A Wager for Love Read online

  Frightened, but determined not to show it, Lavinia met his eyes.

  "Excuse me, My Lord . . ." The vicar was hovering anxiously. Saltaire gave Lavinia a savage glare and then turned aside to attend to the clergyman. When at last he faced her again, he had himself well in hand.

  "Ours is a marriage of convenience, Madam, so disabuse yourself of any foolish ideas you might be harbouring. But, and I shall only say this once, I warn you all the Saltaires are renowned for their tempers, push me too far and you will regret it."

  Rigid with fury, Lavinia stood her ground. "Convenient for whom, My Lord, certainly not for me, and believe me I harbour no ideas. I am no young Miss to fall into a green sickness and languish over a romantic rake. I scarcely supposed you to have fallen madly in love with me the moment you set eyes on me," she added for good measure. "And of one thing you may be sure, your distaste of my person in no way exceeds mine of yours."

  Saltaire was busily engaged in removing one strand of russet hair from his coat, a task which had Lavinia’s eyes fixed on him as a certain dreadful suspicion formed in her mind. She had no doubt that that hair was her own. How it had got there and, worse still, why it should remain seemingly lovingly curled around Saltaire’s shoulder, she could not begin to understand.

  At last when he did respond to her comment, he seemed more disposed to be amused than annoyed, "Did I say your person gave me a distaste. I think not. Indeed . . ." He eyed her consideringly in a fashion that brought the blood surging to her face. ". . . I am sure it is quite delightful."

  "And you are of course an expert," she flung at him.

  "Well, let us say a connoisseur," he amended. "And now, it you will follow me, I believe Mrs. Robbins has prepared a room for you."

  The housekeeper had indeed, and if she thought it strange that the new bride should spend the night alone in the bridal chamber, she was far too well trained to say so.

  5

  Whilst Lavinia was facing her first morning as the Countess of Saltaire, three people were surveying with differing degrees of surprise, or horror, dependent upon their natures, missives they had received from the Earl.

  The first of the trio. Viscount Ordley, was sipping distastefully at a small glass of beer with very little appearance of relish, surveying his countenance in the mirror with a good deal ofsatisfaction. Indeed, he considered he had every right to feel exceedingly well pleased with life, little knowing the blow fate had in store for him. Firstly, and perhaps least importantly, for the Viscount, although nice in his dress, was definitely not one ofyour Macaronis, his new velvet coat delivered that very morning (and as yet unpaid for) had been a very happy choice. Secondly, had he not also every hope of winning his bet against his cousin, and collecting seventy thousand guineas into the bargain; and lastly and most important of all, he would have the satisfaction of, for the first and perhaps the only time in his life, besting his cousin, whom he hated most intensely.

  A discreet knock on the door produced a flunkey bearing a silver salver on which reposed the note. He opened it and read it, stunned incredulity darkening his face, as he scanned the lines. "God in Heaven, I don't believe it. " His fist crashing onto the table sent the remains of the beer slopping onto the carpet. His valet, just about to place upon his Master's head his wig, backed off slowly. Well did he know his master’s tempers and he was in no mind to receive a missile at his head.

  In furious disbelief Ordley read the note once more.

  "My dear cousin, I beg leave to inform you that I have this very evening taken to wife Miss Lavinia Davenham. Indeed by the time you receive my note, the girl will be mine and the wager won."

  His face purple with rage, Ordley screwed the note into a ball and hurled it into the fireplace with a curse, chewing his bottom lip angrily. It was scarcely twenty-four hours since he had received from his cousin a draft in settlement of young Arnedale's debts, and now this.

  * * *

  The second member of the trio opened his letter in a well furnished room in his house at Albermarle Street

  . The bright morning sunlight streamed in through the windows of the well-proportioned morning room, picking out its rich furnishings, but Lord Ware was oblivious to the beauties of the morning. Thoughtfully he perused his letter, a small smile playing round his mouth, and then placing it down on the table he rang for his butler. "My brother, Charles, where is he?"

  The butler, who was inured to the wild pranks of his Master’s younger brother, coughed depreciatingly, "Ahem, he isn't in the house, My Lord. Indeed I have not seen him all morning."

  Lord Ware tapped his fingers absently on the table for a moment. "Well I wish to see him the moment he returns, and if he is not back within two hours you must send a running footman for him."

  Dismissing the man, he leaned against the fireplace, one hand under his chin. "So, Gilles, you accomplished it then," he murmured to himself. "Unfortunate for the poor bride though."

  For no good reason at all Lord Ware recalled the girl he had seen leaving the house in Grosvenor Square so hurriedly, pondering on what he had previously overlooked, the draft lying carelessly on the Earl's desk. He sighed a little. At one time he had thought that marriage to the right woman would be the making of his friend, but now . . . He shook his head. He doubted that any woman had it in her power to sway him from his chosen path, which appeared to be the swiftest possible one to ruin. He sighed again, his breakfast quite forgotten.

  * * *

  The last member of the trio was at his breakfast when Lady Elizabeth's butler announced a caller. Richard, Lord Arnedale, had not as yet made so many acquaintances in London that a caller was an occasion of small or no import. Taking a hasty swallow of his coffee, he gestured to the man, but the Honourable Charles Ffoilliot, Lord Ware’s amiable younger brother, was already bounding up the stairs two at a time, the note he had picked up from the tray in the hall in his hand.

  "Charles, it's gvood to see you," greeted Richard warmly.

  Charles, although only some six months older than Richard, was far better versed in the Ton and its ways, due in the main to the endeavours of his older brother, and was consequently the ideal companion for a young man desirous of entering into all the pleasurable pursuits of the Upper Ten Thousand.

  "Lord, Richard, you look devilish fine. I swear if I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t recognise you for the same person." He stood back admiringly.

  Richard grinned a little bashfully as Charles took in the splendour of his cream small clothes and maroon velvet coat, lavishly embroidered with silver peacocks. He waited anxiously as Charles surveyed him first from this angle and then from the other.

  "Perhaps it is a little . . .?" he ventured at last.

  "No . . . No . . ." Charles looked up consideringly. "No, Richard, it is very well. Perhaps a touch more lace at the cuffs," he added thoughtfully, "and you must have a snuff box of course, but we shall attend to that this morning."

  Richard could find nothing to cavil at in this excellent plan. Feeling that he had passed an extremely difficult test with flying colours, he turned to instruct the footman to tell Lady Elizabeth of his plans.

  "Oh by the way, Richard, I nearly forgot. I have a note here for you. It was in the hall so I carried it up with me." Charles turned it over, looking at the inscription in startled surprise. "Why, ‘tis from the Earl, I didn’t know you were on writing terms with Saltaire, Richard?"

  Richard flushed, took the note and slowly opened it feeling puzzled. Charles had made many mentions of the Earl's exploits to his cronies at University, and Richard had conceived something akin to hero worship of the older man, although he had never actually met him. He could hardly believe his eyes; the letter dropped from his fingers, to be hastily rescued by Charles, who scanned the lines, giving a soundless whistle. "So that is the way of it is it . . ."

  Richard swallowed, stuttering, "There must be some mistake . . . why, Lavinia doesn't even know him."

  Charles glanced at him. "Saltaire wouldn’
t let a little thing like that stand in his way, especially with what he had at stake."

  "What?" Richard was too bemused to pay very much heed to his friend’s words, so great was his shock.

  "Well, ‘tis obvious he has married her to win his bet," pointed out Charles, helping himself to a generous portion of beef, and thus missing Richard's bewildered expression.

  "What bet?"

  "Oh didn’t you know?" Charles was surprised. "Ah, no, now I remember, it was after you had left White’s the other night. Ordley bet the Earl that he could not marry within the week a girl of good family and possessed of a fortune. Apparently he had to marry anyway, something about his grandfather's Will. He left Saltaire his money only on condition that he married within a certain period." He chewed reflectively for a second and then frowningly remarked, "But I didn't know your sister had a fortune."

  Richard, his mind still trying to assimilate the information that his sister. Lavinia. was married to the Earl of Saltaire, murmured, "What? Oh yes." He bit his lip, pale but resolute . . . "Charles. you don’t think Saltaire has forced Lavinia to marry him against her will?"

  "Must have done. I suppose," said Charles reasonably, instantly regretting his words when he saw Richard’s face, and hastily tried to make amends. "That is he may have, but it's not definite. They might have conceived a violent attraction for one another."

  "But I don’t think Lavinia has ever met him," said Richard slowly. "She has only been in London a matter of days."

  Charles, seeing that the conversation was getting out of hand, offered palliatively, "But you don’t know that, Richard, they could have met abroad."

  "Yes." Relief showed on Richard's all too transparent face. "Yes, that could have been the way of it." The uncomfortable thought suddenly struck Richard that he was perhaps not showing the indignation expected of him, after all he could not be sure that Saltaire had not forced Lavinia against her will. His hands clenched a little, his eyes kindling as Richard contemplated his duty.

  Charles, who had been congratulating himself on his diplomacy, for in his opinion it was plain that Saltaire had made off with the chit, observed the new determination on Richard’s face with unease.

  "It says in the note that Saltaire has taken Lavinia to his country seat. I shall go after them and see for myself that Lavinia is all right." Feeling that perhaps in terms of righteous indignation this speech left something to be desired, Richard added portentously, "And if he has so much as hurt one single hair of her head, I shall kill him."

  Charles, whilst applauding the sentiments of these words, felt constrained to point out, "You can’t do that, Richard. Not for marrying the girl." He shook his head gravely. "Now if he had run off with her, and not married her then . . ." Seeing the infelicity of the direction these thoughts were taking, he added, "You can’t kill him anyway, devilish fine swordsman is Saltaire, one of the best. He would spit you in a flash and then there would be an outcry. You can’t go round killing off your own brother-in-law. Devilish bad ton." A fresh thought struck him. "Besides, your sister might be glad to be a Countess, odd creatures women."

  Richard was torn between his admiration of the Earl and his desire to protect his sister. Hearing about Saltaire's exploits was one thing, but knowing his sister to be involved in one of them was different altogether. Richard sighed, his mind made up. He would go after them. Having made the decision, he was all impatience to be gone, as he now felt uneasy for his sister’s safety. "Charles, I’m leaving immediately," he announced, cutting short his friend’s ramblings. "You can come with me or not, as you please.'"

  Startled by this new show of force, Charles objected, "We can't leave today, Richard. You must recollect that we promised to dine with my brother, and then there’s Lady Summerton's drum."

  It soon became obvious that nothing he could say would change his hot-headed young friend’s mind. For several minutes Charles persevered, explaining the inadvisability of such a course and begging Richard to give it further thought, but all to no avail. There was a set look about Richard’s mouth that several persons would have had no difficulty in recognising as the Davenham trait of. stubbornness.

  There was no help to be gained from Lady Elizabeth either. Having spent the most miserable evening of her life, wondering what dreadful fate had befallen her cousin and worrying distractedly what to tell Richard (for she held out no hope oh the highwayman keeping his word and advising Richard himself), she had at last given in to her maid’s pleadings and swallowed a few drops of laudanum in water, and was at that very moment heavily and deeply asleep.

  Richard, having taken a stand, could not be coaxed or persuaded to change his mind, and Charles decided to do what he always did in times of crisis‑seek the advice of his brother. Taking his leave of the now extremely unhappy Richard, he pondered a little on the problem, but could find no solution. In his own heart of hearts he had no doubt that Saltaire had abducted the chit, although prudence made him retrain from confiding his suspicions to Richard. Still, he thought to himself, Ware would know what ought to be done. Devilish astute was old Ware. Comforted by this thought Charles sped his footsteps in the direction of Albermarle Street

  .

  Handing his hat to the footman, Charles addressed him with all the familiarity of one who has been known to the household since he was in short coats. "My brother, James, is he in? I have a matter of great importance to discuss with him."

  "Indeed, Master Charles, he is in the study. I take it that it is no . . . That is I trust . . ."

  Comprehension suddenly dawning and momentarily diverted, Charles eyed the footman "What? Oh no, James," he reassured him, "Nothing like that, I ain’t in River Tick or Jew King’s hands."

  "I am most relieved to hear it, Master Charles."

  With scant respect for his brother's dignity, Charles burst into the room. "WeIl, brother, and here is a pretty mess, Saltaire has run off with Arnedale's sister. and Arnedale is swearing he will go after them‑worried in case the chit has been forced to the match."

  Lord Ware, used to the exigencies of the youngest member of his family, put down his paper and surveyed him mildly. "Unfortunate, I agree. I already knew that Saltaire had married the girl."

  Stopped in mid breath, Charles sank down into a chair. "Lud, Ware, can’t tell you anything. How comes it about that you do know anyway?" he complained, a startled expression on his face.

  Correctly interpreting his thoughts, Lord Ware smiled slightly, "No, Charles, I didn’t have a hand in it if that’s what you're thinking." He picked up a piece of notepaper, waving it before his brother’s bemused eyes, "I was the recipient of a letter from Saltaire this morning."

  With Charles complaining indignantly that he had never for one moment supposed his brother to be involved, it was some time before Lord Ware was able to return to the subject of Richard. "I take it the boy is determined to follow them."

  "Oh aye," returned his brother gloomily, "When I left he was on the point of sending round to his stables. Mind, I did try to put the matter right . . ."

  "Oh?" Lord Ware surveyed him expectantly.

  "Told him that it was probably a love match," confided Charles, well pleased with himself.

  "A love match?" reiterated his brother faintly. "Er, how did Richard take that?"

  Charles shrugged. "I fancy he would like to believe it."

  "Umm." Lord Ware watched his brother thoughtfully, "I think we shall have to take a short trip to the country, Charles, if only to save the young man’s skin. Saltaire doesn’t take too kindly to interference, although it's too late for him to do anything now."

  "He thinks to challenge Saltaire," scoffed Charles. "Never fear though, I told him how it would be; Saltaire will spit him as easily as can be." He shuddered a little, "I tell you, Ware, I wouldn’t like to face Saltaire across the length of a sword."

  "Charles, you amaze me, I almost begin to think there may be some hope for you at last. Some smatterings of intelligence . . ."

&nbs
p; "The devil, brother," replied that young gentleman with an injured air. "Surely you never thought I would be foolish enough to pick a quarrel with SaItaire."

  There was a moment’s silence broken by Lord Ware saying, "I only hope that by the time he reaches them, young Richard has had time to reconsider."

  Charles nodded gloomily. "Aye, and the worst of it is that Richard don’t even know yet whether the girl went willingly or not."

  Lord Ware kept his thoughts on this particular matter to himself.

  * * *

  At last, having listened as patiently as he could to numerous dire warnings and pessimistic forecasts from his coachman, Richard was on his way in the smart new carriage delivered only a few days before, his valises strapped on the back. It was already well into the afternoon, and by the time they had travelled for a few hours, Richard, lulled by the gentle motion of the coach and the rigours of the previous evening, started to fall into a light doze, pondering quite unsuccessfully on the mystery of his sister’s marriage to the Earl of Saltaire. Whilst even he could not totally overlook the fact that everything pointed to the Earl having abducted Lavinia, and marrying her out of hand, so great was his admiration for the older man that he was reluctant to believe such a thing of him, despite his reputation. As Lavinia’s brother he owed it to her to discover the truth, much as he disliked the thought of his coming interview with the Earl, especially now that his initial dread had begun to fade, being replaced by a feeling of distinct unease at the thought of facing such a very grand personage. However, firmly telling himself that nothing could be gained by idle speculation, his natural optimism soon reasserted itself, and before too long he was nearly convinced that his initial fear had been totally unfounded‑nearly but not quite‑some lingering unease made him rather anxious to see his sister for himself, but happily his anxieties were not grave enough to keep him awake and soon he was sunk in slumber.