An Earl's Wager: Regency Romance (Gentlemen and Brides)

by Joyce Alec

  Edward ignored her as usual, finally laying eyes on his circle. “Hello, boys,” he exclaimed louder than needed.

  Albany watched Charlotte drag herself away in another sad attempt on his bachelorhood. “She’s relentless, eh?”

  Edward laughed, ineffectively trying to be discreet. The whole table of men erupted in boisterous laughter, and Charlotte scowled, somehow knowing it had something to do with her. She stomped out of the club, feeling quite humiliated. No one noticed.

  The new moon shone brightly overhead. Edward was in his study readying for another night out with the ton at Almack’s when Chloé waltzed in decked out in a magnificent gown, a string of emeralds woven throughout her crimson curls. She looked so perfect, Edward could not speak.

  “Well, sir, do you not know how to compliment a lady?” she flirted.

  “Oh, good gracious,” Edward caught himself, “I do apologize, my lady. Words cannot possibly do your goddess-like beauty justice.” He quickly strode toward her, grabbing her hand and placing the most delicate kiss upon her moist palm.

  Hot energy shot through her palm deep into her stomach. His touch excited her. She attempted to compose herself enough to be witty. “So, I presume you were on your way upstairs to fetch me for our night out?”

  He laughed. Her fiery red curls belied her scorching wit. He adored that part of her. She could be so innocent, then pull something utterly charming out of her box of tricks. He was constantly diverted by her. “Of course, I was.” He was just about to offer his hand when he realized he still had hers firmly in his own. “Let us be off.”

  She was thrilled to be going out. She had been cooped up for weeks and needed to be out amongst people. Not that she didn’t thoroughly enjoy the company of Edward and Fry—both men had become like family—but she could not wait to dance with Edward in front of everyone. She felt great pride that he had chosen to spend so much of his life with her.

  On the way, Edward briefed Chloé on all the principals at Almack’s. There was Albany the loudmouth marquess, of course; Tembly, the quiet gentleman; Sir Nathan Horton, one of Edward’s old schoolmates from Eton; and the Prince Regent, who frequently put in an appearance. Chloé was thrilled to meet such a colorful band of characters.

  When the beautiful couple stepped across the marble threshold, chins dropped, and a distinct “Who is she?” murmur lit up the crowd. Chloé squeezed Edward’s arm tighter when she realized they were the talk of the room.

  “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Most of them don’t bite.”

  She chuckled. “Good to know.”

  Each gentleman in Edward’s circle rushed to meet his guest. She impressed them all by identifying them before they could introduce themselves. “Edward told me all about you,” she boasted.

  “Well, I wish I could say the same, milady,” Albany offered with a sideways glance at Edward.

  Chloé charmed each of the gentlemen to their knees. They were falling all over her, offering to fetch her a drink or aperitif. She adored such enchanting attention.

  “I can’t wait to see how your favorite debutante reacts to this little surprise, chap?” Albany slapped Edward hard across the back, cackling jovially.

  “Is she here?” Edward asked quietly.

  “You betcha!” Albany hooted, leaving a tense Edward alone.

  It did not take Charlotte long to find her way to a solitary Edward. Chloé had been kidnapped by his friends. He had no idea where they had taken her. “Abandoned already?” Charlotte whispered, sneaking up behind him.

  He swirled to face her. “Charlotte, how are you?” His standard address.

  “So, who is this lovely?” she prodded, her hand running up Edward’s arm.

  “My name is Chloé.” Chloé appeared from nowhere, confronting the tempest Charlotte head on.

  Charlotte turned to see the young beauty standing behind her. “Hello, Chloé,” she returned, measuring the girl’s importance with her stare. “My name is…”

  “Charlotte,” Chloé interjected with a silent nod to Edward’s circle of snickering friends. “I am afraid I have to steal Edward for a moment. You do not mind, do you?” Before waiting for an answer, Chloé took Edward familiarly by the hand and escorted him to their table.

  He was utterly stunned. He sat down next to her in silence, his friends all taking to their chairs once Chloé was seated. The group was so close to boisterous hysteria they could barely hold it in. “You are amazing,” he whispered, leaning in close to her.

  “That was brilliant, dove,” Albany congratulated.

  The table was in agreement. Chloé felt like such a star. She loved every minute of it.

  Charlotte watched their table like a hawk. Her blood was boiling. She staked her claim on Edward, and she intended to see it through. The rest of the ladies of the ton adhered to the code. She would not let some unknown upstart take her place.

  The group of friends laughed and gambled until the wee hours of the morn. Chloé had never had a better time—that she could remember anyway.

  Edward worked late in his study. Fry came in with his usual warm brandy. “Here you are, sir,” he said, setting the wooden tray down on Edward’s desk.

  “Thank you, Fry.” Edward took a long sip of the hot amber liquid. Fry bowed his head and started for the door. “Fry, wait,” Edward called. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course, sir,” he answered, turning back around.

  “You have become close with Chloé, have you not?”

  “Aye,” he replied. “She is a fine young lady. Heart of gold, she has.”

  “I am thinking of asking her to marry me,” Edward stunned the older man.

  “Sir, I believe you are already married to her. Are you not?”

  “Well, officially, yes,” he said, suddenly thinking how daft he must sound. “But I would like her to want to marry me.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “She didn’t… I didn’t… the first time.”

  “It may not be my place, sir,” Fry began.

  “No, Fry, I want you to tell me. What do you think?” He had learned to lean on Fry like a surrogate father. He never had a good relationship with his own father. And now, his father was bedridden and still wanted little to do with his son. He hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since his mother’s death.

  “Well, sir,” Fry started, worried he was overstepping. “I think you should consider telling her the truth.”

  “No,” Edward snapped. “I cannot.” He wished he could, but she would never forgive him. He could never tell her the truth.

  “Do you love her?” Fry asked, now disregarding all protocol.

  “I do,” said Edward, his heart suddenly aching. “I know our entire situation is a lie, but that is not. Do you think she loves me?”

  “I believe she loves who she thinks you are.” He was slightly afraid he may be looking for another position soon, but he continued anyway. “You must trust in her if you truly love her. Otherwise, the lie continues.”

  Edward lifted the brandy sifter to his mouth again, the golden liquor warming his parched throat. “Thank you, Fry. You are a true gentleman.”

  “Sir,” Fry bowed again and eased out of the dark room.

  Edward leaned back against the soft tufts of the leather sofa, swirling the brandy round and round in the large glass. He was so confused. He wanted to start his life with her. He wanted her to be his forever. She may never get her memory back. He did not want to waste another day. He would ask her to be his wife. His proper wife.

  There was a soft knock on the heavy door. “I am fine, Fry,” he called out. “I have made my decision.”

  “Truly?” Her velvet tone was unmistakable. “And what decision is that?”

  He sat up quickly, sloshing the brandy all over his unbuttoned undershirt. “You scared the wits out of me,” he chastised.

  “I am sorry, Edward,” she said, her eyes darting to the floor, suddenly aware his shirt was open.

  He quickly closed his shirt and stoo
d. “Pardon, milady.”

  “Oh, it is quite alright, Edward,” she said, realizing she was in her dressing gowns, a severe lack of propriety on her part as well. She crossed the room and sat down in the lush cerise arm chair next to the fireplace.

  Edward followed her lead and sat back down on the sofa. “Mrs. Parker would surely reprove us both for this, do you not think?” he laughed.

  “Most certainly,” Chloé agreed.

  Edward paused, thinking this was the perfect time to tell her how he felt. “Chloé, I would like to speak with you about something quite particular.”

  “That sounds rather ominous, milord.”

  She stiffened slightly as he moved closer to her. He shifted to the edge of the couch, his knees almost touching hers. He took her shaking hand in his and held it tightly.

  “My Chloé,” he started, his eyes welling with tears. “You have captured my heart and soul.” Tears began streaking down her round cheeks. “I adore you. I love you. And I want to marry you.”

  “Really?” she said so sweetly he felt his heart squeeze with emotion.

  He nodded. “More than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Then you shall marry me, my lord. You shall marry me.” She fell into him, their lips uniting in a passionate kiss. Neither wanted to pull away. They sat with their lips barely touching for ages.

  Finally, Chloé pulled back. “But, what about my past?” she asked. “What if there is something that changes things? What if I hate Englishmen, and I do not know it?”

  He grinned at her joke. “Chloé, do you love me?” he asked her seriously.

  She stared into his eyes and squeezed his hand. “I do.”

  “And I love you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “What could matter more than that?”

  She felt instantly better. He had a brilliant way of doing that. “You are right, my love.” She paused thoughtfully. “Ah, my love.”

  “Sounds good,” he leaned toward her to steal just one more kiss.

  Edward helped Chloé out of the phaeton in front of Almack’s. Their entrance garnered the usual pomp and circumstance. Chloé adored it. Edward was a superstar among the ton, and he belonged to her. She felt such pride. They entered arm in arm, an obvious connection between them. This time, it was undeniable.

  Chloé leaned in to whisper in Edward’s ear as they crossed the buzzing room. All eyes were glued to them, especially Charlotte Palmer’s. They could feel her stare boring holes through them as they approached their table.

  All the gentlemen at the table rose to greet them at once. Edward shook everyone’s hand, and Chloé curtseyed to all. “Your highness,” Edward exclaimed, shocked to see the Prince Regent there.

  “Edward, it is a pleasure,” he returned. “And who might this lovely lady be?” the prince asked, taking her hand for a quick peck.

  “This is my future bride, Chloé Dalton,” Edward beamed.

  The table went crazy. They all fell over themselves congratulating the couple. They could not be happier for their friend. Albany roared across the room for champagne for the new couple. If there was anyone not talking about them when they entered the hall, they were talking now. They created quite a spectacle.

  After a few glasses of champagne, Chloé excused herself to the ladies’ room. She was on her way back to the table, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see a young man dressed in servant’s clothes. “Mademoiselle Dalton, est-ce vous? It is moi, Andre, from the house in France. I knew it was you. I saw you enter.”

  Chloé looked alarmed at the man, who obviously thought he knew her. “I am sorry, sir, I do not…”

  “You do not remember me?” He was completely hurt.

  Chloé felt terrible. She did not mean to injure his feelings. “No, sir, I have been in an accident and cannot remember…”

  “Dearest mademoiselle, your father took me in as a lad and gave me a job in the house. When your husband sold it, we were all put out on the street. And I heard your ship sank. Incroyable, I am so happy to find you here in London. I have been looking for a position, but it is near to impossible for a Frenchman, you see.”

  Chloé’s mind began to spin. “My husband?” she asked.

  “Yes, mademoiselle,” he answered. “Your husband, over there.” He pointed to Edward, who had begun looking around for his fiancée.

  Chloé’s eyes followed his outstretched arm directly to Edward, who met her gaze. Edward stood, troubled by the anxiety he could see on her face. He quickly made his way over to Chloé and the young man, who continued rattling on about Chloé getting married and leaving them all.

  Just as Edward approached, Chloé’s memories began flooding back. Her mother. Her father. Her beloved home in France. The horrible deal her father struck with his English cousin. The cold, heartless man who married her and ripped her away from all that she had ever known. Edward could see it in her eyes as they hardened from a bright sapphire glow to steely blue coldness.

  “Chloé, I…” was all he could get out before she struck him across the face with the force of any man.

  Edward stood there, stunned as Chloé made her way across the gawking room and out the door.

  6

  Chloé had been walking for hours turning the events of the evening and the last weeks over and over in her head. She could not believe she had fallen in love with him. What a fantastic ruse! He probably orchestrated the entire thing. Her memory loss was a great coincidence! Oh, how it benefitted him. He rids himself of his obligation to preserve her home and ends up with a perfectly amiable wife. What a fool she had been! Oh, his fictitious professions of love! What an actor! He sat by her bedside. Nursed her back to health. Talked with her for hours upon hours upon hours with nary a word about her past. The past he knew she deserved to remember. And then proposing? What a joke! They were already married! Her heart writhed in pain. She felt as though she was losing her entire world all over again.

  Her eyes were so tear-filled, she could barely see. She had been walking aimlessly almost the entire night. She had no idea where she was. She began looking around and suddenly found herself afraid. The streets were dark with little lamplight to light her way. The row houses were tattered and stained. She did not know London very well, but knew instantly she was in a less-than-desirable neighborhood.

  Cold raindrops began hitting her hard. She hated England’s harsh rain. And she had left without her mantle. She was freezing and growing increasingly frightened. She saw a soft glow on a tiny porch ahead of her. There was an older lady fortifying her doorway from the heavy rain. She ran up to the woman, scaring her half to death.

  “Madame,” Chloé panted. “Pray, may I please come in for a moment?”

  The woman quickly surmised Chloé was no threat to her and agreed she may enter, ushering her to the fire to warm herself.

  “What is a young lady of birth doing around here?” the woman asked, obviously noticing Chloé’s regal gown and trimmings. “And without a cloak, in the pouring rain, no doubt.”

  “I am sorry, madame, but my story is long and complicated,” Chloé answered, her words barely audible because her teeth were chattering quite ferociously.

  “Aye, everyone who enters this door does so with a long and complicated story.” The woman moved around Chloé to stoke the fire and place a pot of water above it.

  Chloé liked the way the woman worked the small house. She was so methodical, placing the water for boiling, folding the bedsheets for easier washing, soaking her brushes for easier cleaning.

  “I presume you are running away from someone or something,” the woman mumbled. “This is a house for women who are running. You can stay here if you help in the kitchen. We need three meals a day for near to nine. Can you do that?”

  Chloé considered her options and thought this may be her best bet for the near future. She needed to get her head straight before going back. That is, if she were going back. “What is your name, madame?” she asked the woman.


  “Harper,” she croaked, clearing her throat.

  “Well, Mrs. Harper, I believe I will accept your offer with many thanks.”

  Mrs. Harper gave the shivering girl a warm cup of tea and showed her to an empty cot in the back room of the house. “I will have one of the girls find something for you to wear. It won’t do for you to be working in the kitchen in your finest.” She had the warm smile of Chloé’s childhood governess. Chloé instantly adored the older woman.

  “You are a gift from God, dear Mrs. Harper,” Chloé praised, removing her wet over gown and falling exhausted onto the cot. Anonymous sleep could not come soon enough.

  Edward awoke late with a giant hole in his heart. He had lost her. He knew this would happen. Fry was right. He should have been the one to tell her. Perhaps he could have softened the blow somehow. What a fool he was. And now he had no idea where she was or if she was even safe. He was numb with worry.

  He looked for her all night long. No one had seen or heard anything. He feared the worst. The streets of London were not safe for a woman of privilege to be traveling at night alone. She had been so shielded from the likes of city predators that he worried she would trust the wrong person. His only hope was that she had found someone respectable to take her in. He called on Fry immediately to help orchestrate a search for her.

  Edward was not the only one searching for Chloé. Charlotte Palmer watched the dramatic scene unfold at Almack’s and was quick to confront the man who seemed to cause the whole uproar. She spoke with him briefly and exited the club with more information than she imagined. She had a feeling her fortunes were changing. Edward Cayley was going to be hers. Now, she knew how she would make it happen. She set out immediately to enact her plan.

  It didn’t take Charlotte long to find out where Chloé was. You cannot stroll into a bawdy house for prostitutes in a dinner gown in the middle of the night and not create some kind of stir. Charlotte was elated with her luck. She knew the silly girl must have no idea what kind of house Mrs. Harper’s was, but that was of no concern to Charlotte. She could not wait to tell Edward what kind of girl he wanted to marry. Living with prostitutes was an unredeemable act. Edward would not be able to show his face in society again if word got out.