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

by Arietta Richmond

  To be true to his promise, even if he never saw her again, was fitting punishment for his behaviour. He drove home, holding that thought to himself, the image of her distress and disappointment in him etched in his mind.

  When Hattam took one look at him, and offered him a brandy, he waved it aside. Hattam gave him a knowing look, and simply nodded.

  ~~~~~

  Clarisse had gone out into the garden, and Abby had simply stayed back, giving her some privacy to cry. Lord Langerden found her there. He walked up to her, and she looked up at him, her devastation clear in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, and she allowed it, burying her head against his chest.

  “How could he treat me like that?”

  “He is a fool.”

  “How can you say that - you bet too, did you not?”

  “It was his idea, I merely did so to keep him from badgering me. I should have told you in the beginning, but I admit that I was somewhat ashamed of it, and I was hoping that he would not go through with it. I wished to spare your feelings.”

  Clarisse considered pulling away from Lord Langerden, but she did not. She was angry with him too, but she knew that Lord Woodridge was the one behind it all, for surely his gambling had continued, and he had lied to her. She needed someone to lean upon, a friend, or someone who was perhaps more, and would be more, than that.

  Days passed and turned to weeks, and she only saw Lord Langerden. Lord Woodridge did not try to contact her, and for that she was thankful, although, at first, she had hoped that he might call, even though she knew that it was best if he did not. She was grateful that he had understood that she did not wish to see him again. A tiny thought, deep in her mind, whispered ‘but do you really not wish to see him?’ – she pushed it aside firmly – she would not be a fool twice.

  Weeks became a month, and that stretched into two. She and Lord Langerden became inseparable. She delighted in it, and she even delighted in how sour it made Helena, who now did not bother to be present in the parlour when he called. For some reason the woman seemed to be jealous of how often Clarisse saw Lord Langerden. Clarisse considered that it must simply be an older woman realising that her own days of new love were behind her, and left the thought aside. Helena’s happiness had never been a primary concern to Clarisse, after all.

  Not until the day that Lord Langerden proposed at least. They were walking in the gardens, and had chosen to sit on the bench near the pond. Lord Langerden took her hands in his, and his eyes met hers, his face serious – Clarisse felt a little thrill of nervousness run through her.

  “Miss Weston, I have spoken to your father, and I wish to ask you - will you marry me?” he asked.

  “Yes!”

  Clarisse had been half expecting a proposal for weeks.

  She went into his arms willingly, and for the first time, Lord Langerden kissed her.

  She waited for the fluttering in her stomach, for the thrill along her skin, for the sensations that women whispered of, as part of a lover’s kiss. They did not arrive. The kiss was not unpleasant, it simply was not exciting. The memory of the moment when Lord Woodridge had first kissed her, on this very bench, of the way that she had felt, then, slipped into her mind. She pushed it aside. That was not an appropriate thought at all!

  She couldn’t wait to tell her father, and she found him and his wife in the parlour, when she returned to the house on Lord Langerden’s arm.

  “We are to be married!” Clarisse said, and her father was so happy that he rose out of his chair and threw his arms around his daughter.

  “What news! Langerden, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get up the courage to ask her!”

  Lord Langerden laughed, a drink was called for, and everyone spent some time in joyful conversation, before Lord Langerden took his leave, promising to call again the following day.

  The evening was spent in pleasant celebration, with wine and food. Clarisse was happy, especially because her father was so pleased. The hour was late when her father finally retired, leaving Clarisse with her stepmother.

  “I am glad you forgave the man,” Helena said suddenly, sipping at her wine.

  “Forgave who? Lord Langerden?”

  “Yes, Lord Langerden.”

  “Forgave him for what?”

  “His indiscretion. Of course, I haven’t been able to tell your father yet but I think I must.”

  “What indiscretion?”

  “He… took advantage of me. He called for you when you were out with Lord Woodridge. I was here, and he, well, we made a mistake, then, he insisted that I grant him favours again, and threatened to tell your father, and paint me in a most unflattering light, if I should ever say anything, to anyone. I’m sure he told you – how could he ask you to marry him, without being honest with you, after all?”

  Tears stung at Clarisse’s eyes.

  “That isn’t true.”

  Suddenly, all of those moments when Lord Langerden had seemed a little aloof, when he had spoken with Helena, and she had felt as if the conversation was about something far different from the words spoken, made a terrible kind of sense. She did not think, however, that Helena was as innocent of wrongdoing as her words tried to indicate. She desperately wanted it to be untrue, but the horrible fact was that it seemed all too possible.

  “He didn’t tell you?” Helena asked, her brow arching. “I’m so sorry poor dear.”

  “You like him and you are jealous, but that is not true!”

  Clarisse’s voice rose, filled now with anger and despair.

  “Please girl, keep your voice down,” Helena said.

  “I will not!” Clarisse yelled, and then she turned and rushed from the room.

  Helena sat where she was, a smile curving her lips.

  Chapter Ten

  Clarisse dragged herself from her bed the following morning, her eyes puffy and her head aching. She had cried herself into exhausted sleep, then tossed and turned, dreaming terrible dreams where Helena laughed in her face. Yet she needed to somehow fix her appearance, and deal with the day.

  Lord Langerden was to call, in the early afternoon, and take her for a picnic. In light of their betrothed status, her father had even agreed that Abby need not accompany them. What had seemed a delightful prospect yesterday, now seemed awful. Yet she could see no way to avoid it. She asked Abby to bring her breakfast to her room, and forced herself to eat whilst she thought about Helena’s words, and the choice she now had to make.

  Could she believe what Helena had said? Even if it was Helena who had approached Lord Langerden, as she suspected to be the case, if he had actually done as Helena said, then he was no gentleman, to be so lacking in honour. That Helena might so betray her father she could easily believe.

  But that Lord Langerden could do so – when her father had been his father’s friend, when her father had spent so much time with Lord Langerden after his father’s death… it was beyond conception that the man could have been so base in his actions!

  By the time that the food was gone, Clarisse felt a little stronger, and had come to a decision. She would go with Lord Langerden as planned, but she would use the picnic as a chance to speak to him in private, and she would, directly, challenge him with Helena’s words. She would have the truth of it, one way or another. And once she had that, she would make the most important decision of her life – whether to marry the man, or not.

  The day dragged by, but Clarisse was determined not to distress herself further, until she had the truth from Lord Langerden’s lips, directly. She walked in the gardens, appreciating the warmth of the sun, and the beauty of the flowers, so many still in full bloom, even though summer was moving inexorably towards autumn. When she reached the pond, she settled onto the bench, and sat, staring across the water.

  It was peaceful, with little sound beyond the lazy croak of a frog in the reeds, and the splash of a duck as it landed on the smooth water. Inevitably, though, memories came to her of all of the other times she had sat in
that exact spot – times of joy, and times of sorrow. And, most recently, of times when she had been kissed, just here, by two very different men.

  Almost as if it was happening now, she could remember the tingle that had run through her, the heady sensation that came with Lord Woodridge’s kiss.

  And, just as clearly, the lack of that sensation that had been the case with Lord Langerden’s kiss. Loath as she was to admit it, Clarisse was beginning to suspect that her devotion to Lord Langerden over the past months had more to do with her objection to Lord Woodridge’s bet on her heart, than to her actual feelings for Lord Langerden.

  Helena’s revelation had, regardless of the degree of its truth, made her carefully reconsider her feelings for Lord Langerden. And the result of that consideration was not a welcome thing to realise. She was, she found, a little ashamed of herself. Oh, how she wished that bet had never happened.

  But… if Helena’s words were true, then Lord Langerden was a man quite capable of duplicity. What else of his words might be deceptive? The thought was deeply disturbing. She pushed it aside, and tried to think of more pleasant things, until it was time to return to the house, and prepare for Lord Langerden’s arrival.

  ~~~~~

  Frederick whistled to himself as he arrived at the Weston residence. Everything was as it should be. He had disentangled himself from the stepmother, the girl had accepted his proposal, and that meant that he would soon have the funds to solve his financial difficulties, as well as a pleasant enough woman to warm his bed, with no complications about the situation.

  He knocked on the door, and the maid admitted him. She seemed somewhat less enthused to see him than usual, but he ignored that – what were the thoughts of servants to him?

  As he moved towards the parlour, Mrs Weston came into the hallway. She stopped and he met her eyes squarely.

  “Good day to you, Mrs Weston.”

  “Good day my Lord. You will find Clarisse in the parlour. I am sure that she simply can’t wait to see you. Do enjoy your afternoon, now that your… status… with my stepdaughter has changed.”

  There was an edge to the woman’s voice, and she regarded him with what appeared to be cynical amusement. Where before, her secretive manner and subtle conversation had appealed to him, on this occasion, it grated.

  “I’m sure that I will.” He pushed past her, and entered the parlour.

  Miss Weston – Clarisse, surely, he now had the right to call her that – rose from the couch to greet him. She seemed pale, her face a little drawn, far from her usual bright self. He frowned, wondering about the cause of that.

  “Miss Weston, it is so lovely to see you again. I have thought of nothing else but you, since you made me the happiest of men, yesterday.”

  It was a speech suited to a lovesick swain, and he had expected her to smile, and simper, in return. She did not.

  “My Lord, I also have thought much about the moment of seeing you again. Shall we go? I look forward to a chance to converse in private, to come to know you even better.”

  Well, that was hopeful – was she likely to allow him to be rather improprietous, now that they were betrothed? He smiled.

  “Of course. I have a delightful picnic for you to enjoy.”

  He offered his arm, and she took it, still rather quiet and unsmiling, and he escorted her to the carriage. Her silence continued as they rolled along the riverside, towards the spot he had chosen for the picnic. Only once they were settled on a blanket in the shade, with food laid out before them, did she speak.

  “My Lord, I must ask you a question.”

  “Of course, my dear, ask whatever you wish. If we are to be husband and wife, it is only right that you should want to know more of me.”

  “Thank you. I ask that you answer honestly, even if it does not please you to do so. For I value honesty greatly. This is, perhaps, the last question that I ever expected to ask you, yet I must know the truth of it, no matter the consequences.”

  He looked at her, rather startled by her words, the seed of worry beginning to grow within him – whatever was it that she wished to ask?

  “Of course. I too value honesty.” ‘But I use it judiciously’, he thought to himself.

  She took a deep breath, and he noticed that her hands were shaking, where they curled around each other in her lap.

  “My Lord, have you been carrying out an… affaire… with my stepmother?”

  Her words struck the breath from him. How did she know? And… what could he say? If he admitted it, would Clarisse still marry him? He suspected not.

  “I… that is a most unexpected question! Why would you think such a thing?”

  “Because my stepmother admitted as much. I would have the truth, my Lord.”

  Her voice held an undertone of anger now, and he swallowed. In this moment, everything he had worked towards was at risk – his money, his comfort, and his reputation. If he lied, she would always doubt him, and likely make his life a misery. If he told the truth, how might he present it, to have her accept it?

  “Miss Weston… I… yes. I was unwise enough to allow a liaison. I am ashamed to admit it, but you have asked for the truth. I had ended that arrangement, before I asked you to marry me. But… what did you expect, all men have mistresses at some points in their lives, it’s normal, it’s not as if we are an obsessive love match, after all. I am fond of you, and you of me, but let us not try to pretend to a grand love.”

  He watched her face crumple at his words, and anger rose in him. Who was she to judge? Who was she to set conditions upon him?

  “My Lord, I thank you for your honesty. But I am afraid that I am not so sanguine about this matter as you are. I do not find such a thing either ‘normal’ or acceptable. And, apart from the disregard for me that your actions imply, I am most deeply disappointed in your behaviour, because of the extent to which you have betrayed my father. He has been a good friend to you, through troubled times, and this… this is how you reward his friendship? You disgust me, my Lord, completely.”

  She stood, and stepped away from him.

  Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  Frederick knew, then, that he had lost – lost everything he had hoped for, simply because he had allowed himself to be led astray by lust.

  “Miss Weston…”

  “Do not speak to me. Pack up all of this, and take me home, immediately. Our betrothal is at an end.”

  ~~~~~

  Clarisse heard the words fall from her own lips, the death knell to her hope for a good marriage. In truth, she was quite sure now that she had made a terrible mistake, on the day that she had commanded Lord Woodridge to leave her. Now, she had lost both suitors, and was left with nothing but bitterness.

  Made worse by the fact that this precise spot was the one where she had come with Lord Woodridge, so many months ago, for a picnic, where he had spoken of his childhood, and completely charmed her. Now, even that memory was tainted by Lord Langerden’s entitled and uncaring attitude.

  How would she tell her father? What reason could she give, for breaking the betrothal? She would have to tell a half-truth – for she could not, simply could not, destroy her father’s happiness by telling him that his adored second wife had been unfaithful to him. She would certainly condemn Lord Langerden for having had an inappropriate affaire, and being unrepentant – she simply would not name the woman involved.

  But she could not face any of that conversation today.

  It was all too raw. She wanted to lock herself in her room, and cry for everything that she had lost, for trust misplaced, and dreams shattered, for being foolish enough to believe one man’s words, without truly thinking beyond the moment. As she stood there, she found herself wishing, with all of her heart, for Lord Woodridge. It made the tears even harder to repress.

  The drive back to her home went by in stony silence, with Clarisse staring off into the distance, unwilling even to look at the man beside her. At least he’d had the courtesy to be silent, to no
t expect her to converse further after her breaking of the betrothal. He let her down at the front of the house, tipped his hat to her, and drove away. She swallowed the rising tears again, and made her way inside. Helena must have been waiting, for, before Clarisse could slip up the stairs, she appeared from the parlour.

  “Back so soon, Clarisse? And you look distressed. Has something happened?”

  The tone of her voice told Clarisse that she knew exactly what had happened.

  “Yes. My betrothal is at an end. I hope that you are satisfied. Although… perhaps I should thank you.”

  So saying, she turned and almost ran up the stairs. Helena’s bitter laughter followed her.

  That laughter crystallised her thoughts. Half an hour later, dressed in her plainest clothes, a concealing cape, and an overlarge bonnet, she slipped from the house, and began walking, away from the road, along the stream where she had walked so often, towards Brookhaven Hall.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gervaise had held to his promise, to his commitment to himself, made in those fateful moments after Miss Weston had rejected him. He had sworn off gambling altogether. Losing Miss Weston had finally given him the strength to resist the call of the horses and the cards. In fact, so intense was the impact upon him, that now, when he thought of a card table, or of the race track, he felt physically ill. He was utterly grateful for that fact, whilst utterly destroyed by the way it had come to be.

  He had spent the weeks since that day blue devilled, but determined to learn more of effective estate management, as well as to plan an ongoing expansion of his investments. He would, in the end, be a man that Miss Weston could be proud of, if she ever spoke to him again. He hoped that his father, also, would be proud of him – he had disappointed his father quite enough in recent years.

  It was late afternoon, just drifting into evening when a knock at the door echoed through the house. Such was a rare occurrence – no-one visited him here.