The Marriage Wager (9 page)

“Oh, my lady, how very kind of you,” Aunt Blanche said, turning back to Lady Haughston. “But I am afraid that I cannot allow Constance to go off on her own in that way. It would be most improper for her to be alone among strangers for two weeks. I must think of her reputation, after all.”

Francesca’s eyebrows went up delicately, and she said in a cool voice, “She would be with me, Lady Woodley. She would not be unchaperoned, and I can assure you that the Earl’s parties are quite respectable affairs.”

“Oh, I am sure they are, Lady Haughston,” Aunt Blanche told her, her voice somehow managing to be both fawning and obdurate. “And your reputation, of course, is above reproach. But I am afraid that I take my responsibilities to Constance very seriously. I could not possibly let her travel or be on her own for such a length of time without a member of her family there.”

“Indeed.” Francesca studied Constance’s aunt, and Aunt Blanche returned her gaze steadily.

It was all too clear, Constance thought, what her aunt was after, and she squirmed a little inside with embarrassment. She was afraid that Francesca might simply give up on taking her to the party at Redfields. Constance was aware suddenly of how very much she wanted to go to it. She waited, holding her breath.

“I see,” Francesca said after a moment, giving Lady Woodley a steely smile. “Well, of course, when I extended the invitation, I did not mean Constance alone. You and Sir Roger and your daughters are invited, as well.”

“You are too kind, my lady,” Aunt Blanche replied, casting down her eyes to hide the triumph therein.

S
O IT WAS THAT A WEEK
later Constance was in a post chaise with her aunt and uncle and cousins, rolling out of London and down the road to Kent.

It had been a trying week. The house had been full of little except talk of Redfields and the treat that lay before them. Even Sir Roger, normally a most unexcitable sort, was filled with anticipation at seeing the house. One of his hobbies was architecture, and he had told them, a light gleaming in his eyes, that Redfields was one of the finest examples of Elizabethan architecture in the country.

Aunt Blanche, of course, had rolled her eyes at such a peculiar notion of why they would enjoy Redfields. The house itself was of little importance, in her opinion—provided, of course, that it was grand. What mattered was the people who would be there. She spent most of her time that week calling upon her friends to impress them by dropping casually into conversation that she would be out of town for a while, as they were attending a party at Redfields. Her secondary purpose, of course, was to extract all the gossip she could about Lord and Lady Selbrooke, their family, the estate and all the people who were likely to be there with them.

Aunt Blanche’s frequent absence, of course, meant that nearly all the work of planning, packing and preparing for their two-week sojourn was done by Constance. Between helping Georgiana and Margaret go through their gowns and choose what to take—doing her utmost to try to talk them out of their ugliest choices—and sewing back on buttons and flounces, and repairing rips to their clothes, as well as giving instructions to the housekeeper for the time they would be gone and guiding the maids in the packing of the family’s clothes, Constance barely had time to get her own things in order to take.

Much to her delight—and dwarfing all the other problems that cropped up—the clothes that she had ordered at the dressmaker’s, as well as the ones she had ordered from a more ordinary seamstress, arrived before they left. She could hardly restrain her excitement.

Aunt Blanche, predictably, looked over the new dresses lying on Constance’s bed and gave a loud sniff of disapproval. “These are much too young looking for you, Constance. Not at all suitable for a chaperone. I cannot imagine what you are thinking these days. I only hope you will not embarrass us at Redfields.”

Anger spurted up in Constance as she turned to look at her aunt. She had done her best for many years to please her. She had never expected her aunt to share her interests or be someone she would consider a friend; she knew they were far too different. But her aunt and uncle and their daughters were the only family she had, and she had thought that perhaps her aunt would have come to regard her with some affection. But over the last few days, since she had met Lady Haughston, it had been borne in on her that the only thing her aunt cared about in regard to Constance was Constance’s doing things for her. The moment she deviated from the path Aunt Blanche had set out for her, the woman was quick to belittle and hurt her.

“I will strive not to humiliate you,” Constance said flatly, looking her aunt in the eye. “However, I feel I must tell you that I am not a chaperone. I have helped you with Margaret and Georgiana, and of course I will continue to do so. But chaperoning your daughters lies with you, Aunt, and not me. I was invited by Lady Haughston to Redfields to enjoy myself, and that is what I intend to do. I will not spend my time fetching and carrying for you and the girls, or hovering over them.”

Her aunt’s eyes sparked with anger. “Well! You have become most insolent. I daresay it is Lady Haughston’s influence. I do not believe that she is a good companion for you.”

“Indeed? No doubt you think it would be better if Lady Haughston removed herself from our lives.” Constance cast a challenging look at her aunt.

Aunt Blanche drew a breath, but she seemed to think better of what she was about to say. She pursed her lips, then, after a moment, went on. “What is perfectly acceptable behavior in a woman of Lady Haughston’s stature is not necessarily attractive in an unmarried woman, especially one with no fortune or high name to recommend herself.”

“I believe the Woodley name is good enough for anyone,” Constance said stoutly. “I cannot believe that you think differently.”

Her aunt looked nonplussed. “I did not mean…The Woodleys are as fine a family as one could find.” She stopped and scowled at Constance. “I don’t know why we are standing here talking about such things. We had better get back to packing.”

She cast a last sour look at the garments on the bed and left the room.

Constance finished packing, doing her best to put her words with her aunt out of her mind. She was going to enjoy this visit, and she was determined not to let her aunt spoil it for her.

They left the next day, after spending a trying morning getting the luggage loaded onto the post chaise. It was not a long journey, which was fortunate, as Georgiana was not a good traveler, and they had to stop often to allow her queasy stomach to subside.

They arrived at Redfields in the late afternoon, driving through a pleasant park of old spreading chestnuts and pink-flowered hawthorns, emerging at last to see the main house spread out before them.

“Oh!” Constance sucked in a quick breath of admiration, leaning her head out the carriage window to get a better view.

The setting sun washed the redbrick house in a warm glow, sparkling on the glass of its many windows. Three stories tall, with a peaked roof and three tall pinnacled gables jutting out from the front in a classic E pattern, it was a house that was at once both stately and welcoming. A multitude of chimneys adorned the steeply pitched roof of the central section, and a long wing, only one story in height, ran off the east side of the house, topped by a balustraded walkway.

It was a beautiful home. How, Constance wondered, could Lord Leighton be so reluctant to visit it? She thought that if she were heir to such an inviting home, she would spend all her time here.

Their vehicle pulled to a stop before the central gable, which jutted out a little more than those on either side of it, forming an enclosed porch leading to the heavy wood door. They disembarked, looking up in some awe at the house, which was even more impressive up close. Three sets of coats of arms were carved into the stone above the porch, and more carvings adorned the stone archway leading to the front door.

The door was opened immediately by a liveried footman, who led them through the large entryway to the drawing room. Constance walked along the marbled hallway, following the stiff back of the footman, her stomach tightening with nerves.
What if Francesca was not here to greet them?
She did not even know Lord and Lady Selbrooke, and even though their daughter had invited Constance and her family, she could not help but wonder if they resented the intrusion of a group of people whom they had never even met before.

She was much relieved to see Francesca sitting on a sofa in the drawing room, conversing with an older woman who resembled her enough that Constance knew it must be Francesca’s mother. Constance’s gaze traveled across the room. There, standing by the window, was Lord Leighton. He had turned at their entrance, and the light from the window fell across his handsome features. Constance’s heart gave a thud as he smiled at her.

Francesca jumped up with a little cry when she saw them and hurried forward to take Constance’s hand. She turned, leading Constance to the woman with whom she had been talking, and began her introductions.

Lady Selbrooke—for Constance had been accurate in her guess as to the older woman’s identity—was, up close, still quite similar in looks to her daughter, though her blonde hair was streaked with gray, and tiny lines fanned out beside the blue eyes and bracketed her mouth. There was, however, none of the animation in her features that so brightened Francesca’s face; her expression was carefully controlled—even, Constance thought, a trifle icy. Lady Selbrooke nodded to Constance and her family politely, and murmured a welcoming comment, but there was no real interest in her features.

Lord Selbrooke rose from his chair to greet them, as well. His manner was as reserved as his wife’s, and though he was a handsome middle-aged man, there was none of the laughter in his eyes or the ease of manner that made his son so appealing.

“Are you acquainted with Lady Rutherford and Miss Muriel Rutherford?” Francesca went on, turning toward the other occupants of the room. “Lady Rutherford, Miss Rutherford, may I present Sir Roger and Lady Woodley? Miss Constance Woodley.”

Constance turned in the direction Francesca indicated and saw a dark-haired middle-aged woman, and a younger woman with equally black hair sitting beside her. They regarded Constance coolly. She realized, with some shock, that they were the two women who had stared with such dislike at her at the dance the other evening.

Constance gave them her curtsey, murmuring a polite greeting, and discreetly looked them over as Francesca went on to introduce her cousins. Muriel Rutherford was sitting, spine straight and not touching the back of the chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was dressed in an afternoon frock of sprigged muslin, ruffled at the hem and around the neckline, its soft, girlish lines at odds with the rather severe set of her face. Her eyes were a very pale blue, adding to the icy quality of her demeanor. She was a younger version of her mother, down to the narrow nose and straight mouth.

“Miss Woodley!” Lord Leighton’s voice jolted her from her study of Miss Rutherford, and she turned to face him as he came forward from his position near the window. His lips were curved and his eyes twinkling in that slightly mischievous way he had. He reached her and bowed over her hand, holding it for a moment longer than was necessary.

Out of the corner of her eye, Constance saw Muriel Rutherford’s lips thin with displeasure.

“It is a pleasure to see you again,” Leighton told her.

Constance promptly forgot all about the Rutherford women as she smiled up at him. “Lord Leighton. Pray allow me to introduce you to my aunt and uncle.”

He turned to the other members of her family, smiling with an easygoing charm. “Sir Roger. Lady Woodley. Miss Woodley. Miss Woodley. I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

Georgiana and Margaret promptly fell into blushes and giggles at his smile, and Aunt Blanche looked to be equally susceptible to his charm.

“Oh, yes, indeed, thank you, my lord,” Aunt Blanche said, her manner almost coquettish. “So good of you to ask.”

“I am sure you must be exhausted, however,” Francesca said. “Shall I take you to your rooms now?”

Francesca swept them upstairs, her arm linked companionably through Constance’s. “Purlew could have shown you to your rooms,” she said, leaning in confidentially. “But I wanted to get away from there. I suppose dryer conversation could be had somewhere, but I would not like to hear it. I do feel a bit guilty, though, about leaving poor Dom to endure it.”

Constance smiled. “I suspect that if he wishes, Lord Leighton will have little trouble extricating himself from the conversation.”

Francesca chuckled. “So soon you know him.”

Constance was grateful to discover that her room was next to Francesca’s and thus half the length of the hallway from the two rooms belonging to her aunt and uncle, and her cousins. She suspected that Francesca had seen to that arrangement, and she blessed her silently. It would be far easier to avoid assisting her cousins with their wardrobe if she was not right next door.

Her trunk had already been brought up to her room, and there was a maid pulling clothes out of it and putting them away in the dresser. She bobbed a curtsy to Constance, saying, “I’m Nan, miss. If you want anything, just call me.” She gestured toward the bellpull hanging beside the door. “Lady Haughston said her Maisie would be doing your hair, but I’m to help you with your clothes. Supper is at eight. Would you like a little lie-down first?”

Nan helped Constance out of her pelisse as she talked, inspecting it for any spot that might need cleaning, and hung it up in the large mahogany wardrobe, then took her bonnet and gloves, as well. She dug through Constance’s trunk for the dress that she would wear that night and hurried off to press the wrinkles from it while Constance washed the dust of travel from her face and hands. She took down her hair, as well, and brushed it out, feeling the slight headache that had built during the journey fade now into nothingness.

She stretched out on the bed, not really meaning to sleep, just thinking how blissful it was to have utter peace and quiet after the journey filled with rattles and shakes and unceasing chatter. She did not even realize that she had fallen asleep until she awoke sometime later, drawn from her slumber by the sound of the maid reentering her room. Nan carried the gown Constance had chosen to wear that night, freshly pressed. It was a white lace dress over a white satin slip, with a bodice of rose and white satin in broad vertical stripes. The neckline was low and square, trimmed in the same white lace.