The Marriage Wager (2 page)

“Lady Odelia?” Francesca asked with some horror.

His eyes twinkled as he replied, “Why, yes. Lady Odelia is quite fond of you, you know.”

“Yes, as a hawk is fond of a fat rabbit!” Francesca retorted. “However, I shall agree because I know that I will not lose the bet. But what will I get when
you
lose?”

He looked at her consideringly a moment before saying, “Why, I think a bracelet of sapphires the color of your eyes. You are, I believe, fond of sapphires.”

Francesca’s gaze locked with his for a moment. Then she turned away, saying blandly, “Yes, I am. That will do nicely.”

Her hand tightened a little on her fan. She lifted her chin and gestured toward the partygoers. “Well, which girl will you choose?”

She expected him to take one or the other of the unattractive young women they had been discussing. “The one with the large bow in her hair, or the one with the dispirited-looking feather?”

“Neither,” he replied, surprising her, nodding toward a tall, slender woman in a simple gray dress who stood behind the two girls. It was clear from the plainness of her dress and hairstyle that she was there in the capacity of chaperone, not as a debutante. “I choose
that
one.”

C
ONSTANCE
W
OODLEY WAS
bored. She supposed she should be grateful, as Aunt Blanche frequently told her, to be in London during the Season and to have the opportunity to go to grand parties such as this. However, Constance could find little joy in chaperoning her foolish cousins through countless balls, soirees and routs. There was, she found, a great deal of difference between actually having a Season, such as Georgiana and Margaret were, and watching someone else have a Season.

Her own chance at a Season had come and gone long ago. When she was eighteen and it was time for her coming-out, her father had fallen ill, and she had spent the next five years taking care of him as his health steadily declined. He had died when she was twenty-three, and as his estate had been entailed and he had had no male heirs, the house and lands went to his brother, Roger. Constance, unmarried and with no means of support other than the small amount of money that her father had left her, all of it conservatively invested in the Funds, had been allowed to remain in her home as Sir Roger and his wife moved in, accompanied by their two daughters.

She would always have a home with them, Aunt Blanche had told her somewhat piously, although she did think it would be better if Constance moved out of the bedchamber in which she had always slept into a smaller one in the rear of the house. The larger room, with its lovely prospect of the drive and park, was more suitable, after all, for the two daughters of the household. The move had been a bitter pill for Constance to swallow, but she had consoled herself with the thought that at least she had a room all to herself, rather than having to share with one of her cousins, and she could retreat there for a bit of much-needed peace and quiet.

Constance had spent the last several years living with her aunt and uncle and their children. She had helped her aunt with the children and with the household, wanting to be of use out of gratitude for their having taken her in, but also because it was plain that such help was expected in return for her room and board. Patiently Constance saved and reinvested the small income she received from her inheritance, hoping to one day accumulate enough that she would be able to live off it entirely and therefore be able to live on her own.

Two years ago, when the eldest daughter, Georgiana, had turned eighteen, her aunt and uncle had decided that, given the expenses of a debut, it would be best to wait until the younger girl turned eighteen also and then bring their two daughters out together.

Constance, her aunt told her graciously, could come along to help chaperone. There had been no mention of Constance participating in the annual social rite in any other capacity. Although the London Season was used as a sort of marriage market for mothers of marriageable girls, neither Constance nor her aunt considered Constance eligible to look for a husband. She was not an unattractive woman—her gray eyes were large and expressive, and her hair was a rich, dark brown strewn with reddish highlights—but at twenty-eight, she was decidedly a spinster, long past the normal age to be brought out into Society. She could hardly hope to wear pastels or pin her hair up in fetching curls. Indeed, Aunt Blanche preferred that Constance wear a spinster’s cap, but although Constance usually gave in and wore a cap during the day, for parties she refused to don that final symbol of blighted hopes.

Constance did her best to comply with her aunt’s expectations, for she knew that her aunt and uncle had not been obliged to take her in after her father’s death. The fact that they had done so primarily out of equal parts fear of social disapproval and eagerness to have an unpaid helper for their own children did not absolve her, Constance thought, from a proper gratitude toward them. However, she found it difficult to endure the chatter of her cousins, who were both silly and inexplicably vain about their looks. And though it was also vain of her, she supposed, she despised wearing plain dresses in grays, browns and dark blues, the sorts of colors that her aunt felt befitted an unmarried woman of a certain age.

There was some pleasure to be taken in watching the glittering people of the Ton, of course, and Constance was engaged in that pastime now. She was gazing at a couple who stood at the top of the stairs looking out over the partygoers like monarchs observing their subjects. It was not an inapt analogy, for the Duke of Rochford and Lady Francesca Haughston were among the reigning members of London society. Constance, of course, had never met either one of them, for they normally moved in more elite circles than did Uncle Roger and Aunt Blanche. It was only at large events such as this rout that she even saw them.

They moved down the stairs now, and Constance lost sight of them in the crowd. Her aunt turned to her, saying, “Constance, dear, do find Margaret’s fan. She seems to have dropped it.”

Constance spent the next few minutes looking all around them for the errant fan, so she did not notice the approach of two women until her aunt’s sharp intake of breath alerted her to something unusual and she looked up from her search. Lady Haughston was walking toward them, and beside her was the beaming hostess of the party, Lady Welcombe herself.

“Lady Woodley. Sir, um…”

“Roger,” her uncle supplied helpfully.

“Of course. Sir Roger. How are you? I hope the two of you are enjoying my little party,” Lady Welcombe said, gesturing toward the great hall stuffed with people. Her deprecating smile indicated that she realized the humor in her statement.

“Oh, yes, my lady. ’Tis a wonderful rout. The finest of the Season, I’ll warrant. I was just remarking to Sir Roger that it was the most splendid thing we had attended yet.”

“Well, the Season is still young,” Lady Welcombe replied modestly. “One can only hope that it will still be remembered by July.”

“Oh, indeed, I am sure it will.” Aunt Blanche hurried on to compliment the flowers, the candles, the decorations.

Even the hostess herself appeared to grow bored with this effusive praise, and at the first opportunity, Lady Welcombe jumped in to say, “Pray, allow me to introduce you to Lady Haughston.” She turned to the woman beside her. “Lady Haughston, this is Sir Roger Woodley and his wife Lady Blanche, and these are…uh, their lovely daughters.”

“How do you do?” Lady Haughston said, extending one slender white hand.

“Oh, my lady! This is indeed an honor!” Aunt Blanche’s face was flushed with excitement. “I am so pleased to meet you. Pray, allow me to introduce you to our daughters, Georgiana and Margaret. Girls, say hello to Lady Haughston.”

Lady Haughston smiled perfunctorily at each of the girls, but her eyes moved on to Constance, standing slightly behind the others. “And you are?”

“Constance Woodley, my lady,” Constance said with a brief curtsey.

“I am sorry,” Aunt Blanche said with a twitter. “Miss Woodley is my husband’s niece, living with us since her poor father’s death some years ago.”

“Please accept my condolences,” Lady Haughston said, adding after a slight pause, “on your father’s death.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Constance saw the light of amusement in the other woman’s deep blue eyes, and she could not help but wonder if Lady Haughston had not meant to imply something else altogether. She suppressed the smile such a thought brought to her lips and returned Lady Haughston’s gaze politely.

Lady Welcombe moved away, but to Constance’s surprise, Lady Haughston remained with them for a few moments, making polite small talk. It surprised her even more when Lady Haughston said that she must leave and turned to Constance, adding, “Won’t you take a stroll around the room with me, Miss Woodley?”

Constance blinked with surprise, too startled for a moment to speak. Then she moved forward with alacrity, saying, “Yes, I would like that very much, thank you.”

She remembered to cast a look at her aunt for permission, though Constance knew that she would have gone with Lady Haughston even if Aunt Blanche had forbidden it. Fortunately, her aunt only nodded somewhat dazedly at her, and Constance moved forward to join the other woman.

Linking her arm through Constance’s, Francesca began to stroll around the edge of the enormous room, chatting casually.

“I vow, one can scarcely find someone one knows in the crush. ’Tis well nigh impossible to meet anyone,” Lady Haughston commented.

Constance smiled at the other woman in response. She was still too startled by Lady Haughston’s interest in her to relax, and she could think of nothing to say, even the most commonplace of comments. She could not imagine what one of the lights of London Society could want from her. She was neither proud enough nor foolish enough to think that Francesca had singled her out because she had realized with a brief glance that Constance was worthy of her friendship.

“Is this your first Season?” Francesca went on.

“Yes, my lady. My father was quite ill when it came time for me to make my come-out,” Constance explained. “He passed away a few years later.”

“Ah, I see.” Constance stole a quick glance at her companion. There was a shrewd look in Lady Haughston’s eyes that told her that she understood far more than Constance had said. That she could envision the slow passage of time spent caring for her father, the days of boredom and sadness, interspersed with the rush of hard work and turmoil when his disease took a bad turn.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Lady Haughston said kindly. After a moment, she added, “And so now you live with your aunt and uncle? And she is sponsoring you. That is kind of her.”

Constance felt the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks. She could scarcely deny the words, for it would seem ungrateful, but to agree that her aunt acted out of kindness was more than she could do. She said merely, “Yes. Well, her daughters are that age now, and so…”

“I am sure you are a great help to her,” Lady Haughston replied obliquely.

Constance glanced at her again and had to smile. Lady Haughston was no fool; she understood quite well why Aunt Blanche had brought Constance along, not for Constance’s benefit, but for her own. Though Constance wondered what Lady Haughston was up to, she could not help but like her. There was a warmth in her that was all-too-frequently missing in the denizens of the Ton.

“Still,” Lady Haughston went on, “you must take time to enjoy your visit to London, as well.”

“I have visited some of the museums,” Constance replied. “I quite enjoyed it.”

“Did you? Well, that is very well and good, I’m sure, but I was thinking more along the lines of, oh, say, shopping.”

“Shopping?” Constance repeated, more at sea in this conversation than ever. “For what, my lady?”

“Oh, I never limit myself to one thing,” Lady Haughston replied, her lips quirking up into a smile that gave her the faint look of a self-satisfied feline. “That would be far too dull. I always set out with the idea of exploring whatever is out there. Perhaps you would like to accompany me tomorrow.”

Constance looked at her in astonishment. “I beg your pardon?”

“On a shopping expedition,” the other woman said, a chuckle escaping her. “You must not look at me so. I promise you, it will not be horrifying.”

“I—I’m sorry.” Constance felt herself blushing again. “You must think me a dolt. It is simply that your kind offer was unexpected. Indeed, I would like very much to go with you—though I fear I should forewarn you, I am a poor shopper.”

“No need to worry,” Lady Haughston replied, her eyes twinkling. “I can assure you that
I
am expert enough at it for both of us.”

Constance could not keep from smiling at the other woman. Whatever was going on, the prospect of a day away from her aunt and cousins was delightful. And she was much too human not to feel a certain low satisfaction at the thought of the look on her aunt’s face when she learned how Constance had been singled out by one of the most well-known and aristocratic women in London.

“Then it is settled,” Lady Haughston went on. “I shall call on you tomorrow, say around one, and we shall make a day of it.”

“You are very kind.”

Again that smile flashed, and Francesca took her leave, pressing Constance’s hand in farewell before she walked away. Constance watched her go, her mind still humming. She could not imagine why Lady Haughston was so interested in her, but she suspected that it would prove entertaining to find out.

She turned and looked over to where she had been standing with her aunt and uncle. She could not even see them through the crowd of people. It occurred to her that her aunt would not know precisely when she had parted from Lady Haughston. Perhaps she could spend a little more time away without encountering any censure from Aunt Blanche.

Constance glanced around her and spied a doorway opening into a hall. She slipped through it and made her way around the people who had drifted out of the crowded great hall and stood about in small clumps, talking. No one paid her any mind as she walked along the hallway—an advantage, she supposed, of her plain style.