you. Maybe he thought you’d let something slip about Alain that would confirm his suspicions.” She left Tristan’s side and moved to Isabella, where she bent to Isabella’s ear. “If I had to pick between his neck and mine, I’d pick mine. Tristan’s a lost cause, my lady.”

  “Ah, my Beatrix, you weave a web like no other!” Middleton applauded. “But we must go before anyone begins to miss the pair of them. They have a betrothal to announce tonight, if I am not mistaken. That is, if the lady will still have the scoundrel.” Middleton made a clucking noise through his teeth. “It is a shame to wed someone you can’t truly trust, my lady.

  “What shall it be, Beatrix, shall we take the money and turn the information over or shall we gamble on it?” Middleton inquired.

  “We shall gamble on it. My only regret is that we are not slitting Moreland’s throat.”

  “Bea, he’s slit his own throat and saved us the trouble,” Middleton laughed as he raised the window sash and helped Beatrix climb through. “Now you, Lady Westbrooke. We need some insurance that Tristan won’t come after us. You’ll not be harmed, merely inconvenienced, unless Tristan decides to play unfairly.” Middleton waved a pistol casually as he gestured towards the window. “Give us two hours, Moreland. After that, we’ll leave the lady at an inn with coach fare to a destination of her choice. But it will go poorly for her if you decide to play the hero, assuming you get out of that chair any time soon”

  Isabella had no choice but to go with them. She climbed through the window and shot Tristan a parting glance. She’d hoped to see some sign of emotion in his face, but his demeanor was stoic and unreadable.

  Three horses were waiting outside. Middleton gave her a leg up on Hellion and a warning. “Don’t think to use his speed to escape. I have no love for this horse and his temper. I’ll shoot him out from under you, make no mistake about it.”

  Beatrix cooed evilly in the darkness. “She wouldn’t want to miss the fun, George. We’ve handed her the ultimate litmus test. If Tristan breaks the rules and comes after her, she’ll know he loved her more than his work. If he doesn’t come, she’ll know where his true motivations lay.”

  The trio rode in silence, all of them with their ears trained on the sounds of the night. They listened for the thunder of following hooves. None came. Isabella did her bes
t to keep her thoughts away from the cutting remarks Beatrix had made. Mrs. Smallwood was wrong. The Tristan Isabella knew was a deeply honorable man. He had not used her to get to Alain. She strained her ears for any sound of his horse behind them. She told herself that there were many reasons why Tristan would not follow, especially since her safety was at stake.

  An hour into the ride, reality set in. She could not trust Beatrix and Middleton to keep their word about her safe return. Beatrix was a conniving woman who covered her tracks. Why would she allow Isabella to go free when Isabella could show others the course they’d taken and make a good guess as to where they would go? If she could figure that out, Tristan could, too. That meant he would come. But he did not.

  In the end, Isabella saw an opening to save herself. Beatrix and Middleton stopped at a Y in the road and began arguing about the route. Isabella kicked Hellion hard and took off cross country in the direction from which they’d come. She no longer had any fear of Middleton’s pistol. They meant to do away with her anyway. She would rather be shot trying to escape than to simply wait for the inevitable.

  Hellion surged beneath her. Despite the danger she faced, Isabella reveled in the strength of the stallion beneath her. He could run for hours. She had sensed it earlier that day during the hunt. She hazarded a glance behind and saw Middleton in pursuit. Middleton rode a fresh horse that hadn’t hunted that morning. The bay was a prime goer, but with Middleton’s weight, the gelding couldn’t race forever. Isabella urged Hellion on to greater lengths. She didn’t worry about Middleton ever catching up and pulling alongside, but she did worry about Middleton getting close enough to fire a shot.

  Isabella’s route paralleled the road. Now, as Hellion pounded forwarded, a stone fence and stile loomed in the near distance. There was no question of stopping to go through the stile or riding along the fence until an opening appeared. The only course of action was to go over it. This was the chance Isabella had been waiting for. She had jumped Hellion twice during the hunt, although the jumps hadn’t been as high. But she knew the strength of his legs. He could take the fence. She was certain the gelding would not be able to clear it. She gave Hellion the signal with her knees, felt his powerful haunches bunch and they were airborne.