Lady's Wager

by Georgie Lee

  “Me too.” Though all their troubles weren’t entirely settled. One still remained. She struggled to find the words to broach the subject when Edward seemed to bring it up for her.

  “Did you receive the book?”

  “I did. Thank you, but how did you manage to acquire it?”

  “I told you, I know a gentleman who’s very good at finding rare books.”

  “But how did you come across the necessary funds purchase it?”

  “It’s not a much sought-after book, therefore it wasn’t very dear.”

  “And your mother’s painting. How will you purchase it if someone tries to outbid you?” she choked out, her mouth dry with her worry.

  He didn’t answer right away, but continued to stare at the painting of Boston as if he could bring the far off city into clear view. She braced herself, unsure how he might answer, afraid whatever he said would ruin everything between them.

  At last he turned to her with a seriousness to increase her unease. “I can’t keep the truth from you any longer. I can’t be outbid because—”

  “Edward, there you are,” Lord Ashford interrupted as he and Elizabeth approached.

  Charlotte groaned in frustration. He’d been so close to answering her question and settling her concerns. With the seats filling with patrons and the auction about to begin, she wasn’t sure when she’d find the chance to raise the subject again and she had to. She must be sure he loved her for more than her money.

  “Charlotte, I have to tell you about my wedding dress, it’s so beautiful,” Elizabeth gushed taking her arm to lead her around the room. The men followed a short distance behind.

  Charlotte tried to listen to Elizabeth’s description of the dress but snippets of the gentlemen’s conversation caught her attention.

  “Have you told her?” Lord Ashford asked and Charlotte strained to hear Edward’s response.

  “I was on the verge of telling her when you interrupted me.”

  “The silk is French, of course, cream with cream lace,” Elizabeth explained and Charlotte nodded absentmindedly, turning her head slightly to better hear the men.

  “I’ll tell her after the auction for I can’t continue the charade much longer. She’s far too intelligent to be put off by my sad excuses.”

  Panic made her heart race. What was he lying about?

  Mrs. Greenville’s butler called for the guests to take their places for the auction. Charlotte followed Edward to their seats, desperate to know what he planned to reveal to her. The auction began and in the quiet room, as everyone listened to the auctioneer call out the prices and paintings, she couldn’t ask him. She was forced to endure the sale of three landscapes, four portraits and a watercolor before Edward’s painting finally reached the block.

  The auctioneer began the bidding and Edward made the opening bid. “Five pounds.”

  “I have five pounds, do I hear seven?” The auctioneer paused, waiting for an answer. Much to Charlotte’s relief, no others came forward. She felt confident Edward would acquire the portrait without a great deal of expense. Then they could step out of the room and talk and hopefully set her mind at ease.

  “Going once,” the auctioneer called, scanning the room for any other interested parties. Seeing none, he called again, “Going twice.” Still no one else bid. “Third and final call.” The auctioneer’s voice rang through the room.

  He raised his gavel to mark the sale when a man called out from the back of the room.

  “Ten pounds.”

  Everyone turned to see the mystery bidder. An older, round man in a dark suit and white hose stood behind the chairs grasping his lapels as if he’d already won the painting.

  “Who is he?” Charlotte asked and Edward frowned.

  “The Prince’s solicitor. I haven’t come this far to lose it now.” Edward turned to the auctioneer. “Fifteen pounds.”

  “Twenty-five,” the solicitor countered.

  Edward stood. “Thirty.”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Forty.”

  Charlotte could hardly breathe as each man attempted to outbid the other and the price began to rise far beyond what she thought Edward could afford. The furious bidding soon attracted the attention of the other guests. Women left the refreshments to watch the auction. Old gentlemen quickly settled their wagers at the whist tables then crowded the back of the ballroom to place new bets on who would win the landscape.

  “One hundred,” the solicitor challenged.

  “One hundred and ten,” Edward shot back.

  Charlotte bit her thumbnail, fighting her desire to stand and put an end to his recklessness. There was no way he could afford such an amount, not without borrowing from who knows whom, or spending what little remained of his wealth, or using hers.

  “One hundred and twenty,” the solicitor called.

  “I’m going to put an end to this,” Edward hissed.

  “No, think about what you’re doing.”

  “Trust me, I am.” He turned to the auctioneer. “One thousand pounds.”

  Everyone in the room gasped, including Charlotte. Then they went silent as they waited for the solicitor to respond. He didn’t.

  “Going once,” the auctioneer announced but the solicitor said nothing.

  “Going twice.”

  The solicitor still didn’t reply.

  “Last and final call,” he leveled his gavel at the solicitor who shook his head.

  “Sold to Lord Woodcliff.” The gavel came down and the room erupted into excited cheers and applause.

  Charlotte was the only one not clapping. She looked up at Edward who beamed at her in triumph.

  “Can you believe it? My mother’s painting is mine again.”

  “Well done,” she managed before a crowd of people surged in around them to offer their congratulations. The crush was suffocating and Charlotte struggled to stand, wanting to be somewhere quiet where she could sort out the thoughts tangling in her mind.

  “Excuse me, I must thank the man for his rousing challenge and settle the account.” Edward kissed her hand then disappeared into the crowd.

  As he made his way to the solicitor, gentlemen clapped him on the back while the ladies applauded him. Charlotte couldn’t believe what she was seeing. All of London knew Lord Woodcliff’s situation and yet they cheered as though he had the blunt to toss away. And how would he settle the account? She must know.

  She rose and tried to push her way through the crowd to where Edward stood speaking with the solicitor, when Mrs. Greenville stopped her, alight with joy.

  “Isn’t this marvelous? I told you the painting would help us capture the ton.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Charlotte peered around the large woman, trying to catch a glimpse of Edward.

  “You must hold an auction for the hospital.”

  “I’ll consider it. Please excuse me, I must speak to Lord Woodcliff.” Charlotte stepped around Mrs. Greenville and made for Edward.

  She was very near to him when Elizabeth cornered her. “Aren’t you excited for Lord Woodcliff?”

  “I’m curious to know how he can afford such a sum and I intend to discover it this minute.”

  Elizabeth grabbed her arm, horrified. “You mustn’t. It’s not your place to inquire into such matters.”

  Charlotte shook out of her grasp. “I intend to make it my place.”

  Uncle Charles and Elizabeth might trust Edward but she couldn’t, not until she learned the truth of his situation for herself.

  She followed Edward into the hallway, losing sight of him in the crush. She rose up on her toes, trying to spot him over the heads of the guests, when the conversation of the ladies next to her made her sink down slowly on her heels.

  “It’s fortunate Lord Woodcliff is marrying so well,” Lady Chesterton said to Lady Banke as they huddled together near the door, their backs to Charlotte. “If he’s to be so exorbitant with his blunt he’ll need a rich wife.”

  “Were it not for her money,
the match would be entirely to her benefit,” Lady Banke sniffed. “Her uncle may be a gentleman of considerable property but to continue to involve himself in trade is utterly gauche.”

  Charlotte hurried away, struggling to brace up her faltering pride. She was tired of love making her a laughingstock.

  Along the far side of the foyer she noticed a small hallway and followed it to where it made a turn. There she saw Lord Ashford and Lord Woodcliff speaking quietly together. She slipped back around the corner before they could see her, listening to their hushed conversation.

  “Don’t forget, you still owe me for our Almack’s wager,” Lord Ashford said.

  “It seems I’m perpetually in your debt in more ways than one.”

  He’s borrowing money. Who else in London did he owe and how much of her money would be left if they married and he paid off his creditors?

  “Without your help, I might never have won Charlotte.”

  “Won me? Am I a prize to be won or is it my fortune?” She stepped around the corner, making her presence known as she fought to maintain a façade of control through the torrent of emotion raging inside her.

  “Charlotte, what’s wrong?” Edward hurried to her, his false concern making her heart crack.

  “Are you in debt to Lord Ashford?”

  He stopped short then turned to his friend. “Would you please excuse us?”

  “Of course,” Lord Ashford bowed and left.

  “Society is whispering about us,” Charlotte said before Edward could speak, clasping her hands in front of her to stop them from trembling. “They’re saying I’m exchanging my wealth for a title.”

  “It’s not true. I’m not poor. I was the one who donated the money to St. Dunstan’s. I have ten thousand a year.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, attempting to take in his revelation. He hadn’t pursued her for her fortune, yet still he’d misled her and everyone about his situation. “Why did you lie?”

  “I came to Town to find a woman who loves me, not my inheritance.” He took her hand and tried to rub away the shaking with his fingers. “And I did.”

  She snatched her hand away, his touch as mocking as it was soothing. “And in doing so you’ve exposed me to ridicule and gossip. I won’t be made the butt of society’s jokes, not by a man who claims to love me.”

  “I do love you and my wealth changes nothing.”

  “It changes everything. You’ve humiliated me, just like the Comte.”

  “Who?”

  “In Paris I loved a man, the Comte de Vimeur. He did everything he could to prove he loved me and I was too naïve to recognize his lies. Then one day he sent me a note informing me of his sincere and unending affection as well as his marriage to a very wealthy widow. Society’s most petty, those I’d always tried to ignore learned of it and laughed at me. I struggled to not care, attending every ball and salon and acting as happy as I could while crying every night. I vowed it would never happen again.”

  “I’m not the Comte,” he growled.

  “Aren’t you?” she challenged, hurt and shame driving her on. “You lied to me. wooing me with books and fancy carriages all the while smug in your deception.”

  “I took no pride in it,” he snapped. “And I shouldn’t have done it, but your stubbornness forced me to continue.”

  “How dare you blame me, or was it your goal to humble me?”

  “No, it was my goal to have you love me whether I was rich or poor and to trust and believe in me no matter what. I see now you never will.” He shifted closer, regret replacing the anger burning in his eyes. “I only hope when you’re old and alone, your fortune is a greater comfort to you than a loving husband. Good night.”

  He bowed curtly then stormed from the hallway.

  Charlotte stared at the empty space, her whole body shaking. Tears stung her eyes and she tried to blink them back but they began to stream down her cheeks.

  Slumping down on a nearby chair, she tried to compose herself but it was impossible. Edward had seemed so different from the Comte, so genuine, gaining her trust and her heart and yet he’d lied. It seemed she was doomed to love deceiving men. Despair overwhelmed her like it had the night her parents had died.

  The tears came faster and harder and she buried her face in her hands.

  “My dear, what’s wrong?” Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles rushed toward her and she threw herself in her aunt’s arms.

  “I want to go home.”

  “My dear, tell us what’s happened,” Aunt Mary pleaded as she rubbed Charlotte’s back.

  “I’ll tell you at home. Please, can we go?”

  “Of course. We’ll leave through the garden and no one will see you.”

  Aunt Mary helped Charlotte to her feet and guided her down the hall to the French door at the back. The cool evening air stung Charlotte’s wet cheeks like her loss did her heart. They were about to slip into the shielding darkness of the garden when Lord Ashford appeared behind them.

  “Mr. Stuart, may I have a word with you? I believe I have some information which might help you.”

  Charlotte hid her face in Aunt Mary’s shoulder, not wanting the Earl or anyone to see her so distraught.

  Uncle Charles seemed torn between leaving and listening to Lord Ashford before he made his decision. “Of course.”

  Uncle Charles motioned for Aunt Mary and Charlotte to continue. Aunt Mary, with her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, hurried them over the gravel path, watching for anyone who might be about. Thankfully, the chill air kept Mrs. Greenville’s guests inside. They made their way past the roses to the small iron gate on the other side without being seen. Slipping along the back of the line of waiting carriages, they found the coach. Aunt Mary waved John back into his seat and pulled open the door herself and hustled Charlotte inside.

  “Where’s Uncle Charles?” Charlotte sobbed, taking Aunt Mary’s offered handkerchief and rubbing her cheeks. It did no good. There were too many other tears for her to dry.

  Aunt Mary peered anxiously out the window. “Here he comes now.”

  Uncle Charles stepped inside and knocked on the roof, setting the carriage in motion.

  “What did he say?” Aunt Mary asked.

  “We’ll discuss the matter at home,” he said and Aunt Mary nodded as she held Charlotte, whose tears seemed unending.

  *****

  “Lord Ashford told me what happened between you and Lord Woodcliff,” Uncle Charles ventured, when an hour after they’d arrived home, Charlotte’s tears at last stopped. They sat together on the settee, Charlotte resting her head on her aunt’s shoulder, wrung out from crying. “Seeing the depth of your despair, I must apologize to you.”

  “For what?” Charlotte twisted the damp handkerchief between her hands.

  “On the day of your betrothal, Lord Woodcliff told me of his income, which I later verified with his father. He asked me to keep it a secret until he saw fit to reveal it to you. I gave him my word but I see now I shouldn’t have. I should have insisted he tell you immediately.”

  She sat back, a new wave of tears threatening to overcome her. “No, I should have trusted him, and you and loved him no matter what.”

  When the Comte had betrayed her, all his deceit had become clear, as though her eyes had been opened to a reality she’d chosen to ignore. She thought of Edward and their time together over the last few weeks. He might have lied about his wealth, but he’d never been dishonest in his love for her. It’d always been as genuine as her love for him. Instead of accepting it and him as a wife-to-be should, she’d allowed her fears to make her distrustful, and she’d hurt him because of it.

  “Lord Woodcliff loves you. If you give him the chance, he’ll forgive you,” Aunt Mary suggested with a hope Charlotte wished she could share. “After all, he’s as much to blame as you are for this and surely he knows it.”

  “It’s too late. I saw it in his eyes when he walked away.” The embarrassment she’d suffered from his lie was nothing compared
to the pain she’d caused him.

  “It’s not too late. Invite him here tomorrow morning and don’t let him leave until you’ve sorted this out.”Aunt Mary smacked her fist against her palm.

  “I don’t know if I can,” Charlotte sighed more exhausted than inspired by her aunt’s resolve.

  “Of course you can, especially if you love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

  Charlotte tugged off the tearstained left glove and stared into the fire dancing in the depths of the emerald ring. “I do.”

  “Then fight for him like he fought for you. After all he did to win you, I doubt he’ll give you up so easily. He simply needs a good enough reason to come back, one which won’t compromise his pride too much.”

  “Like an apology,” Uncle Charles added.

  Charlotte traced the top of the square emerald with her finger. Her aunt and uncle were right. Edward had spent weeks pursuing her, refusing to give up. To think he would abandon it all over this misunderstanding was difficult to believe. She loved him and she didn’t want to lose him and she wouldn’t, even if it meant locking him in here until he realized how much she loved and needed him, because she did. She needed his laughter and strength, his support and patience and above all, his heart.

  “You’ve never let anything defeat you before, don’t let this be the first one,” Aunt Mary urged, her determination inspiring Charlotte’s.

  “You’re right, I can’t give up.”

  Tomorrow, she’d apologize and disprove everything he’d come to believe about the shallowness of her love.

  *****

  The next morning, Charlotte, exhausted but hopeful, rose early to undo the damage from the night before. Her body protested the lack of sleep as she threw open the curtains. The weak morning light barely illuminated the room and the misty city beyond the window.

  She laid out her writing implements on the dressing table, struggling to maintain her courage and a clear mind as the blank paper taunted her.

  My dear Edward, she wrote, then quickly crossed it out.

  My beloved, I wish to discuss the events of last night, she began, then crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. She removed a fresh leaf from the pile and started again, but the results were no better. By the time she was finally satisfied, pieces of crumpled paper littered the floor and the morning sunlight poured into the room. She sealed the envelope and rushed downstairs to see to the letter’s immediate delivery.