The Wagered Heart: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (3 page)

“I’ve just come from my club,” Roland had stated without preamble. “I suspected that there could not be two lithe, lovely,
extremely tall
, flaxen-haired beauties unknown to the
ton
on Bolton Street today.”

“Good Lord! Speak up, boy, tell us what you know,” his father had urged.

“Well,” he had begun in a hesitant voice before seating himself across from Julia, “I really am not privy to all the details. Unfortunately, Lord Torrington saw the whole thing happen. He had been at a celebration yesterday evening with the Kelbourne set. They were in high spirits because Kel, that is Kelbourne, had wagered a fortune on some untried pugilist in a match against Cooper.”

“Pugilism! Never say Julia is somehow mixed up in pugilism,” Aunt Hyacinth had said in horror.

“Not exactly, Mama,” Roland had said.

Uncle Edmund had tossed an impatient glance to his wife. “Let the boy explain, Hyacinth.”

Roland had continued. “Kelbourne’s man somehow won the match in the wee hours. Everyone was there, and at the…er…celebration afterward Kel—and here is where my information gets sketchy—made some kind of vow.”

“Yes, he did say something about not going back on a vow,” Julia had interjected.

“Kelbourne, by all accounts made this vow publicly. Dame Fortune’s name was invoked, and that caused all the blades and bucks to rush back to London and place wagers in the betting books of most of the clubs in Town,” Roland had concluded.

“Good God,” Uncle Edmund had expostulated.

“All I know is that by Kel’s kissing Julia, enormous sums of money changed hands among a good number of the male members of the
ton
this afternoon.”

“Oh dear.” Caro had looked across to Julia with expressive eyes.

Julia had sat silent.

“‘Pon rep, Julia, I’d call Kelbourne out if I wasn’t sure he’d put a hole through me,” Roland had said, giving Julia a weak smile.

Uncle Edmund had jumped to his feet. “This is the most outrageous, unprincipled, insulting…” he had sputtered as he took long strides to the door. “Come, Roland, we shall pay a visit to Kelbourne this instant. I do not intend to let this jackanapes get away with this.”

Roland had half risen to follow when his mother’s voice halted them both.

“No, Edmund, you mustn’t.” Her voice had been authoritative despite the underlying note of panic.

Uncle Edmund had stopped mid-stride to look back at his wife in surprise.

“You do not expect me to let this insult to our niece pass?”

Julia had seen Aunt Hyacinth firm her lips. “Children, please leave so that your uncle and I can discuss this situation in private.”

Julia and Caro had exchanged speaking looks before silently following Roland from the sitting room.

Breakfast the next morning had seemed to Julia like an odd and unpleasant dream.

Her uncle had not met her eyes once while Aunt Hyacinth went on about the weather in an overly cheerful tone of voice.

Roland had gulped his food and excused himself, throwing Julia a sympathetic look on the way out. Caro had said nothing and gazed at her mother in
puzzlement. Julia had eaten very little, remained silent, and waited.

Finally, Aunt Hyacinth had set her cup down and looked across the table at Julia with the no-nonsense expression Julia had become very familiar with.

“My dear Julia, your uncle and I are aware of how important this Season is to you. But in light of yesterday’s shocking occurrence, I feel—that is—your uncle and I feel that it would be in your best interest to postpone your come-out until the gossip dies down.”

“Mama! You cannot mean it! Why, it is as if you are implying that somehow what happened yesterday was Julia’s fault.” Caro had stared at her mother in angry surprise.

“Not at all,” Aunt Hyacinth had replied. “We are only speaking of a postponement. Do not take on so.”

“But, Mama, this is not fair,” Caro had continued her argument. “Papa, please tell Mama that Julia must stay!”

Julia had been touched by her cousin’s loyalty and defense, but Julia also knew that her pleading would do no good.

“Perhaps it is for the best, because of the gossip…” Uncle Edmund’s voice had trailed away on this feeble excuse.

“Who cares about the gossip! I want Julia to stay!” Caro had exclaimed.

Aunt Hyacinth had heaved a heavy sigh and folded her hands primly in her ample lap.

“Caro, you force me to be frank. Though we have a certain cachet among the
ton
, we certainly do not circulate to such heights as the Duke of Kelbourne. He is a nonpareil of the first consequence. The duke will not suffer a whit for accosting Julia on the street yesterday—but Julia will. Any number of people saw the event. Roland heard it being discussed in his
club! If Julia appeared in Society, how long do you think it would take for her to be pointed at and gossiped about?”

This bit of logic had silenced Caro, and Julia could still recall the helpless, apologetic look on her cousin’s face.

Julia had been sent back to Chippenham the very next day. All her friends and acquaintances had not even tried to hide their avid curiosity at her sudden return. The only person she had shared the truth with, other than Uncle John and Aunt Beryl, had been her lifelong friend, Miss Mariah Thorncroft.

Julia had found some comfort in her discussions with her friend, for Mariah had an equally vivid imagination when it came to dreaming up fitting punishments for the evil duke.

But even after a year, questions about her return still cropped up. Why, even Cynthia Arnold, a neighbor child she had taught to read, had asked Julia if she had been naughty in London. Again, she had been forced to fib—to a child—about why she had not stayed in London for the Season. How she hated the Duke of Kelbourne!

Sighing, Julia tried to push her frustrated, vengeful thoughts away. She suddenly became aware of the letter she held crumpled in her palm and decided to divert herself with the as yet unread letter from Caro.

Unfolding the paper, she pressed it to her knee to smooth some of the creases before reading it in the late afternoon light.

Julia reread the letter with a growing smile. Indeed, she would seriously consider this unexpected invitation. Chippenham, especially after this last encounter with Mr. Fredericks, was having a stifling effect upon her of late. Her normal interests and pursuits had lost their appeal. She decided that Bath in the summer would be lovely.

Julia rose and left the lush garden. Entering the house from the wide stone steps that led to the French windows, she was aware of a budding sense of excitement, and was eager to discuss Caro’s letter with her aunt and uncle.

The maid was just bringing the tea service into the
sitting room, where her relatives were enjoying the view of the front garden.

“Oh, good, you have come in. I was feeling much too lazy to go and fetch you for tea,” Aunt Beryl called in a cheerful tone upon seeing her niece enter the room.

Julia smiled at her pretty, petite aunt as she seated herself in a comfortable chair across from her relatives. This was her favorite part of the day. To sit in this well-appointed room, with its warm, woodpaneled walls and myriad of cozy pillows, had always been a gentle pleasure.

Setting his newspaper aside, Uncle John looked at Julia with interest, his gray eyes very like her own. Of her deceased father’s two brothers, Julia thought that Uncle John looked most like her papa.

“Was that Mr. Fredericks I saw going down the lane as if the hounds of Hades were on his heels?”

“Yes, it was. I believe that he will not be returning anytime soon,” Julia sighed, and settled back comfortably in her chair.

“Oh no, Julia, not again!” her aunt cried, teapot suspended over her husband’s cup. “I thought surely that he would not renew his proposal after the last time you declined him,” she sighed, her still-brown curls shaking from beneath her mobcap.

“Yes, I am afraid that I had to speak quite plainly this time,” Julia said, suppressing a lingering stab of guilt regarding Mr. Fredericks.

“Nonsense, m’dear. If he is so thickheaded that a simple
no
will not do, then he deserves to be sent off with a flea in his ear,” Uncle John stated, accepting the cup from his wife.

Looking at her uncle with his shock of steel gray hair and erect military bearing, Julia decided to leave out the insult Mr. Fredericks had dealt her. Uncle
John would most likely call the younger man out if he knew.

“I have a letter from Caro,” Julia said without preamble, “and she has invited me to go to Bath and stay with her for the summer.”

At her aunt’s and uncle’s looks of surprise, she handed the letter across to Aunt Beryl.

While her aunt read the short missive, Julia sent a smile to her uncle. “I have not been away from Chippenham for some time. I have been rather dull lately, and I own a visit to Bath is appealing.”

Uncle John frowned. “I do not know, Julia. The last time you went off from us, there was a spot of trouble.”

Aunt Beryl snorted at this remark and laid the letter aside. “As if it was anyone’s fault that cad accosted Julia. Really, John! It might do Julia a bit of good to be away from Chippenham for a while. It has been much too dull here. This last year, she has done nothing but help me in the garden or tutor some of the village children. Besides, Bath is not far—we could easily visit Julia and Caroline this summer. I certainly would not mind taking the waters.”

A frown still creased her uncle’s forehead, but he did not argue further with his wife or niece.

Sitting back in her chair with her steaming cup of tea, Julia’s smile grew. Bath did indeed seem to be the perfect escape from unwanted suitors and nosy tabbies. She could not wait to send a note to Mariah Thorncroft with the news.

T
 he Duke of Kelbourne flicked aside another invitation, eyeing with distaste the growing pile on his desk. His secretary would be kept busy writing regrets, he mused. Leaning back in his leather chair, he gazed up at the hunting scene painted on the ceiling of his library for a moment before closing his eyes.

He found it curious, in a detached way, that though spring had arrived, he had not the least desire to go to his London townhouse and partake of the usual round of revelry with the other sprigs of the
ton.
He let this thought settle, lifted his legs, and placed his booted feet on his large desk, crossing his ankles.

For the last few weeks, he had been steadfast in his refusal to examine his reasons for not making any plans for the Season. Claiming that he had too many pressing issues to attend to at his country seat had sufficed for a while. But now his friends were beginning to badger him about going to London. After all, Mattonly had stressed in his most recent missive, the huge estate was constantly going through some sort of change or renovation and probably always would.

Some of his other friends had written to say that
the air in London was already crackling with the excitement of Princess Charlotte’s impending wedding to Prince Leopold. Many amusements were set to honor the heir to the throne’s nuptials, and Kel had invitations to every sort of soiree, levee, breakfast, and ball. He declined them all without a second glance.

However, Kel did find this avoidance of Town a shade out of his character. Since reaching his majority, the delights of the Season had always caused his pulse to quicken. Though he loved Kelbourne Keep, after a long winter he was usually so restless he could not wait to go to Town and kick up his heels. Even during the war, there had been enough excitement in Town to keep him there for the whole Season.

But not this year. Even his duties at Parliament could not compel him to leave his home. Shifting in his chair to a more comfortable slouch, he tried to bestir himself into some sort of interest for the allures of Town. All his friends were there. Racing, boxing, and fencing kept him busy. He waited for a reaction. Nothing. Not even the slightest lifting of this dashed ennui.

Puckering his brows, he tried again. He enjoyed the opera and the theater, and every Season there was at least one amusing bit of muslin that held his attention for a while. Again, nothing.

How about gambling? High stakes were sure to liven up an evening. Ah, finally, his pulse stirred at the thought of gambling. A good wager never failed to get his blood up. He had not had a good gamble since the beginning of last Season.

Last Season. It was not the thought of gambling that caused his pulse to stir; it was the thought of that last wager in particular.

With a quick movement, he lowered his legs,
pushed himself up from his desk, grabbed his walking stick, and headed for the French doors in the main salon. He strode out onto the terraced balcony that led to the garden and parkland beyond.

With long strides, he ambled over his land, eating up yards without any real notion of a destination. The day was glorious and warm, reminding him of that other glorious spring day, last year in London.