The Wedding Wager

by Hale Deborah

  Morse glanced back up, flashing a mischievous grin that left her breathless. “What of them? I know enough ciphering to get by, but I fear I’ll always be a dunce at history. I expect there are heaps of gentlemen, well accepted in society, who could say the same.”

  Leonora’s lips twitched. “Our Mr. Blenkinsop, unless I miss my guess. Very well, we’ll toss away the history books.” She sighed. “You don’t know what you’re missing, though.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me about it, then? Like with the literature. I remember things I’m told far better than what I read in books.”

  Draining the last of her port, Leonora mulled over what Morse had said. She’d noticed something similar among her evening school pupils. A few of the girls learned readily from books, like Elsie Taylor. Others seemed to absorb information better through lectures and discourse. Still others could retain nothing until they’d copied it several times onto a slate.

  Her own philosophy dictated that she teach in whatever manner her students learned best. Surely that went for Morse Archer, too?

  “With your abbreviated curriculum, we shan’t have much to do at all, these next two months, Sergeant.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “That’s where your mistaken. I have plenty to learn about the usual pursuits of gentlemen—gaming, hunting, dancing, billiards. They’re apt to trip me up far quicker than any amount of Latin or history.”

  “Oh, dear.” Leonora blanched. “I hadn’t reckoned on all that. I know nothing about gaming.”

  Except that she hated it. Her second stepfather had gambled away the bulk of her mother’s small fortune. How many times had they changed residence to avoid his creditors? Each move to a smaller, dingier house with fewer servants and more vulgar economies.

  She’d taken this wager with her uncle only out of dire necessity. How anyone could gamble for amusement, Leonora simply did not understand.

  “Hunting is a mystery to me,” she added, breaking from bitter memories. “My dancing is not much better, come to that.”

  A girl who wanted to avoid catching a husband had little use for dancing lessons.

  Then inspiration struck.

  Leonora sat up straight and snapped her fingers. “We could recruit Mr. Blenkinsop to help! He’s not exactly a prime specimen, but there’s no doubt he’s a blue blood. You might be surprised at what you could learn by watching him.”

  Morse pulled a face, which made her chuckle.

  “Isn’t a good soldier supposed to take advantage of every opportunity to further the military goals of his side?”

  “Very well.” Morse grunted. “I’ll make use of him. But I don’t have to enjoy it.”

  As she started to laugh, a great yawn overtook Leonora. Stifling it with her hand, she glanced at the mantel clock “We had better get ourselves off to bed, if we mean to make a fresh start tomorrow.”

  It had been a long day, during which her spirits had been buffeted this way and that. Riled up by her confrontation with Morse in the library, cast down by Uncle Hugo’s return with Mr. Blenkinsop. Revived by Morse’s appeal for another chance.

  As he followed her up the stairs, Leonora’s flesh tingled with the sense of his eyes upon her.

  Was it too much to hope life would settle down again?

  True to her word, Leonora lost no time in soliciting the assistance of Algie Blenkinsop. The very next morning she broached the idea as they sat eating breakfast.

  “We could very much use your help, Mr. Blenkinsop—”

  “Oh, do call me Algie,” he insisted, beaming at Leonora in a way Morse heartily resented. “I am some relation, however distant, and I’d like us to become great friends.”

  Biting into his bread with savage force, Morse renewed his vow to see that Blenkinsop should never become more to Leonora than a friend.

  “Algie, of course.” She fiddled with her fork, clearly aware of the implication of his remark. “As Uncle may have told you, I’m coaching Sergeant Archer for…um…that is, so he can…well…”

  “Yes, indeed. Sir Hugo told me all about it.” Algie grinned in the older man’s direction.

  Leonora’s face went white as paper, while Morse’s breakfast sank to his toes.

  “No need to be embarrassed, old fellow,” Algie advised.

  Heat rose in Morse’s face. But it was the heat of rage, not shame. He longed to take Algie’s breakfast plate and shove it into his mouth, whole.

  “Plenty of chaps hard up for cash and looking to attract a rich wife.” Algie forked a great helping of scrambled eggs into his mouth, but kept on talking. “Thank heaven I’m not in that case myself. Hard enough to find a likely gel prepared to say I do to becoming Mrs. Algie Blenkinsop when one has pockets full of cash and decent expectations. If I was poor I’d be doomed to bachelorhood forever. Ha, ha!” Tiny fragments of egg showered from his mouth.

  Seeing Leonora’s jaw hanging slack, Morse realized his was, too. Between his amazement at the story Sir Hugo had concocted, and his ire at Algie’s obvious preoccupation with Leonora, he could not dredge up a single word of reply.

  “But you, Archer.”

  Much as he wanted to hate the fellow, Morse was not immune to Algie’s unfeigned admiration.

  “You’ll have all the romps and chits and green girls in a swoon over you—see if you don’t. Still and all, it never hurts for a fellow to polish up the bait before he goes fishing for a rich wife, eh? Jolly kind of Miss Freemantle to lend you a hand.”

  If he’d wanted to be kept by a rich woman, he could have—years ago and without the benefit of anybody’s tutelage. Morse knew he didn’t dare say it, but conscious that he must say something, he managed to concede, “Haven’t been out in society much. Small, provincial school. Then the Rifles. Don’t want to disgrace myself.”

  “And you shan’t, if I can help it.” Algie cast an expectant look at Leonora that begged a word of approval. Not unlike an overgrown puppy—a slobbery one. “Just tell me how I can help and I’ll be glad to pitch in.”

  Though he knew it was a sound idea, Morse could not help but chafe at the prospect of Algie Blenkinsop trespassing on the privacy of his lessons with Leonora. Not for all the colonial plantations on earth could he have returned Algie’s guileless, gullible grin. The best he could do was endeavor to not scowl.

  “That’s awfully kind of you, Mr., er, Algie.” Leonora didn’t look any too pleased at the thought of his participation, either.

  Somehow that soothed Morse’s resentment.

  “Perhaps you could begin by teaching Sergeant Archer—”

  “Look here, if you’re going to call him Algie, you can bloody well call me Morse!”

  “Morse!” cried Leonora, clearly protesting his language.

  “Jolly good, Morse!” chorused Algie. “Might as well be on familiar terms first as last, what?”

  Morse bit back a retort that he didn’t care twopence what Algie called him. Yet he flushed with triumph at hearing his Christian name from Leonora’s lips—even in annoyance.

  From the other end of the breakfast table, he caught Sir Hugo watching the three of them, fairly glowing with satisfaction. Given Morse’s fresh outburst, the old man probably considered his wager as good as won.

  Don’t bake the wedding cake just yet, Sir Hugo. Morse cast him a challenging glare, more determined than ever to prevail.

  By the time Saturday evening arrived, Leonora felt justified entertaining a crumb of confidence in her future.

  The way Morse had thrown himself into his studies was nothing short of astonishing. Be it Latin phrases, the capitals of Europe or the subtleties of billiards, he approached each with a singular concentration, as though his very life depended upon mastering them.

  Leonora needed no reminder it was her life, or at least her peace of mind, that hung in the balance. The effort Morse had put forth on her behalf flattered her far more than any of his old mock flirtation.

  And yet…

  As she waited for the girls in her
class to doff their cloaks and cluster around the tables, she could not quench a pang of longing for the meaningful gazes that had really meant nothing. For the accidental touches that had been all too intentional, and the spontaneous kiss that had been coolly calculated.

  In the past three days Morse Archer had become a model of propriety—drat him!

  Her class was more than usually subdued that evening, perhaps in anticipation of Elsie Taylor’s departure. To compensate for their prior early dismissals, Leonora threw herself into an effort to distract their thoughts and lighten their spirits. When discussion strayed from the book they were studying, she let them debate—tossing out a remark now and then to spur them, encouraging everyone to have a say.

  At some point during the exchange, Leonora found her thoughts focusing on Elsie, and how the girl might be kept at home a while longer. At least until her school could become a reality.

  Then a casual remark from one of her other students gave Leonora her answer. So eager was she to advance the idea with Elsie, that she could barely refrain from dismissing the class early yet again. She checked her impatience by thinking over all possible objections and devising means around them.

  “A word before you leave, please, Miss Taylor.” The other girls might have marked the animation in her tone or the vitality in her movements, for they bid her good evening with a light of curiosity in their eyes.

  The last of them was scarcely out the door when Leonora could contain herself no longer. “Elsie, would your aunt be so very disappointed if you were to find a better situation, closer to your home?”

  “There’s a cousin of mine would be very happy of the position if I was not able to take it, Miss Freemantle.” The girl sounded as if she was working hard to curb her rising hopes. “But I haven’t been offered any better situation and my mother says—”

  Leonora never did find out what Mrs. Taylor had to say.

  “This is your offer, Elsie.” She could not hold back another minute. “Uncle has been after me for the longest time to hire a proper lady’s maid. I couldn’t see that I needed one, out here in the country. But we are planning a sojourn to Bath in the spring and I could do with a little sprucing up. Can you sew?”

  “Aye…that is…yes, miss. I made this dress myself.” Elsie’s words spilled out, quicker and quicker. “Trimmed my bonnet, too. And I can dress hair.”

  “You’re hired!” cried Leonora. “Part of your duties will require you to serve as my teaching assistant for these evening classes—though we mustn’t mention that to Uncle. You’ll have half a day off a week and you may board at Laurelwood or at home, as you please. Whatever the wages in that other position, let me know and I shall better it by fourpence a week, more if you board at home.”

  “Are you certain, miss?” Elsie Taylor’s eyes grew wide and more than a trifle moist. “Fourpence? Well I never! I know Mum and Papa…I mean to say, my parents, will be glad enough not to have me so far from home. And I cannot say how happy I shall be to stay.”

  Why had she never thought of such a project before? Leonora wondered, her own happiness very nearly matching Elsie’s. Perhaps because she’d never been able to picture herself as a lady who might need a maid?

  “I’ll be the best lady’s maid you’ve ever had, miss.”

  No great boast, that, since she would be the first. Out loud, Leonora replied, “I’m certain you shall take me in hand very well, Elsie. I’ll expect to see you bright and early on Monday morning.”

  “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss!” Elsie’s feet scarcely touched the floor as she bolted from the room. To share the good tidings with her friends, no doubt.

  Pleased with herself for hitting on such a clever solution, Leonora hummed a little tune as she packed her satchel and—

  “Your cloak, miss.” There stood Morse Archer, holding it out for her.

  Leonora’s heart raced. From the surprise of his sudden appearance, of course. “You really must break this habit of stealing up on people, Sergeant. I’m sure it’s a handy skill for a Rifleman, but not for a gentleman. What brings you here, by the by? I thought Algie was tutoring you in faro this evening.”

  She turned her back and allowed Morse to slide the cloak over her shoulders. She was prepared to reprimand him if his hands rested there too long. Or, more forward yet, should offer a squeeze.

  He behaved like a perfect gentleman, however. Which did not please Leonora as much as it should have.

  “Both faro and macao,” Morse replied in a genial tone. “We agreed to a small wager of our own. Winner got to drive Sir Hugo’s phaeton into the village to fetch you home.”

  Leonora busied herself with tying her bonnet, playing for time to temper the foolish smile on her face. Algie had suggested the bet, most likely, she told herself. Counting on Morse’s inexperience to give him the upper hand.

  And Morse? Well, the cards must have fallen his way. Or perhaps he had made an effort to win. Just to best Algie, for whom he clearly had little use. The opportunity to drive the phaeton might have been a strong inducement, too.

  Yet Morse had made it sound as if she were the prize. And, try as she might, Leonora could not calm the rapid pulse within her.

  “I’ll need a few lessons from Blenkinsop about handling these rigs,” Morse confessed as he ushered Leonora out to the phaeton.

  Perhaps Algie had deliberately thrown the card match, hoping Morse’s dismal performance in carriage driving would diminish him in Leonora’s eyes.

  Morse shook his head at his own foolishness. Algie Blenkinsop wasn’t half clever enough to be so crafty. Besides, what would ever give him the daft idea the two of them were rivals for Leonora?

  He hoisted her into the carriage, resisting the urge to hang on to her a trifle longer than necessary. Such behavior would get him turfed out of Laurelwood on his backside. Yet Morse found it deucedly hard to break himself of the habit.

  “No question, they’re tricky blighters to control.” He jogged the reins, almost falling from the high box as the pair of matched bays lurched forward. “Between the height and the lightness of them.”

  A soft trill of laughter shimmered in the crisp night air like a moonbeam. “There’s more to this business of posing as a gentleman than you anticipated, isn’t there, Morse?”

  He didn’t dare take his eyes off the dimly lit road for a moment. And perhaps that was a good thing.

  The sight of Leonora in the winter moonlight might have been too great a challenge to his faulty self-control.

  “Oh, aye.” Without thinking, he slipped back into the rustic idiom of his youth. “I mean—quite. Nothing I can’t pick up, though, with a bit of work. I’ve always liked a challenge.”

  “Now, there’s a discovery that doesn’t surprise me in the least.” Something about the way she said it, some warm hint of admiration in her tone, made Morse’s chest expand until he feared it might pop the buttons on his greatcoat.

  One wheel of the phaeton dipped into a puddle, pitching it precariously to the side. Morse leaned the other way and urged the horses to a somewhat greater speed. The maneuver succeeded in keeping the light vehicle upright.

  Cursing himself for his lapse in concentration, Morse focused ruthlessly on his driving until they had safely turned up the lane to Laurelwood.

  That would show Algie Blenkinsop!

  And just to rub it in, should Algie be watching from one of the windows, Morse made rather a show of lifting Leonora down from the phaeton.

  To his vast surprise, she clung to him for longer than was strictly necessary.

  “I’d like to take advantage of this last moment of privacy,” she said.

  Morse felt his blood stir, wondering what fashion that advantage would take.

  “I wanted to tell you,” Leonora continued, “how pleased I am with the progress you’re making.”

  It wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting, but it dizzied Morse nonetheless. Or perhaps he’d just climbed down too quickly from the giddy height of his perch on
the phaeton.

  “I promised you I’d give it my best effort, and I meant it…Leonora.”

  There was nothing he could do to erase his earlier, shameful conduct. The very notion made him shrink within himself as though he’d let down the honor of his regiment. But Morse had sworn to himself that in the coming weeks he would do everything in his power to redeem himself in her eyes.

  She gave a little start, as though still unused to hearing him address her that way. A hesitant smile tugged at one corner of her lips, suggesting she did not resent the familiarity.

  “So you did…Morse, and I appreciate your effort more than I can say. I was wrong not to have solicited your ideas for our curriculum of studies from the beginning.”

  Her admission disarmed him completely. Breaking away from their locked gaze, he muttered, “No harm done.” His stock felt tight enough to throttle him. “You ought to get inside now where it’s warm.”

  Pulling the front door open, he fairly shoved her inside.

  Another moment standing there, he reflected as he led the bays to the stable, and he could not have resisted kissing Leonora Freemantle.

  Wager or no wager.

  Chapter Ten

  What would she have done, if he’d kissed her there in the moonlight?

  The question continued to haunt Leonora through the next week as Morse exerted even greater effort in his studies. Ruthlessly focused and businesslike, he gave little indication of being the same charming rogue who had once wooed his way out of work.

  His table manners were improving slowly, in part because Algie set such a woeful example. At least he’d become astute enough to watch his table companions for cues on which pieces of cutlery to deploy for which course of the meal.

  Algie had declared him a natural gamesman—a title that made Leonora squirm. Still, it meant Morse needed only a quick account of the rules and few practice hands to master the most popular card games. His success, at faro in particular, led Leonora to suspect he had a superior grasp of practical mathematics.

  His billiard game was improving, thanks to nightly matches with Algie and Sir Hugo. Dancing had proven something of a hurdle, however.