A Wager for Love Read online

  The journey back to Grosvenor Square

  was accomplished in silence. Only Richard ventured the odd word, but even he fell silent when he realised that his efforts were not appreciated. Despite Saltaire’s casual assurance that he would be most welcome, and Lavinia's attempt to persuade him, he had remained firm in his resolve to stay on with Lady Elizabeth, and in some ways Lavinia was quite relieved at his decision. It would be much easier for her to sustain her role as a happy wife, if she was called upon to do so only infrequently. Saltaire, with his worldly air and assurance, had quite bowled over the youthful Richard, she knew, but she doubted if his good opinion would last for long were they to live under the same roof. For Richard, as she was beginning to learn, had a very serious side to his nature. Indeed he had lost no time in declaring his firm intention of returning to the country and putting his estate in order, firmly rejecting all Lavinia's offers of financial assistance and stating that she had already done more than enough. This, accompanied by a speaking look, had almost caused Lavinia to cast herself upon her brother’s chest and tell him of her distress. For distressed she undoubtedly was. No amount of telling herself to pull herself together, had the desired effect, and she was sorely out of spirits.

  They set Richard down at Lady Elizabeth’s house before completing their own journey, Kitty sat dreamily in her seat, gazing into space, reliving her triumphs of the evening. Lavinia sat tensely on the edge of hers; her head was aching badly and she longed for the sanctuary of her room. She glanced across at her husband and saw that he was lounging back easily, the bored expression she had grown to know marring his handsome face. The carriage then stopped and the postilion ran round and opened the door. Lavinia gave Saltaire her arm and stepped out.

  "A glass of wine, Lavinia, Kitty?" enquired the Earl.

  Lavinia shook her head, flushing a little at his sardonic expression.

  "Come, my dear, it is most churlish of you. You complain that I neglect you and then when I suggest we spend half an hour together over a glass of wine, you refuse."

  Ignoring Kitty’s start of surprise, she burst out, "I did not complain to anyone. Whose company you spend your time in is of no consequence to me, I assure you."

  Kitty broke in, "Lord, Lavinia, never say you were put out because Saltaire’s mistress was there, why no-one gives a fig for such things now."

  There was a smothered oath from the Earl. "Thank you. Kitty, I believe I can handle this without your assistance, and if you persist in such indelicate comments, young lady, you will quickly discover just how wrong you are. No wonder your grandfather was delighted to get you off his hands."

  Kitty pouted, "I’m only repeating what the whole party was saying. After all, she is your mistress, isn’t she?"

  Without answering her question, the Earl continued coldly, "When I wish to be regaled by gossip picked up from the gutters, I shall ask for it, but until then you would do well to refrain from such vulgar behaviour."

  Kitty gazed at him wide-eyed, and then raising her skirts fled up the stairs. Never had she heard such a stern note in his voice before.

  Lavinia watched her, wishing she could follow, but unfortunately for her Saltaire blocked the way. She looked wildly round, but the hall was empty.

  "lf you're looking for the servants, you look in vain. They know me too well to be in evidence when I return home at night."

  She flushed at the insinuation in his voice, noticing for the first time the strange glitter in his eyes. Was it not enough that he paraded his mistress openly before her? Must she be constantly reminded of his inclinations at every turn?

  "Now, Madam wife, there are one or two matters I wish to discuss with you, so let us have that glass of wine."

  "I don’t want one," she began stubbornly. In her opinion her husband had already had at least one glass of wine too much.

  Saltaire, had he been aware of her thoughts, would have been amused. He could drink double the quantity he had consumed that evening, without ever beginning to feel the effects. He stepped forward, "Perhaps not, but I do." Inwardly quailing, she preceded him into the library, too much on edge to appreciate the warmth of the fire or the mellow comfort of the room.

  "It occurs to me that we ought to give a ball."

  "A ball?" Lavinia could scarcely conceal her astonishment. This was not what she had expected at all. In fact she was so surprised that she said the first thing that came into her head, and instantly regretted it, but it was too late to recall her impulsive words, "A ball, but who will come to it?"

  The green eyes hardened. "You consider me so far beyond the pale then, Madam? I assure you that you are very much mistaken, but then perhaps it is I who are wrong, perhaps it is merely that you do not feel up to such a task?"

  She could only stare at him.

  "There, it does not matter. I know of several ladies who would be only too delighted to assist you."

  Infuriated, Lavinia found her tongue and lashed back at him, "What ladies? Or do you mean one of your doxies. If so, I believe I can well do without their advice."

  The Earl seemed totally unmoved by her fury. "Again, you mistake my meaning, Madam. My doxies, as you so vulgarly call them, are my business. I have not the slightest intention of introducing them to my wife. Now if we may continue our discussion without these childish tantrums." He paused significantly as she coloured hotly. "Your gown," he gestured distastefully to the dress she was wearing. "I trust you will not appear again in such a garment."

  Lavinia could say nothing. She had been mortally aware of the limitations of her wardrobe, but how dare he mention it in such a manner. With a tremendous effort of will, she faced him squarely, and to her relief her voice scarcely trembled at all as she addressed him. "I don’t think I take your point, Sir. Am I to bedeck myself like a trollop? Would that be more to your taste?"

  There was an empty silence which seemed to the anxious Lavinia to stretch for minutes. "A trollop?" mused the Earl at length. "Umm, well I suppose that at least would be an improvement on appearing like a country dowd and making a complete laughing stock of yourself and me." He shrugged a little. "It is nothing to me if you wish to make a fool of yourself. But when it comes to my reputation, it is a different matter altogether," he drawled unpleasantly, taking a pace towards her, and leaning forward menacingly. "And just in case you feel inclined to ignore my wishes, Madam, let me tell you that I am perfectly capable of taking you to a modiste myself and seeing that you are dressed as I wish. Do I make myself clear?"

  She swallowed nervously. Did he make himself clear? Only too clear. And she knew him well enough already to know he was making no idle threat, but she allowed not one jot of her trepidation to appear on her face, merely replying coolly, "And doubtless you have plenty of experience."

  "As you so rightly say, I have the experience," he agreed suavely, "Now, Madam, do I have your agreement?"

  She made a last rallying attempt to best him. "And pray who is to pay for all these fine feathers? Myself, I have no doubt."

  His eyes watched her coldly. "Be careful, Madam. I have already warned you against willfully provoking me. However, to answer your question, I believe that I am at least I

  able to provide my wife with sufficient to clothe herself. So, it is agreed."

  His tone was dismissive and Lavinia got unsteadily to her feet.

  Why did he always have this effect of making her feel so helpless?

  His voice halted her at the door. "I shall shortly let you have a list of guests for the ball, and I think we should hold it at the end of the month."

  She whirled round in dismay. "But so soon? I mean . . ."

  He raised one haughty eyebrow. "You cannot be ready?"

  Seething, Lavinia left the room, and as soon as she gained the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she dismissed her maid in a curt tone of voice. "I don't need you tonight. You may go."

  She pulled off her gown, eyeing it with disfavour. It was dowdy. She clenched her fist, trying to prevent the tears
spurting from her eyes. Was it her fault she had nothing fit to be seen in? If only she had been with Lady Elizabeth a little longer, she would have had a wardrobe to rival anyone’s. Obeying an impulse, she walked across to the closet and threw open the doors. She viewed her gowns with distaste. They had all been purchased in Rome, and were eminently suitable for a young lady of quiet, retiring habit, but certainly not for a Countess. Only the pale green satin had any pretensions to fashion. But the memory of what had occurred on the fateful night when she had first worn it, vividly untenable, came to mind, making her turn away in revulsion. No, she could never bear to wear that gown again. She smiled a little grimly. So her husband thought she was dowdy, did he? Doubtless he also thought her dull, complacent and biddable. Well, he should soon learn his mistake. She brushed her hair vigorously, trying to find an outlet for her temper, and then, once in bed, lay awake for what seemed like hours, trying to think of unpleasantly, satisfying fates for her husband. At last she fell into a dream-troubled sleep where she was being pursued by a hoard of beautiful women, all shrieking after her that she was too dowdy. When she awoke, she was completely unrefreshed, but had only one thought in her mind‑to teach her arrogant husband a lesson he would never forget.

  8

  Kitty was sipping her morning chocolate when Lavinia burst into her room like a whirlwind, announcing that she must hurry as they were leaving for the shops within the hour.

  Surprised, Kitty put down her cup. "But, Lavinia, it was only yesterday that you told me you did not need anything. "

  "That was yesterday," was the only response from Lavinia.

  Thus Kitty bid her maid to help her dress, and before two hours had passed, the ladies were stepping from the house and entering the carriage.

  "Why such a rush?" enquired Kitty, once she had settled herself to her satisfaction.

  Lavinia smiled a little, but said nothing. She had no intention of confiding in Kitty, a pretty child, but so impetuous. There was no guarantee that she would not blurt out anything Lavinia might tell her, and probably right in front of Saltaire. "Oh it’s nothing, Kitty, but Saltaire announced last night that he wishes me to give a ball before the month is out, and I intend that it shall be the very best of the season. Naturally we shall need new gowns, and besides," her smile became a little broader, "I was looking in my closet last night and I declare I have nothing fit to be seen in."

  Kitty, who had noticed with surprise the toss of the head and sparkling eyes that had accompanied Lavinia's words about the ball, could certainly see nothing to quibble about in her desire to refurbish her wardrobe. However, her mind on the proposed ball, she enquired frowning. "And you are to arrange this ball? Oh Lavinia, can you . . ."

  "Can I what?" interrupted Lavinia a little dryly. "Do you think I am not capable?" .

  "Oh no, indeed," averred Kitty hurriedly. "It is just that it will be such an undertaking. I ain sure I wouldn't even know where to begin," she admitted frankly.

  Lavinia shrugged, unwilling to betray her own doubts of her abilities. "Well, I shall be able to call on Lady Elizabeth for help, and then of course, there is Saltaire's housekeeper. There must surely have been balls at the house before."

  "Well, yes," admitted Kitty, still a little doubtful. "But . . ."

  Before she could say any more, the carriage was stopping outside the select Modiste patronised by Lady Elizabeth. Lavinia entered the shop in the manner of one about to join battle, and Kitty, who only the previous day had decided that Lavinia must have very little interest in clothes, now found herself gulping with admiration, tinged with dismay, as Lavinia recklessly ordered gown after gown. The Modiste, recognising a good customer when she saw one, bustled forward herself, waving her assistants aside.

  "Perhaps if I may be allowed to help, Madam?"

  Lavinia, absently fingering a roll of lemon and russet striped tabby, turned. "Yes." The gowns she had already chosen, walking dresses, afternoon dresses, a riding habit in an emerald velvet which set off` her colouring to advantage, were all very beautiful, but for the ball she wanted something special. She eyed the Modiste shrewdly. "I need a ball gown within the month. Something very special, you understand?"

  The Modiste beamed. Indeed she did. "A ball, you say. Ah yes, that must be Lady Arawak's."

  Lavinia shook her head. Then Kitty, impulsive as always burst in, "No, it is our . . . I mean the Countess of Saltaire`s ball."

  The Modiste eyed Lavinia speculatively. She had heard of Saltaire's marriage. Indeed, who had not? And it was true to say that in the past in one way or another a good deal of his money had come her way. So this was the new Countess. Not strictly a beauty, but she had a certain something, and that hair‑such a glorious colour. Madam was right to leave it unpowdered. For a few moments she contemplated Lavinia in silence. So Madam wanted a very special gown. "Special, you say?" she murmured, "I think I have the very thing. It is new from France, the doll and the material arrived only this morning. There will not be another to match it, you may be assured of that."

  Before their bemused eyes she unrolled the material. Both Lavinia and Kitty gasped in appreciation. It was pale lemon satin, embroidered in a delicate gold tracery of leaves and flowers, the centre of each flower hung with a minute emerald. Lavinia touched it admiringly. The Modiste smiled in satisfaction. "Admittedly it is a difficult colour to wear. On a blonde, too insipid. On a brunette," she smiled in Kitty's direction, "pretty, but it can make the complexion appear a trifle sallow. But on Madam, La Comtesse," – she glanced approvingly at Lavinia `s locks ‑ "it will be magnificent."

  Lavinia tentatively fingered the material. It was beautiful, and doubtless vastly expensive. She wavered for a second and then, remembering the unpleasantness of the Earl`s remarks, her resolve hardened. He considered her a country dowd, did he? Well, let him see her in this. So busy was she contemplating the occasion when he would see her in this gown, that it did not occur to her that such a desire was rather strange. Especially in one who had declared only a few short hours before that she hated the Earl. She touched the material again, a small secret smile curving her mouth, which the Modiste, an extremely shrewd person, had not the slightest difficulty in recognising. The Countess would surely have the material. And the man for whom she would wear it? Ah, she was far too astute to mention him. Let the Countess keep her secret if she wished.

  "l shall have it," announced Lavinia recklessly. "And now for the style."

  Eagerly the Modiste produced the pattern doll. "If I might suggest, My Lady . . ." She had no need to say any more. Lavinia was enraptured. Looped over an absolutely plain ivory underskirt and lavishly trimmed with lace, the dress was entrancing. She nodded approvingly. "Yes, that is perfect."

  Only Kitty seemed a little uncertain. "But, Lavinia," she whispered. "It is a little on the low side, don’t you think?"

  The Modiste raised one supercilious eyebrow and Lavinia, who had until that moment been wondering herself if the neckline was not a trifle outre, was reassured. "My Lady would not accuse me of selling anything that was not entirely comme il faut?"

  "Oh no. No such thing," averred Lavinia. "I'm sure you know just what is best. But do you think I could perhaps have gold lace?" asked Lavinia hesitantly.

  The Modiste nodded approvingly. "Indeed, My Lady is taste is impeccable. Nothing could be better. Gold lace it shall be. Madam will be ravissement."

  “If not ravished," murmured Kitty, sotto voce, earning herself a reproving smile from Lavinia.

  "Now, Kitty, you too must have a new dress. We cannot let Saltaire down." There was a faint trace of irony in the dulcet tones, which made Kitty look a little suspiciously at the older girl. Her first impression that Lavinia was a quiet, dull sort of person was rapidly undergoing a change. "What think you of this rose brocade, Lavinia?" Kitty asked longingly.

  Lavinia shook her head firmly. "I’m afraid not, it must be white."

  Kitty pulled a face, but the Modiste intervened soothingly. "But naturellement, white it
must be for such a jeune fille as yourself. Ah, how delightful to be young enough to carry off the very simplest of styles. Mamselle will look like an angel."

  Lavinia hid a smile. It would be difficult to find anyone less angelic than Kitty.

  The details discussed and the orders placed, at last the two ladies took their leave. "Now where, Kitty? The milliners perhaps? But I really want some perfume."

  Kitty looked a little uncertain. "It is getting late," she objected. "Oughtn’t we to be getting back?"

  Lavinia gave her a sharp look. "Why?"

  Kitty wriggled uncomfortably beneath her penetrating gaze. "Well, it we were to have any callers . . ."

  ". . . They will doubtless leave cards, and call again," broke in Lavinia. "Besides we have scarcely met anyone yet."