Betting on a Lady's Heart: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 14)

by Arietta Richmond

  “Do enjoy yourself then.”

  There was an edge of almost sardonic humour in Mrs Weston’s voice, and her eyes laughed at him.

  “I will, I am sure.”

  He turned, and proceeded after the footman, to enter the parlour.

  Miss Weston greeted him with her usual bright cheerful innocence of manner. It became less appealing every time he saw her. But, he reminded himself, she had a very large dowry.

  Soon, they were wandering the gardens again, with the maid trailing behind as always.

  “Miss Weston, I have been thinking a great deal since last I saw you.”

  “Oh, my Lord? On what subjects have you been focussing your thoughts?”

  “Upon you, Miss Weston, and upon your situation.”

  “My situation, my Lord?”

  “Yes. To be precise, upon the identity of your other suitor, and what that might mean for you, and your future.”

  She was looking at him with a somewhat puzzled expression, and he paused, searching for the right words.

  “And what do you believe it might mean for my future, my Lord? For I must confess that I quite fail to see what the mere fact that he is Lord Woodridge might have to do with my future.”

  “Miss Weston, I have come to care for you, and I would not see you make a decision which could lead you to hurt or worse. I have concluded that I must speak, even though what I have to tell you is somewhat distasteful, and not normally something that I would discuss with a lady.”

  “My Lord, do, please, stop talking around the core of your thoughts – simply say what you have to say.”

  “Very well. To put it plainly Miss Weston, Lord Woodridge is a known gambler, something of a rake and a wastrel. He is known to have gambled away a larger fortune than most men will ever own, and to have consorted with disreputable characters from the underworld of London. I know for a fact that, at one point, his father cut off Lord Woodridge’s access to funds. He is not the kind of man that any gently reared lady should consider marrying, Miss Weston, for he would, of a certainty, not be able to support a wife adequately. For a woman like you, who has been raised in wealth, with never a fear of being short of funds, marriage to such a man would be a nightmare.”

  Miss Weston simply stared at him for a moment, and Frederick wondered if he had, perhaps, overdone it. But then her eyes brightened with the sheen of unshed tears, and she turned her head away.

  “My Lord, thank you for your concern. I will consider your words carefully.”

  “That is all I can ask of you, Miss Weston.”

  ~~~~~

  Clarisse lay awake long into the night, replaying Lord Langerden’s words in her mind. She still struggled to believe that Lord Woodridge was the reprobate that both her father and Lord Langerden had described him as. Yet… surely, the simple fact that both men had spoken of him so was reason to give credibility to their words.

  She did not want it to be true.

  But if it was, then she needed to avoid Lord Woodridge, for her own sake. For she had come to care for him, she knew, more than was perhaps wise, already. Lord Langerden was charming, and she liked him, but Lord Woodridge had been steadily claiming more of her heart.

  In the end, she had to conclude that only time would tell the truth of the matter. She wished that she knew far more about Lord Woodridge – how could she find out?

  Chapter Seven

  Gervaise was distraught. For some days now, Miss Weston had refused to see him – well, perhaps refused was the wrong word. She had been otherwise engaged, had been unwell or similar, each time he had called. He had discovered, as a result, just how strongly he felt about her.

  Spending days on end without her company for any part of that time had dimmed his world. He could not stop thinking of her – not even at the card tables, which he had visited twice in quick succession. He was beginning to suspect that he cared for her more than he had ever cared for any woman – even though that thought was rather frightening, in some ways.

  Today, he was determined to see her. He could bear it no longer – he had to know if she was truly rejecting him, or if something else was the cause. Upon arrival at the Weston residence, he approached the door and knocked firmly, whilst casting up a silent prayer that she be home.

  The door opened.

  “Good day. Is Miss Weston in?”

  Abby, the maid, looked at him for a moment, as if considering something, then nodded.

  “She is, my Lord. She is in the parlour. Follow me, please.”

  He wondered what that pause for thought meant, but was happy to at least have a chance to see Miss Weston. Abby opened the door, announced him, and once the door was closed behind them, took herself into the far corner of the room, to allow them the illusion of privacy.

  Miss Weston stood as he entered, looking startled. She cast a stern glance at Abby, then her face smoothed to the perfect image of politeness as she turned back to Gervaise.

  “My Lord. I did not expect you.”

  “Miss Weston, I have wished to speak with you, to spend time with you, this last week, but always, there has been a reason why you were not available. I hope that you will forgive my forthrightness, but I must ask – have I done something to displease you?”

  Her expression changed for a moment, a great sadness seeming to possess her, before the polite smile returned.

  “My Lord, I will be equally forthright – I am not certain. Shall we walk in the gardens, and continue this conversation there?”

  Gervaise was shaken by her words – for if she was not certain, then that meant that there was something. A curl of fear settled into him – could it be that his gambling had stolen yet another thing from him?

  He offered his arm, and they made their way out of the house, the maid trailing after them. The gardens were, as ever, peaceful, and the scent of the flowers somehow eased his distress a little. As they walked towards the pond, he spoke again, unable to bear the silence.

  “Miss Weston, please, explain to me what you are uncertain of, what have I done, or not done, to disturb you?”

  “My Lord, I find myself unsure what to believe. I admit that I find your company pleasant. I have enjoyed our outings, and picnics, and your conversation. But… It has been reported to me, by those who have, to my knowledge, no reason to speak any untruth, that you have a habit of rather undesirable behaviour, a bad history.”

  She blushed as she spoke, as if embarrassed to be saying such words to a gentleman, but she met his eyes squarely. That expression demanded only the truth. Gervaise knew, in that instant, that if he lied to her now, she was lost to him, just as surely as she might be, if he told the truth. The threat of her loss was like a knife driven into his heart, his breath almost stopped as he realised the depth of that pain.

  They walked on, through the intoxicating scent of roses, the sun warm upon them, the scene the perfect romantic setting, as, inside, his hope for his future crumbled to bitter dust. Still he did not speak, unable to find the words to reveal the depths of his failure in life. When they reached the pond, he gestured to the bench and she nodded. They sat. Gervaise dared to take her hands in his, and his courage rose a little when she did not pull away.

  “Miss Weston… I do not know where to start….”

  “So, there is something to it, then?”

  The disappointment in her face cut into him. He took a deep breath, and came to a decision. He would tell her everything, would lay his life bare before her, and let her be the judge. If she doomed him to a life without her brightness, so be it.

  “There is. I do not know what you have been told, so I cannot know if you have heard truth or falsehood. But whichever it is, there are things in my life that I will tell you of, that you might make your own decision. I trust you, Miss Weston, to be a fair and reasonable person, for your intelligence is clear.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “The tale is rather long, and I am not proud of much of it, but I will tell it all. It begins m
ore than four years ago, when my mother died. Before then, I had enjoyed the social life, much as any young man of the ton does, but I had never been prone to excess. Both my father and I sank into terrible grief on her passing. We were unable to help each other deal with it. I sought distractions, to take my mind away from the sadness – anything bright, exciting, and dramatic, so that I did not have to think of my loss. My friends encouraged me to go about with them, and I went gladly. But where they took me involved gambling, carousing and an excess of drink. The drink helped me to forget, but it also made me a fool with my money. And a fool is soon parted from his money.”

  “I see. So you lost. A great deal?”

  “Yes, a great deal. Enough to fund the maintenance of a great house for many years, and more. Then, when my own funds were gone, I borrowed, and my level of debt grew enormous too.”

  “But how…?”

  Her eyes were wide, her face showing a mixture of fascination and horror, as she tried to imagine the scope of his downfall.

  “I was wild, and resentful of the world, irrational in my grief. When my father discovered the extent of my debt, he was horrified, and cut off my funds. What he did not know at the time, and what I was far too foolishly proud to tell him, was that I had, late in the process of my fall into the obsession of gambling, had one enormous win. I took most of that money, and, instead of paying off all of my debts, I invested it. It was rash of me, for the investment was in a shipping venture, which might not pay off for a year. I was foolish enough that I thought I could just keep on borrowing, until the ship returned, or that I might win again, and deal with the debt that way.”

  “But, I hear in your words, the implication that something more happened?”

  “Indeed, it did. Before the ship returned, my father had cut off my funds, all unknowing of most of my situation, and I could no longer pay enough to keep the moneylenders satisfied. They threatened my life, and I ran off to hide in the countryside. But in my attempted cleverness at avoiding the thugs sent after me, I found myself alone, far from anyone who knew me, and fell from my horse amidst the late winter snows. I would have died, if a family of woodcutters had not found me, and taken me in. My leg was broken, and took long to heal – you have likely noticed my slight limp?”

  “Yes, I did wonder what had caused that, but asking would have been impolite.”

  Gervaise laughed, a slightly bitter edge to it.

  “No-one asks. But people whisper ridiculous suppositions. In the end, my father nearly went mad with grief and fear, thinking that he had lost me too. But, through a series of fortuitous accidents, I was found, and in the process, he met the woman who is now his wife. And, at about the same time as I was discovered, lying in the woodcutters’ hut with my leg bound between timber boards, the ship I had invested in returned, and the profit was such that all of my debts could be cleared, with a large amount left to further invest. I swore to my father then, that I would not gamble, that I had learned from my experience. I meant it. But… I had not considered the power of the habit, the draw of the excitement, the intensity, the thrill of the risk, and the elation of the win.”

  “So… you are no longer lacking funds? If you have succeeded so, what then is the difficulty? Is it related to your anguish on the evening that I first met you?”

  “It is indeed, related. For I have discovered that giving up gambling is almost impossible. I am drawn to it, the lure of the cards, and the racetrack, is powerful, it calls to me. I am getting better at denying it, and at not risking so much when I do let it draw me in. But it still does draw me in. I ration how much I allow myself to do, how often I go to the track, how often I play cards. I force myself to only wager small amounts, and to stop when they are gone, or when I win, whichever comes first. But it is a continual battle – one that I do not know if I will ever win. I am ashamed that such a compulsion holds me, and I curse myself for failing my vow to my father, yet I seem unable to completely stop. If you have been told that my history of gambling makes me a man to avoid, they are probably right.”

  Miss Weston sat, her hands still in his, her eyes fixed on his face. He studied her expression, looking for the condemnation that he had come to expect, when anyone heard of his history. It did not appear. The tiniest seed of hope began to grow in his heart.

  “But… if you are actively working to stop gambling, to stop it from being an obsession, that is good. Surely, in society, everyone gambles a little – cards at Balls and Soirees, or the occasional bet on something – that is normal. How can they condemn you for your past actions, when you are doing your best to be different now?”

  Gervaise was shocked. She had taken his breath away with the compassion of her words.

  “They condemn me, because even I cannot guarantee that I will succeed in changing this from an obsession that bleeds me of funds, to a normal social pastime. But… your words have given me hope, Miss Weston. As have you, simply by being you, helped me. For I have found that, on the days that I am in your company, it does not pull at me so. I desire time with you more than I desire the thrill of the gambling. But I hate the grip it has on me, I hate the sense that it is there, just waiting to drag me back under – I doubt that I will ever be completely free of it.”

  “I do not, entirely, understand, my Lord. I have played cards, for penny stakes, and nothing more. That gives me a tiny idea of what it might feel like for higher stakes, for, certainly, winning is a pleasant experience. I have never seen a horse race, so I have no concept of that. I am told that they are exciting, but no-one of my acquaintance would do such a thing as take me to see one. Unsuitable for a lady, I am told.”

  “Well… there are ladies who do attend races, at times, with their husbands or brothers – some ladies of the ton do so, although I suspect they do so simply because it is seen as daring. Even without betting on the races, they are exciting to watch. But certainly, it would not do for a woman to attend without proper chaperonage – for the crowds at the races come from all classes of society.”

  “I would love to see it, to understand why it draws you so. I do not think that I would like to risk my money on such a thing, but I would still enjoy watching it. I have not done anything daring in my life. Perhaps it is time I started.”

  Gervaise hesitated. His first reaction was to wish to escort her to a race, to show her the drama of it all. But how could he do so appropriately? Would Abby be loyal enough to her mistress to go with them, without telling her father of it? He wanted to try. Perhaps, if she understood how and why it pulled at him, she could help him resist that pull – just the fact that she had not condemned him outright was remarkable.

  “Miss Weston, I would be willing to take you to a race meeting, if you think that your maid would be willing to accompany us, without revealing our destination to anyone else. I know that this is a highly improper thing for me to suggest, but…”

  “I am sure that Abby would do that. Her loyalty is to me, although sometimes she shows it in odd ways – like allowing you in today, when I had told her not to!”

  He laughed at her words, now understanding the glare she had given the maid in the parlour.

  “As it happens, there is a race meeting tomorrow. Shall I call for you at twelve?”

  “Please do! This will be an adventure. And I promise to stop you if you try to place a large bet!”

  Impulsively, Gervaise raised her hands, which he still held, and brought them to his lips, kissing each finger in turn. She blushed charmingly, and he leant in, bringing his lips to hers, filled with a wild elation. Her fingers tightened in his, and her lips moved softly in response. For the first time since his mother’s death, the possibility of change in his life looked positive.

  ~~~~~

  Frederick had been pleased by Miss Weston’s response to his words about Lord Woodridge, and it seemed that she had not been spending time with the man since that day – at least that is what her stepmother reported to him, when they met for their assignation. The small Inn was
more than an hour’s travel from either of their homes, and the Innkeeper asked no questions when they requested a room with a private parlour attached for the day. He had long become accustomed to the vagaries of the nobility, and money was a convincing argument for turning a blind eye.

  By the end of the afternoon, Frederick was sated in a way that he had not been since he had returned to England. Helena Weston had not lied about her appetites, and he had found himself happy to cast aside honourable behaviour in favour of pleasure.

  The idea of marrying Miss Weston continued to be appealing, although, if his clandestine liaisons with her stepmother were to continue, he would need to manage things very carefully. Still, a situation in which both funds and pleasure were available appealed a great deal.

  To ensure that situation came to pass, he needed to be certain that Lord Woodridge was no longer a competitor for Miss Weston’s hand. He decided to set some men to track the Viscount’s movements, so that he could be completely certain of what went on.

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, the horses are beautiful! And so very fast. I can see why everyone gets so excited just watching them. But I still wouldn’t want to risk money on something so uncertain.”

  “Then you are very wise. And when you stand there, and say that, I find it easier to push aside the temptation of placing a bet. Seeing it through your eyes shows me just how silly it is, in some ways. I can still be excited, without having money riding on the outcome.”

  Clarisse watched everything around her with wide eyes, seeing people from great Lords to beggars, all gathered to watch the horses run. Abby stayed close to them overwhelmed by the crowds, but fascinated by the whole experience.

  The afternoon passed without any difficulties, and Clarisse treasured the time with Lord Woodridge. She found especial pleasure in the fact that, after some time, he began to relax, and no longer looked longingly towards the bookmakers’ area. It gave her much hope for his future.