An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “This is about revenge?”

  “Of course. What else would it be?”

  “I could walk out of here. You would still be ruined. There would be gossip, which I would shed in a couple of months. With your family’s past, no one would fault me.”

  “You won’t. Enough people were witness to your indiscretion. And I was not lying. You did request my hand. You might have thought it was a jest, but I, innocent that I am, took you at your word.”

  “I can’t think you really want to marry me. So, what do you actually want? Money? It’s yours. I will let my solicitor know in the morning.”

  “Funny you should ask. I want one thing: the deed to Henbury Hall and the surrounding estates.”

  “No.” He drained his glass and set it on a side table. “My dear, you are going to have to get used to having a husband. And I will have to get used to having a wife. But it shouldn’t be a great hardship having you in my bed.”

  Nora wasn’t shocked by his words. She had imagined a thousand different scenarios, none of which made Carlow happy. All of which involved Nora sacrificing her bodily autonomy to the vagaries of the marriage bed. “You don’t need the property,” she said.

  “Oh, I beg to differ. At this moment, I feel it is the most valuable property I own. I don’t believe there is anyone in England who could afford my price. And to think I had considered selling.”

  “The property was never yours.”

  “It was my father’s and I inherited it.”

  “Fraudulently. Illegally. Immorally.”

  “Miss Blasington, you do know your father was the veriest thief? There was no scheme, no cheat, no larceny he would not undertake to enrich himself. Obviously, the rotted fruit does not fall far from the poisonous tree.”

  “I loved my father. If he stole from anyone, it was because they had earned it through their own wanton disregard for others.”

  “Some poor wager you have. Married to me and with no way to get Henbury Hall. Perhaps you ought to change your mind and exit through that window.” He pointed with casual indifference, ignoring her very real, life-long plight.

  A ball of fury grew in her chest. “Not until you return my property. After you sign the deed, you only need to point me in the direction of the first casement you see, and I will make my exit.”

  “As my wife, you will not be allowed to. I will make every determination in your life. I alone, Miss Blasington. Do you want to be that miserable?”

  “I’m not afraid to be married to you. I will make my own way in a marriage and you would have no say whatsoever.”

  “Oh, my sweet. How wrong you are.”

  “I will fetch my brother.”

  “Have care, Nora. If you do this, it is done forever.”

  “That’s not true. You can march into the courts and have your divorcement with a wink and a nod.”

  “It would take months and then only because I have accused you of infidelity. You are not planning to cuckold me already, are you?”

  “There are other ways! And other reasons. We could have it annulled.”

  He laughed at her. “How apropos. I could definitely accuse you of fraud.”

  “The marriage will not be consummated.” She lifted her chin, daring him.

  Carlow pushed from his chair in a swift movement and braced his hand on the arm and back of the couch, his nose mere inches from hers. “When you say I do at the altar, you will be saying I do in my bedchamber. This marriage will be consummated and posthaste. I will have some small token for all this trouble. Now, think very hard, Miss Blasington. Is this the hill upon which you will cast your lot?”

  “I have no choice. You have Henbury Hall.”

  He pushed away and stood tall.

  Nora thought she had steeled herself against every claim, accusation and dodge. Still, tears burned in her eyes and her throat grew tight, fearing she had no more answers.

  “Finally. You are out of words. I have a different wager to place before you, Nora, daughter of a thief. I will give you Henbury Hall in six months.”

  She took a deep breath, a small fire of hope revived. “Why six months?”

  “Because in six months, you will be in love with me.”

  “No.” She jumped to her feet. “No!” She didn’t have to think about it. She didn’t have to entertain his proposal. She would never have any affection for an heir of Carlow. Never. “Six months or sixty years, I will never love you. But you can try. You have one month.”

  “I have my charms, but one month seems severely limiting, even for a man like me. Let’s think this through. We marry. We have a two- or three-week honeymoon…”

  “One week.”

  “We have a two-week honeymoon. We return to London to finish the season…”

  “We go to Henbury Hall,” she said.

  He hesitated. “If it is your desire, we go to Henbury Hall for four weeks.”

  She couldn’t be displeased with that concession. It was where she wanted to be.

  “We arrive at early August on the calendar. Parliament’s session will have ended, and we will need to have a round of country parties, say through mid-September. Let’s say Harvest Festival. If you are not in love with me by then, Henbury Hall is yours.”

  “We will not have to leave Henbury Hall during these house parties?”

  “I would prefer we did that in London. Or perhaps the Carlow estate in Wiltshire.”

  “No. Henbury Hall. Until the end.”

  “Invite anyone you want then. Throw parties as lavish as you wish. Yes, we can stay there. Unless you change your mind.”

  “So, around three months?”

  His gaze should have frightened her, but there was hope. Real hope that she would get their home back. Carlow took her hand and pulled her with slow determination until she stood face-to-face with him. She hadn’t felt a moment of intimidation from him until now. Inadvisable was the word Lady Fortenay had used, but Nora had ignored her mentor and guardian in favor of revenge and recompense.

  “Let’s seal the bargain, my love.” He wrapped one hand at the back of her neck and kissed her with hard passion, opening his mouth over hers and devouring her and her protests and schemes and lies.

  She licked her lips as he pulled away.

  “Well, we have a room full of people who want a wedding. I’d better fetch this special license before your brother shoots me.”

  * * * * *

  The Reverend Wright was the one who knocked on the archbishop’s door. He did all the talking. Archbishop Manners-Sutton tolerated their intrusion, asked who the principals were and sighed when the Weatherby Ball was mentioned. An earl and the daughter of an earl were quite able to marry at their leisure, provided Gabriel paid the requisite sum.

  “Is she of age?” the archbishop asked.

  “Oh, yes. Yes,” the reverend said. Gabriel was superfluous, his only obligation to be standing at the bride’s side when it was time. Oh, and the twenty guineas.

  The special license seemed to relax Reverend Wright and he was downright chatty on the return to the Weatherby manse.

  A cloying worry hung about Gabriel’s neck. He had made several promises and declarations about Henbury Hall that were at best an outright lie, and at worst, would be the thorough destruction of a woman’s childhood dreams.

  Carlow knocked on the carriage roof and then instructed his driver to stop at his home. Reverend Wright was torn between accompanying him and napping in the carriage. Gabriel was glad the minister settled with his arms over his chest, the license tight in one hand and eyes closed.

  Mother was usually up with the sun. She’d need to know about this turn of events. He waited in the drawing room for about forty minutes but was served tea and a few leftovers from last night’s supper.

  She arrived fully dressed for the morning hours. “My boy, what a surprise,” she said. He kissed her cheek. “I wasn’t expecting to talk with you until well after noon.”

  “We missed you at the Weather
by Ball last night.” He waited until she sat before he took his place then poured tea for her.

  “I’m too old for such mischief. Besides, I no longer keep feathers in my wardrobe.”

  “I have news,” he said. His early morning arrival was announcement enough, but he wanted to be the one to break the peculiar tale. While they lived in the same house, they came and went at surprisingly opposite schedules.

  “Oh, dear! That doesn’t sound particularly joyful.”

  “There’s a long story, but the short of it is that I’m getting married in a few hours.” That he felt no alarming sense of doom over this change of events was astonishment enough, but he enjoyed a sense of contentment and certitude. He could say he did not love her, but by God, he wanted her, and wanted to know all there was to know about her. Who knew temporary insanity could be so enjoyable?

  Her brows winged. “I’m past the age of surprise, as you well know.”

  “I assumed your lack of concern was because you’ve participated in your fair share of Weatherby Balls.”

  “True. So we are dealing with a shoddy affair then? Someone from the Weatherby Ball, I presume? Of course it is. Another tally mark for Dorothea and her preposterous scheme to bring out the worst in people. So, who is she? Anyone I know?”

  “Only by name. You’ve never met her, that I know of. Nora Blasington. George Blasington’s daughter.”

  She took a deep breath, her gaze down, her thoughts turning inward. “Hmm. There is a name I had hoped to never hear again. Are you sure this is a wise decision?”

  “I had no choice really. We were caught in a rather compromising position.”

  Mother shook her head. “A rather compromising position with the Blasington girl? I thought you were my intelligent son.”

  “It was a masque ball. I didn’t know it was her. In all of England, she would have been the last person I would have ever suspected of being behind that mask,” he said, a little defensive and yet happy to forget he had indeed strongly hinted he would not oppose marriage to such a mysterious creature. Now exposed, she was still mysterious, and he was revealed to be a capital dunce. He would argue with anyone that Nora was a desirable woman, and no one should fault him for being a bit dazzled by her. But to throw his hat in the ring for the most idiotic dupe to have every fallen under the Weatherby Ball curse? Well, he deserved to be excoriated.

  He pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to remember anything Father had ever said about Blasington or his family. And trying to align what he knew with what Nora Blasington asserted. “How would I know her?”

  “But she knew it was you? That seems the more important fact.”

  “Obviously.”

  “To what purpose?”

  “She believes I should return Henbury Hall to her family since we acquired it illegally.”

  “And you listened to her request? What balderdash!”

  “Don’t you think it strange that Henbury Hall has been nothing but an albatross?”

  “What a tangle. How much did you tell her?”

  “Well, nothing really. Unless there is something you need to tell me about Father’s less savory business dealings. There are things he said, things he implied, but never enough for me to know for certain what he did with his extra time.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Don’t you? There may come a time when only the truth will do.”

  “I don’t know a thing. Your father thought I was burdened by any discussion that involved thought. Unfortunately. And what will you do about Miss Talbot?”

  “What about her?” Should he read anything into Mother’s willingness to change topics so quickly?

  “Her family has expectations.”

  “Which will be shattered when they hear I’ve been a naughty boy during the Carnival of Venice. And with Nora Blasington, no less.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t joke about something so serious.”

  “Honestly, Mother, I cannot help but find the humor in all this. And with regard to the Talbots, you know we have discussed a connection with the family exactly once.”

  “Henbury was a beautiful estate at one time,” Mother said.

  “It really is unfortunate, what happened.”

  Henbury Hall was a disaster, one Gabriel was going to pour money into and then sell. He didn’t want the reminders. Father had been driven mad by the rumors of Blasington’s hoard—a fictional quest that had blossomed because of George Blasington’s reputation as a thief.

  What was he to do with Henbury now that he’d promised Miss Blasington the opportunity to win the return of her property?

  He wasn’t going to tell Mother any of the specific details of his tryst with Miss Blasington. That was between him and Nora. His soon-to-be wife. “I would like you to be at the ceremony, if you don’t mind.” His brother was in Scotland for the summer. His sister and her husband were expecting their third child in a few weeks. At least one family member ought to be present.

  “Is she a beauty?”

  “Stunning. And sharp as a knife.”

  “Not two-edged, I hope. She has been with Lord and Lady Fortenay since her father died. A bluestocking and the odd bird who married her. They attempted to pour knowledge into those children as if they were empty vessels. That was the gossip from years ago.”

  He laughed to himself.

  “Why are you smiling?” Mother asked.

  “She’s so damn witty.”

  “That’s no reason to marry. Oh, and don’t do anything so foolish as to fall in love with the girl.”

  “I’m marrying her. While it is not a prerequisite to a ton marriage, love seems the natural progression.”

  “She’s the daughter—”

  “Of London’s most notorious charlatan. I know.”

  “And she’ll be cut from the same cloth.”

  “I accused her of the same thing.”

  Mother sighed. “What time am I to make an appearance at this sham ritual?”

  Mother would naturally take Father’s side. Gabriel was a little more sanguine about the family secret. Nora, as a child, was an innocent victim in all this. And naturally, she would take her father’s side. Could Gabriel safely thread the needle?

  “Let’s say ten. I need to change. If you’ll excuse me, Mother.”

  “If I don’t see you before you leave…”

  “You’ll see me at my wedding!”

  He hurried to his second-floor room at the end of the hallway. Most of the household still slept so he didn’t wake his valet. He threw the cape on his bed and washed at the water bowl.

  As he loosened the tie around his neck, Gabriel had to wonder what the minx was up to. Was she peacefully sleeping now that she was close to reaching her goal? Or was she pacing in the library, wondering at his return? He dispatched his shirt, found a freshly ironed neckcloth and then mulled over the white shirts hanging in the closest: too tight, too big, not the right color of white, frayed cuff, odd collar. Ah, the maroon one with French cuffs. Perfect. He tied up a perfect barrel knot with a pressed neckcloth. He covered the silk maroon waistcoat with the tiny, embroidered knots of different colors with a black jacket that matched his black trousers.

  It was his wedding, after all!

  He hurried out to the waiting carriage. His coachman was hunched up, shoulders to ears, but with a tight grip on the reins. Gabriel smashed his hand against the side of the coach, “To the Weatherby Mansion, my good man!”

  They traveled the short distance to the other side of the park. Gabriel hopped out. The reverend tipped and rolled but landed on his feet.

  “License?” Gabriel asked.

  “Right here. I am performing the ceremony, am I not?”

  “It is my guess that was Nora’s intention all along.” Why else bring a minister to a scandalous ball?

  The sun was up, and Gabriel’s mood was surprisingly buoyant. Inside the house, the servants scurried around, cleaning the detritus and disorder from t
he long night before. There were guests who still mingled, drinks in hand, as if Lady Weatherby meant to feed and entertain them for days on end. This was one of the reasons Gabriel did not like his own house parties, few as they were.

  Would Nora entertain in such a way? He hoped not. Not at Henbury Hall, certainly. Perhaps in London. A small house party with the family’s closest acquaintances to welcome Nora to the family, including his brother and sister and their families, when the time was right. Grandfather could bring his new wife. Ellis Rawden and Nash Hildebrande would be invited to any party Gabriel had. They were his oldest friends.

  He paced inside one of the Weatherbys’ large drawing rooms until a servant arrived with food and drink. “May I get you anything else while you wait?”

  “Yes, I need to write a few notes. Can you bring me paper and pen?” He quickly wrote notes to Ellis and Nash and invited them to the wedding. It would be a small affair, but at least his friends should participate. They’d have to drag themselves out of bed to do so.

  Gabriel was interrupted several times to take his advice and give him information, but Nora wasn’t one of those interruptions.

  Ellis arrived first, joining Gabriel in a celebratory drink. Nora’s brother, Timothy, skulked in and took a seat near the bank of windows. Finally, Mother and Nash came in.

  When Lady Weatherby swept in, Mother sniffed. “Dorothea, what an auspicious occasion.”

  “To be sure. And our home has never been graced by such a beautiful and elegant bride.”

  Nora chose that moment to make her entrance, followed by the Reverend Wright and about ten of the overnight guests, among them last year’s reigning champions of indiscretion, Lord and Lady Hythe, ready to give up their crown. Lady Hythe appeared heavy with child. Obviously, their union had proved fruitful.

  At the sight of his soon-to-be wife, Gabriel’s temperature rose as heat swept over him. What had he expected? That she would wear her black-and-red Venetian costume? Oh, no! She was dressed in a blinding shade of white—completely unacceptable based on the norms of modern English brides. White implied purity. That she might be, but she was far from innocent.

  He approached her and took her hand, placing it upon his sleeve. “And what are you planning to steal today, my dear?” he asked in a whisper, his lips touching her ear.