The shorter man blanched, but squared his shoulders. “I don’t wish to be left out. I was thinking only of you, Swinton, and your despair when you lose yet again in an affaire de coeur.”
The redhead’s cheeks took on the color of his red vest. Ross smiled as his companions chuckled. Bruce Swinton’s fervent pursuit of Miss Barbara Masterson had ended when she had wed another admirer less than a fortnight ago.
“I want nothing to do with this.” Rollins aimed a glower at each of them. “I’m amazed at you, Brickendon. That Swinton and Franklin wish to make such a distasteful wager is no surprise, but I thought you knew the boundaries of decency in discussing a lady’s heart.”
“Bah!” Sir Wilbur reached under his coat and pulled out his enameled snuffbox. Opening it with a practiced flick, he pinched some and held it to his nose. He sneezed vehemently, then sighed as he replaced the box. “You would take part if you had a thought you might win.”
Rollins mumbled something under his breath and, setting himself on his feet, stamped away.
“That guinea pig is ever a poor loser.” Swinton smiled. “However, he shows good sense in not accepting this wager for Lady Vanessa Wolfe. She would crush him with a single, sharp word. So it shall be the three of us.” He plucked some coins from beneath his coat and dropped them in the center of the table. “One pound wagered that I shall be the victor in this game of hearts.”
Sir Wilbur started to do the same, then hesitated. “My friends, there must be some order to this pursuit of the lady. If we all try to woo her at once, I feel she shall be quite right in dismissing all of us.”
“Then there’s nothing to do but draw to see which one of us shall have the honor of courting her first,” Ross replied as he placed his coins next to Swinton’s.
“Pray you shall be first, Franklin,” the redhead said, “for I would hate to see you lose your money without having a chance to pursue the lady.”
“You’re so sure you’ll win her?” Sir Wilbur fired back.
“My friends,” Ross interrupted, “let us begin this wager as comrades with a single goal, not scratching out each other’s eyes like barn cats.” He spread the cards facedown across the table. “Draw, and highest card goes first, lowest last. It’s that simple.” With a magnanimous wave, he said, “Do draw, Swinton.”
The red-haired man flashed him a smile, then selected a card. Swinton glanced at it and laughed softly. Ross did not respond as Sir Wilbur made his pick. The chubby man said nothing.
“My turn,” Ross said needlessly, but he had to own he was relishing the slight excitement of this miniature drama. Certainly the amusement yet to come would be even more grand.
He tilted his card toward him. Not allowing even an arch of an eyebrow or a twitch of his lips to betray his thoughts at the one he had drawn, he regarded the other two men. They shifted uneasily in their seats, anxious and fearful at the same time. Yes, this had been an inspired idea, for if they had drawn as he expected, the next few weeks were going to be most intriguing.
“A nine,” said Swinton, placing his card on the table. “Can either of you beat that?”
“I have a jack,” the baronet interjected with an abrupt laugh as he placed his card atop the other. “I best you, Swinton. What did you draw, Brickendon?”
“You both top me.” He rested his elbow on the table and said in a conspiratorial voice, “So you have the first chance to win Lady Vanessa’s cold heart, Franklin. If she fails to consider your suit, then Swinton and I shall have our opportunity.” He put his hand over the money in the middle of the table. With a smile, he watched as his friends set their hands over his. “To Lady Vanessa Wolfe and to our wager to win her for one of us.”
They echoed his words, then Sir Wilbur stood. He pocketed his share of the coins. “I look forward to winning this wager as well as Lady Vanessa’s hand. I shall begin courting her on the morrow.”
“Not tonight?” asked Swinton, also rising. “Why do you delay?”
Ross watched as the baronet waddled from the room, followed by Swinton who was determined to get an answer. Ross suspected Franklin—quite rightly—wished to be a bit more sober before he presented himself to the marquess’s daughter.
He relaxed against the back of his chair and flipped the card he had drawn onto the others. As the queen of diamonds stared back at him, he smiled. The rest of this Season might not be so boring after all.
Chapter Two
Lady Vanessa Wolfe frowned when she heard the clanging from the clock set on the mantel at one side of the drawing room in Mrs. Averill’s elegant home. Her fingers clenched at her sides, but she forced them to loosen when her aunt aimed a frown at her. Without a doubt, Aunt Carolyn would give her another scold when they returned to their town house on Grosvenor Square. After months of being chided about her behavior at the round of parties her aunt insisted were essential if Vanessa was to find a husband, Vanessa wished to endure no more of them.
“Do smile at the gentlemen, Vanessa,” her aunt had said more often than Vanessa cared to recall. “Speak of gentle subjects such as befits a lady. Laugh when the gentleman makes a sally.”
Laugh? If they ever said anything amusing, she might. She had long ago tired of the inane conversation and the posturing. At the beginning, it had been amusing to see the gentlemen in their finery parading before the eligible ladies, but that had grown old as the ton turned its attention on the marquess’s daughter and her chances for marriage.
She did not wish to leg-shackle herself to any of her eager admirers. She shuddered at the thought of having to be pleasant to yet another of the men who preyed on the young women thrust into the Marriage Mart. Every man seemed anxious to find himself a wife with either a title or wealth. As everyone believed she had both foisted on her, she was surrounded by a pesky swarm of men. Once this Season was past, her ears would be rid of their endless compliments and their annoying attempts to woo her with bragging and court-promises that had as little substance as a morning fog.
She glanced again at the clock. Midnight! How much longer must she stay at this eternally long party? She had done as her aunt wished and had spoken prettily to Mrs. Averill and her uppity niece. Otherwise, she had spent the evening seeking out Lord Mendoff. She had been led to believe that the gentleman who was high placed in the government would be in attendance, but her hopes of meeting him had come to naught.
“Here you are! Why are you lurking in a corner?”
At the sharp question in a warm voice, Vanessa forced a smile for her aunt. She did not like being on the outs with her beloved aunt, but Aunt Carolyn must come to accept the truth in Vanessa’s heart.
Lady Carolyn Mansfield was no bent dowager. Younger than her brother by more than a decade, the black-haired woman could have been mistaken for Vanessa’s older sister. She had wedded well, but been left an ace of spades a year before. The effervescent woman whose slim ankles and bright wit delighted everyone she met showed no interest in marrying again. Vanessa knew it was not from lack of suitors; as many called for her aunt during their Thursday afternoons at home as did for Vanessa. Lord Simstal was particularly anxious to present his suit, but Aunt Carolyn always treated the earl with polite indifference.
“I wasn’t lurking,” Vanessa replied. “I heard the clock clang and wished to check the time.”
Aunt Carolyn put a gloved hand on Vanessa’s arm. “Vanessa, I know you are anxious to leave, but you do not want to insult Mrs. Averill by departing early, do you?”
“I’m thinking fondly of my bed.”
“You didn’t sleep well again last night?”
Vanessa was tempted to reply she had not slept a full night since the horrible tidings had arrived of her brother’s disappearance on the continent. Aunt Carolyn—although she grieved for Corey—did not share Vanessa’s belief that the current Marquess of Wulfric remained alive. If Vanessa spoke of why she sought her bed late every night, her aunt might fly off in a pelter. Vanessa had witnessed one of her aunt’s explosions o
f temper. She did not want to risk another dressing-down. They did not come often, but the memory lingered of Aunt Carolyn’s fury when Vanessa had tried to persuade her to return to Wulfric Abbey before the beginning of the Season.
Aunt Carolyn’s tongue had had a sharp edge that day which had been honed by her strong words of “ungrateful chit” and “obligation” and “good fortune.” Vanessa had acknowledged without reluctance that she had an obligation to her family, but she found nothing good about the fortune which had taken Corey from her and she could not be grateful to any whim of fate that had led her to this need to find a husband to help her oversee the Abbey. She had said that and been rewarded by another scold. Then Aunt Carolyn had dissolved into tears, and Vanessa had vowed never to distress her dear aunt so again.
Instead she whispered, “I am afraid not.”
Aunt Carolyn smiled and took her hand. “Then come, dear, and we shall be sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight.”
Hope burst within her. “We are leaving?”
“Of course not!” She waved, and a man with a gargantuan mustache hurried toward them. Before he was in earshot, Aunt Carolyn hurried to add, “A bit of dancing will tire you, so you may sleep like a babe in its mother’s arms.”
“But—”
“You know Mr. Rollins, I believe,” Aunt Carolyn interjected with a warning smile.
Vanessa recognized the smile that her aunt gave to her often. It was a silent command to be on her most polished behavior. Not that Vanessa’s manners were ever questionable. She simply avoided any meeting she did not wish to suffer through, but Aunt Carolyn was clearly going to be insistent that she endure this one.
“Good evening, Mr. Rollins,” she said dutifully.
“My lady.” He lifted her hand. His lips were so moist she could feel the dampness through her glove. “May I say what a splendid surprise it was to hear your lovely aunt telling me that you wished to dance this evening?”
“I’m sure you were quite surprised by my aunt’s fervor,” Vanessa answered. “I always am.”
Aunt Carolyn smiled with satisfaction, and Vanessa wondered how she could prove to her aunt this was not the way to provide her with good prospects for a husband. Vanessa had already suffered too much of Mr. Rollins’s company last month, and she had thought when they last parted that he understood she had no more interest in his company.
Knowing it was useless to argue, Vanessa let Mr. Rollins lead her out onto the dance floor. Inspiration blossomed when she saw the furious glance Darla Averill shot in her direction. Although she could not understand why Miss Averill was anxious for the overly effusive Mr. Rollins’s company, Vanessa was ready to take advantage of any opportunity that presented itself.
“Mr. Rollins,” she said in a near whisper so he had to bend his head toward her, “I believe you have broken a lady’s heart by asking me to dance.”
“Yours?” he gasped, his mustache quivering with emotion.
“Miss Averill’s,” she answered quickly to avoid laughing at the hair dancing wildly on his lip. “Look if you can without her realizing, and you shall see that she’s quite distressed you are dancing with another.”
“My lady, I—”
“No need to apologize to me.” She smiled, hoping he would not suspect that she knew he had intended to ignore Miss Averill’s petulance. She would not let this chance to give him his leave pass by. “A fine gentleman like you knows he must soothe a woman’s shattered heart at all costs.” She withdrew her fingers from his arm and pressed them to her heart. “Oh, how I admire your chivalry, Mr. Rollins!”
Again Vanessa struggled not to laugh as the pompous man puffed up his chest and bowed over her hand before excusing himself to hurry to Miss Averill’s side. She guessed he hoped to win the hearts of two ladies with his singular action. She stepped closer to the black walnut walls and released her laughter.
“May I ask what you find so amusing, Lady Vanessa?” asked a deep voice from the shadows behind her.
Vanessa whirled as a man stepped into the light. He was a half head taller than the other men in the room. His dark hair glistened with bluish fire in the glow from the pair of chandeliers. He must have engaged the services of a competent knight of the needle, for his coat fit him well. His valet should be commended for the diligence given to the glittering buckles on his brightly shined shoes. From his black brows along his aquiline nose to the hint of a cleft in his chin, he possessed an aura of arrogant self-assuredness she found disconcerting.
“Do I know you?” she asked, shocked to hear her voice tremble.
“I regret I must be so bold as to introduce myself. Lord Brickendon, my lady.” He took her hand.
She tensed. She had grown exasperated by the parade of men who insisted on kissing her hand as a prelude to the silly talk that sounded like nothing-sayings in her ears. Did none of them have a true thought in their heads?
When Lord Brickendon bowed over her hand, then relinquished it, she was amazed. She was about to smile, then his gaze captured hers. Wanting to look away, she could not, for she was fascinated by his ebony eyes. In them, she saw unfettered amusement and other, stronger emotions she could not decipher. Emotions, she decided with a shiver of uneasiness, she would be wise not to decipher.
“I am pleased to meet you, my lord,” Vanessa murmured when the suspicion of a smile played on his lips. Through her head rang Aunt Carolyn’s entreaty that she be pretty-mannered. She would find that easier if she was not so unsettled by this handsome man.
“If I may be so bold, I would say your words contradict your expression.” He glanced at the room. “You look most displeased with everything around you.”
Although she was tempted to fire back that his polished words did not match the glow in his eyes, she said only, “Anyone who doesn’t find the rigors of the Season fatiguing is stronger than I.”
“Odd, for you don’t appear to be a frail flower. I own—even on such a short acquaintance—I cannot imagine you pining in a corner and watching the world pass by you.”
In spite of herself, Vanessa smiled. The image he created with his words was ludicrous. No Wolfe ever would be willing to sit quietly. “You’re quite correct, my lord.”
“Then I trust I shall see you in the future at another rout or perhaps in Hyde Park. Mayhap then, my lady, you will share with me the jest that left you laughing this evening.” He took her hand.
Again, she tensed. She swallowed her gasp as she realized she was actually anticipating Lord Brickendon’s kiss upon her fingers. When he surrendered her hand, unkissed, she was shocked at her disappointment. She must be mad! She murmured a farewell, resolved he would not guess the queer course of her thoughts.
“Until we meet again,” Lord Brickendon said with another smile.
“Until we meet again,” she whispered. Then, with a sharp, but silent reprimand to herself, she added in a stronger voice, “Good evening, my lord.”
Vanessa feared she would hear his laughter as she walked away, but either Lord Brickendon silenced it or he found her peculiar behavior as distasteful as she did. After all, she was no swooning miss to be plied with a few fancy words that would send her head spinning.
But then why was her head as light as if she had been drinking too much wine? She did not like the feeling and vowed she would avoid any chance of suffering from it again. That would be as easy as avoiding the handsome Lord Brickendon.
The house on Grosvenor Square glowed with candles as the carriage slowed before its door. Vanessa thanked the tiger who handed her to the walkway and offered Quigley a smile as the butler held the door open.
The tall man had no spare flesh on his frame. What was left of his hair was the same black as his spotless livery. No matter what hour of the day or night, Quigley stood ready to open the door for her, pausing in his other duties to wish her a good day or good evening. She had no idea if he missed Wolfe Abbey as much as she did, for nothing in his ram-straight posture gave her a clue to his thoughts.
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It was wondrous to be home, although this house with its simple foyer and the stairs that swept up from the ground floor in a flow of mahogany only made her nostalgic for Wolfe Abbey’s grand oaken hall. She had to admire the delicate art her aunt had chosen to fill the niches along the staircase and the elegantly turned furniture with its pale blue silk upholstery in the parlor on the first floor. This house was splendid, but it was not home. She longed for the thick-legged pieces that were pulled around the huge hearth in the solarium at the Abbey. The furniture had been in the house for centuries; yet Vanessa was sure nothing could be more inviting and comfortable on a wintry night.
Quigley took her wrap and Aunt Carolyn’s pelisse. “Lady Vanessa, this was returned.”
Vanessa accepted the letter he held out to her. She did not need to look at it. Sending a note to the prime minister had been a desperate move, but she had hoped he would read it, even if he could do nothing else. He had returned it, unopened. With a deep sigh, she put it in her bag.
“A problem, dear?” asked Aunt Carolyn.
“Of course not,” she answered, but glanced at Quigley, hoping he would not contradict her words. He must know how much she hated being false with Aunt Carolyn. When he bowed his head and whispered a good night, she released the breath she had not realized she was holding. She would thank Quigley in the morning. He was an unwilling ally in her attempt to discover her brother’s whereabouts, but not once had he betrayed her.
“Then come with me a moment.”
Vanessa glanced toward the stairs, then sighed. The scold she was due must be coming. The only way to get it over was to sit through it and promise to try harder next time to meet her aunt’s expectations. As she followed Aunt Carolyn up the stairs and into the brightly lit parlor, she clenched her hands at her side. Papa had urged her to obey her aunt, but he would be outraged at the rôle she had had to assume to be a part of the Season. Then, with another, much deeper sigh, she wondered if she was forcing her own opinions upon her memories of her father. After all, her mother had been a vibrant part of Society before marrying and moving to Wolfe Abbey.
The Wolfe Wager Page 2
