He pulled at his neck cloth. Goodness, why was he the one nervous? Was he afraid she would actually try to compromise him?
“Yes, I was told of the bet yesterday,” he finally answered.
“And then you learned of my value.”
The gentleman straightened and looked around before he bent forward. “Such matters should not be discussed with a lady.”
The fortune hunter thought to censure her? Well, she had enough of that from her mother already. Besides, upon first glance she’d determined they would not suit. Though it seemed unfair to dismiss him out of hand, she couldn’t help herself. Perhaps had the man not been standing next to Lord Ainsely when they met, she could have looked at him in a more favorable light. Unfortunately, Lydell did not have the same warm brown eyes, height, aquiline nose, chiseled cheekbones, or broad shoulders. She almost pitied Lord Lydell, especially since he was apparently also broke. “Why pretend it doesn’t exist when we both know that it does?”
“Yes, well, um, that is beside the point.”
“Lord Lydell, you approached me after learning of the bet and my dowry. I believe I have a right to ask you a few questions.”
He pursed his lips and inhaled. “Very well. What would you have me tell you?”
“Where is your estate?”
“Outside of Bath.”
Perfect. “I am sorry, Lord Lydell, but you just will not do.”
The man’s mouth popped open and his chin dropped. “Excuse me. I thought you wished to be married right away, the reason for Scotland and all.”
She stared at him. Did they all assume she was intent on an anvil wedding? Perhaps it was best. “Once I set my mind to nuptials, I don’t wish to spend months planning a wedding for society to attend, to see and be seen. Scotland is more expedient for my purposes.”
“But…”
“I would also like to determine where I will live, and Bath will not do.”
Moira turned on her heel, about to return to her mother, when Lydell gently touched her arm. “Allow me to escort you.”
She glanced down at his offered arm and accepted.
“What lady does not wish to live close to Bath?” The question was barely a whisper in her ear.
“This one.”
“If not Bath, then where?”
Moira considered telling him, as the information would spread and perhaps a Scotsman would come looking for her. However, as the only Scot she had seen thus far was the older gentleman, shorter than she, Moira decided to keep that information to herself. Perhaps it was best if she looked for her Scot and not the other way around.
Instead of answering him, Moira inclined her head as they stopped by her mother and brother, a sly smile on her lips. “Thank you, Lord Lydell.”
“May I see your card, Lady Moira?” Gideon asked when she returned.
She held it up to him. Her blue eyes sparkled with merriment. Or maybe it was more mischief. What had she and Lydell discussed? Why hadn’t she taken Lydell outside? She could have easily led his friend out into the moonlight, kissed him, and her fate would be sealed.
He glanced at her card. No dance had been claimed as of yet. He began to pencil in his name for the supper dance but her words stopped him.
“I have not been given permission to waltz, Lord Ainsely.”
“At this rate she probably never will be,” Hearne muttered.
“What was that, Nyle?” the dowager countess asked.
Gideon bit back a grin. “Perhaps the country dance after supper?”
“That would be lovely, Lord Ainsely. I look forward to it.”
With no reason to stay, Gideon bowed, quit the small group, and made his way to find Lydell, who had simply strode away from Lady Moira with her brother and mother without a by-your-leave.
Gideon found his penniless friend in the card room, drink in his hand, brooding in a back corner. Apparently there was no future for Lydell and Lady Moira. A wave of relief ran through him.
Gideon retrieved a drink for himself and sauntered over to his friend. “I take it your meeting didn’t go very well.”
“No,” Lydell grumbled and took a drink before he explained. “She doesn’t like Bath.”
“Excuse me?”
“She does not want to live on an estate near Bath,” Lydell repeated a little louder.
“That was her only reasoning?” Perhaps Lady Moira didn’t have all of her wits after all.
“It is the only bloody reason she needed.” Lydell tossed back the drink. “What the hell am I to do now?”
“Lady Moira is not the only heiress in London,” Gideon reminded him.
“But the others will be harder to convince. They will want wooing, courtship, and such.”
“Which is their right, I suppose,” Gideon reminded him.
“It is all a bloody pain. Why can’t I just find the one I want, marry her and be done with it?”
“Perhaps the lady would care for a say in the match?”
Lydell dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “They don’t know what they want. Take Lady Moira for instance. Bath. She should just let her brother arrange a match. It is better for all parties when gentlemen are doing the thinking and planning.”
A footman stopped to refill the glass Lydell recently emptied. He picked it up and took another drink. “That is how it should be for all ladies. They are not sensible enough to make such decisions for themselves.”
Gideon had never seen this side of his friend, and began to understand why the ladies were no longer interested in his pursuit. Maybe it had more to do with his personality than his empty purse. Unlike Lydell, apparently, Gideon preferred a lady with wit and intelligence, one who knew her own mind. “Then perhaps you should begin courting a few fathers and older brothers until you find the perfect, malleable lady.”
“If only it were that simple.” Lydell tossed back the remainder of his drink, set the glass down, and marched from the room.
Gideon leaned back against the wall, sipping the smooth, fiery liquid. So, the lady did not like Bath. Why? Or was that simply an excuse?
Lady Moira was either a very complex lady or a simpleton. Gideon shrugged. He would have his answer after dinner.
As couples took to the floor for the supper dance, Moira was left alone with her mother. Even Nyle decided to dance, and he swept Alvina around the floor. Pippa, Georgie, and Patience stood not far away, watching the dancers as well. This was the perfect opportunity to speak with them.
“Mother, might I be excused for a moment?”
“What, where to?”
Moira nodded to her friends. “I would just like a few words with them.”
“Oh, very well. But stay close.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Moira took a deep breath and slowly walked to her friends when she really wanted to dash across the short distance.
She pulled them close, stuck up her head to look around, making sure no one could hear her, and then whispered, “Have any of you told anyone that I wish to live in Scotland?”
The three shared blank looks and shook their heads.
“Don’t. That is to be our secret.”
“But, I thought your plan was to live in Scotland,” Georgie began. “Wouldn’t it make the most sense—”
“Did you see the one Scot in attendance this evening?”
Georgie grimaced.
“How did your talk with Lord Lydell go?” Patience asked. “I thought for sure you’d take him outside.”
“He won’t do.” Moira shook his head. “His estate is outside of Bath.”
“That would be lovely,” Pippa piped in.
“Only two days from my family estate, where my mother rules from the dower house, is quite the opposite of lovely.”
“I still don’t understand why Scotland is to be a secret,” Patience said.
“Because Scotland is mentioned in the bet. Apparently, London’s ingenious gentlemen assume it is because I wish to elope, not that I actually want to live there
.”
“You should try to distance yourself from that bet,” Pippa warned.
Moira could well understand why Pippa would feel that way, but Pippa’s circumstances were different. Nobody wanted to put arsenic in her hair. “It wouldn’t matter. All the gentlemen in Town are talking about it. Eventually my mother will learn, and I don’t want her to know all of my plans due to this foolish wager.”
“Moira,” Patience muttered under her breath. “I have a feeling your mother has just learned of the bet.”
But she couldn’t have. Moira turned around to find her mother bearing down on her, lips thinned in a tense line. “Moira Rose Kirkwood, you are going home with me right now,” she hissed. “Do not even think of making a scene.”
With their arms linked, her mother escorted Moira out of the ballroom, not once relaxing her smile or letting on to anyone how displeased she was, but Moira knew differently. Tension oozed from the woman.
They waited for the carriage in silence, and once they were seated inside and under way, her mother let loose. “You’re practically ruined. It is only the second day. The second day of the Season and you are practically ruined already.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“When will you learn to curb your tongue, young lady? You should feel very fortunate if any decent gentleman still wishes to court you after this disastrous beginning.”
Gideon stood at the entrance of the dinner room and searched the crowd. There were half a dozen redheads but none of them with gold mixed within. Had Lady Moira left? Two older ladies stopped before him, tittering back and forth over some recent scandal. Gideon just wished they would move on. The ostrich plumes were blocking his view. Why did women wear such ridiculous hats?
“I thought the Dowager Countess Hearne was about to have an apoplexy when I told her. Her face went deathly white.”
Hearne?
The woman with the turquoise plume turned, smacking Gideon in the face with her feather. “Then what happened?”
“I have to give her credit. She remained calm and marched directly to Lady Moira and took her from the room.”
“Do you think they’ll leave Town?”
Gideon had half a mind to yank the feather from her hat if it brushed near his eye one more time. The women and their blasted feathers kept stepping back, forcing him to move, not the other way around. Instead, he turned and left the ball. If he was not going to dance with Lady Moira, there was no longer a purpose for remaining, as he’d already fulfilled his other dance obligations.
Outside, he took a deep breath. Would her mother take her to the country? Some families did when their daughters had been ruined. Yet, was Lady Moira truly ruined? She hadn’t actually done anything scandalous. Lady Moira had only uttered a few ill-chosen words and captured the attention of every member of White’s.
He glanced in one direction and then another. There were other balls, and if he were serious about finding a wife, he should be making an appearance somewhere else. Yet he wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t as though there wouldn’t be dozens more balls before the Season ended and he certainly wasn’t going to go back inside the Davenports’. He’d experienced more male companionship during the height of shopping on Bond Street.
Gideon took the watch from his pocket and checked the time beneath the street lamp. Midnight. Not exactly early, but not late enough to return home. He was far too restless to sleep. Where would everyone else be if not at a ball? White’s, of course.
“I don’t know why they left, and so suddenly,” a young woman said with concern.
Gideon turned as voices drew near. Lady Moira’s older brother and his lovely wife were walking toward him.
“It doesn’t matter. I am glad to be free of that place,” Hearne grumbled and signaled for his carriage.
“Ainsely,” Hearne acknowledged.
“Hearne.” There wasn’t much more to say.
“Do you happen to know where Lady Moira and her mother went off to?” Lady Hearne questioned him.
“We don’t need to worry. Just be glad we can go home,” Hearne insisted.
They didn’t know. Should he tell them? Obviously Hearne new about the bet, but what of his wife? He caught and held Hearne’s eyes for a moment.
“What do you know?” Hearne practically groaned.
“Perhaps it is better discussed away from your wife.”
The woman’s eyes grew wide and she looked at Hearne. “Your mother learned about the bet.” It was more of a statement than a question.
Apparently, Hearne didn’t bother to shield his wife from gossip or betting books.
“I am afraid so. I overheard two ladies speaking.”
“We should go to your sister,” the countess urged.
“Moira can weather this storm without me. I will call on them first thing in the morning.”
Lady Hearne bit her bottom lip.
“Trust me. Moira is made of sterner stuff than the two of us put together.”
Hearne focused on Gideon. “Thank you for telling us.”
Gideon simply inclined his head. Even though Hearne wasn’t rushing to his sister’s side, he did admire the man’s concern.
“Where are you off to? Could we offer you a lift?”
“White’s, and my carriage should be here in a moment.”
Lady Hearne placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Perhaps you should go with him.”
“Why? I want to go home.” Hearne’s eyes bored into hers.
Gideon could even see her blush in the pale light, so he averted his eyes. If I had a wife I would be at home, in bed and not standing on some street.
“What if...” She bit her lip.
“If Moira is the subject of another bet?” Hearn finished her sentence.
The countess cringed. “She did reject Lord Lydell tonight.”
“Bloody hell,” Hearne muttered.
“I’m headed there anyway. You go home,” Gideon found himself offering. “If another bet appears, I’ll come by in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Hearne clapped Gideon on the shoulder as two carriages pulled up to the curb.
“But, Nyle, what if...” the countess protested.
“There isn’t anything I can do about it tonight.”
“What were you thinking?”
Her mother had been ranting ever since they stepped through the door. All Moira wanted to do was change into her night clothing and crawl into bed. No real harm had been done. It was a stupid bet, which she had dealt with rather well, and it would soon be forgotten. Then she could find her Scot.
“What was I thinking to send you to that Broadmoor Academy?” Her mother practically gulped from her glass of wine. “The four of you were inseparable in your studies and in mischief. It appears now you will all face ruination together.”
“Really, Mother, you make it sound as if—”
Mother wheeled around, shaking her finger at Moira. “Do not interrupt me. You have no idea the embarrassment I faced tonight to learn that my daughter intends to compromise a gentleman.”
“It was made in gest,” Moira mumbled.
“When will you ever learn that even the slightest remark that can be taken as scandalous is the only thing society hears? Your sister never behaved this way. She was the perfect, dutiful daughter.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Well, at least you didn’t fall as far as Lady Philippa.” Her mother shuddered. “That gel will be lucky if any true gentleman actually considers her this Season.”
Moira opened her mouth to point out that one particular gentleman did seem to take interest but thought it wiser to hold her tongue.
“And you had the perfect opportunity to make a good impression on Lord Lydell this evening, but the gentleman couldn’t get away from you quick enough after you spoke.”
“Mother.” Moira stood. “He was the other subject of the bet. He only sought me out because he is broke and needs an heiress.”
“There
is nothing wrong with marrying for those reasons.” Her mother poured another glass of wine. “In fact, it is far better to marry on those terms than for a silly emotion.”
“What is wrong with marrying for love?”
Her mother looked up at her, a wave of pity flashed across her face. “Oh, Moira, please do not tell me you are holding out for love.”
Moira sat back down and played with the fringe on her shawl. “What is so wrong if I wish that there be some affection?”
“Oh, dear.” Her mother settled on the seat beside Moira and picked up her hand. “Be happy with your role of providing an heir and a spare and tuck your heart away. It will only be broken.”
That was the same advice Mother had given Beth, Moira’s older sister. Beth seemed quite content, living in the country, producing a child approximately ten months after her husband bothered to visit. Even now Moira’s brother-in-law was in Town while her sister was not. It was what Moira expected for herself, but not what she wanted. Her sister wanted a marquess and a quiet home in the country. She had her home, and one day her husband would hold the title. Moira wanted someone to care for her, though she knew the chance of such a union was unlikely, especially given that her brother was an earl and her dowry was embarrassingly large.
Her mother set the half-empty glass of Madeira on the table. “First thing tomorrow, we begin work.”
“On what?” Moira stilled herself for the answer. It could be anything from a day of needlework to a new wardrobe.
“Your hair first. That ghastly color will not attract any gentleman, especially after the shame you have brought to this family.”
Not my hair again. “I don’t know what you would have me do. Dip my head in tar?”
“Don’t be cheeky.” Mother finished off her second glass of Madeira. She never had more than one glass in an evening.
“There are a number of remedies, and we will try one after the other until we get it right.”
“If you wish.”
“And those freckles. I’ll visit the apothecary for a salve.”
There weren’t that many, a couple dozen or so, and they were small. Why couldn’t her mother just leave them alone? Hopefully whatever salve her mother found would smell better than the others she’d tried. “Lastly, we are going to bind your breasts.”
The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) Page 18
