A Wedding Wager (2 page)

She shrugged again. “Apart from the fact that I have no choice, Sebastian, I think I’m ready for a change. London grows tedious, and the play at the tables has lost its excitement here. The gamesters don’t play as high as we need them to, and the authorities are becoming unpleasantly watchful. We need to move on.”

“What about us?” he repeated, his voice strangely flat.

“What about us?” she responded. Her eyes were a startling violet in a complexion as smooth and pale as clotted cream, but they were without expression as she looked at him steadily. “We had an enjoyable dalliance, my dear, but that was all. All it could possibly be, given our circumstances. My stepfather would never consider an alliance with a penniless aristocrat, even if your family
could be brought to contemplate taking one of faro’s daughters into their midst.”

She laughed without humor.

“Don’t tell me, Sebastian, that you ever contemplated anything more than a pleasant but short-lived flirtation. Because I certainly did not. If I gave you that impression, then I am deeply sorry for it.” She brushed a stray ringlet, black as a raven’s wing, away from her cheek as she spoke.

Sebastian’s face was suddenly ashen. “You know that’s not true. I love you, Serena. You love me … you know you do.”

She shook her head impatiently. “You’re so young, Sebastian. What do you know of the world? I was afraid you would be upset, which is why I wanted to tell you myself, but believe me, my dear, I have never loved you. I cannot afford to love anyone. You will find the right woman soon enough. But I am not that woman.”

Silence greeted her words, then he spoke very quietly. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I don’t know you at all.” He turned on his heel, picked up his hat, and left the parlor, closing the door softly behind him.

Serena stood still, staring at the closed door, her face expressionless, her eyes unreadable. The slam of the front door seemed to shake the house, startling her into movement. She went to the window, looking down on the street, watching as Sebastian strode towards the Piazza without a backwards look.

“You did your work well, I trust … sent him to
the right-about?” The general’s voice behind her made her jump slightly. She didn’t turn to face him, but her mouth was set, her shoulders rigid.

“As you ordered, sir.” Her voice was cold. “Just as you ordered.”

“I would not have imposed that interview upon you, but since you insisted on seeing him, you have only yourself to blame if it distressed you. Hurry now, we leave for Dover in one hour.”

London, 1762

Jasper St. John Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater, surveyed his twin brothers with a quizzical smile. “So, my dears, I’ve done my part, and ’tis up to you now to fulfill the terms of our esteemed uncle’s will.”

The Honorable Sebastian Sullivan raised a questioning eyebrow at his twin, who was staring blankly at the rich Aubusson carpet at his feet. “Well, Perry, Jasper has his bride. What are we going to do about finding our own?”

“It’s insane, worthy of a bedlamite,” the Honorable Peregrine declared, raising his eyes at last. Ordinarily serene, those deep blue eyes flickered with derision. “Somehow each of the three of us before the old man’s death has to marry a woman in need of spiritual or moral salvation in order to share equally in his fortune. What kind of nonsense is that?”

“But think of that fortune,” Jasper said gently, taking a pinch of snuff. “Nine hundred thousand pounds, my dear Perry, is not to be sneezed at.” He dropped
the enameled snuffbox back into the deep, lace-edged pocket of his coat.

“’Tis riches almost beyond the dreams of avarice,” Sebastian agreed with a short laugh. “But I’ll believe it when I see it. ’Tis some trick of the devil, I’ll lay odds.”

“You could be forgiven for thinking that.” Jasper chuckled. “Our esteemed uncle is the devil incarnate, whatever he might prate about repentance and his wholehearted return to the bosom of the church.”

“But can we really take him on trust?” Sebastian pressed. “He could rewrite his will at any time, while we’re struggling to turn some lost female onto the paths of righteousness.”

Jasper shook his head. “No, I doubt that, Seb. Viscount Bradley has a strange sense of honor, and he’ll not leave his fortune away from the family if he can help it. He just wants to watch us squirm.” He set down his sherry glass on the mantel behind him. “Well, I assume you still have most of the five thousand pounds he gave you to aid you in your quest, so I suggest you get to it. There’s no knowing how long the old man will last.”

“Oh, he’ll probably never give up this mortal coil, just to spite us,” Sebastian declared.

His elder brother laughed. “He’ll hang on as long as possible, you can count on that.” He picked up his bicorne hat and silver cane on his way to the door. “I’ve a dinner engagement, so you must excuse me.”

The door closed behind him, and the twin brothers
regarded each other in silence for a moment. “So what now?” Peregrine asked. “I’ve been putting off even thinking about the whole ludicrous proposal, but Jasper’s right. He has
his
bride, so we have to do our bit. But where do
we
start to look for our own fallen women? Not that I think, for one minute, that Clarissa was ever a fallen woman.”

At that, Sebastian laughed, thinking of his elder brother’s new wife. “No, I suspect you’re right there. But London’s teeming with the real article, Perry. Just take a stroll through the Piazza.”

“I’ve never found whores appealing,” his twin stated. “And I’m damned if I’m going to marry one, a fortune notwithstanding.”

Sebastian grinned. “I’m not so nice in my taste, brother. A tasty tidbit from one of the better class of nunnery can provide fine entertainment. At least you know where you are with them.” A shadow crossed his face, not missed by the ever-observant, ever-sensitive Peregrine.

Peregrine said nothing, although he knew his brother was thinking of Serena Carmichael, the woman he had loved, the woman who had cast him aside without explanation. In the three years since Serena’s betrayal, Sebastian had amused himself as he saw fit but had never allowed a relationship with a woman to go further than superficial dalliance. He had chosen his mistresses from the ranks of the Cyprian corps, opera dancers and orange sellers, and once or twice had dallied with courtesans
from the upper echelons of Society, but never anything serious.

Sebastian rose from his chair, stretching luxuriously before heading for the door. “Well, I’m on my way. Harley has a pair of chestnuts he’s thinking of selling. I’ve a mind to look them over. They’d make a fine matched pair for that neat curricle I’ve been hankering after these last twelve months.”

“How’s that going to advance your search for the perfect bride?” His brother followed him to the door.

“The appurtenances of wealth, my dear brother, are irresistible to the kind of women we need,” Sebastian said airily, stepping out onto Stratton Street. He set his hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “Will you come?”

Peregrine considered the question. “Oh, why not? I’ve nothing more interesting to do this afternoon.”

“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me, brother.” Sebastian waved his cane at a passing hackney.

Lord Harley was on the point of going out when the brothers arrived at his house on the Strand. He greeted them with a languid wave as they stepped out of the hackney. “Seb … Perry … to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve a mind to look over those chestnuts of yours, Harley, if you’re still interested in selling ’em.” Sebastian tossed a coin to the jarvey.

“To the right buyer, for the right price,” his lordship said carefully. “Let’s stroll over to the mews.”

“You sure you haven’t another engagement?” Peregrine
asked. “Looks like you were going somewhere.”

“Oh, nothing that cannot wait,” Harley said. “There’s a new gaming house just opened on Pickering Place. Thought I’d look it over later. A regular hell, they tell me.”

“Who runs it?”

“Don’t know exactly. Newcomers, as I understand it. Crawley was playing there last night … very high stakes, he tells me.” Lord Harley turned into an alley that cut through to the mews at the back of his house.

Sebastian surveyed the match chestnuts with an experienced eye as they were paraded around the yard. “What d’you think, Perry?”

“I don’t know. I think Jasper would say they were showy.” Peregrine frowned as the animals were brought to a halt in front of them.

“Nonsense,” Sebastian scoffed. He bent to examine the horses more closely, running his hand down their hocks, over their smooth, muscular flanks. “They’re magnificent creatures, Harley.”

“Five hundred guineas,” his lordship said promptly.

Sebastian frowned. “I’ll think about it,” he said with a reluctant shake of his head. “I had it in mind not to spend above three hundred.”

“Well, I’m in no hurry to lose ’em.” Harley indicated to the groom that he should take the animals back to their stable. “Think it over, and let me know.” He walked back down the alley and into the Strand. “Don’t know about you both, but I’m devilish sharp set. Dinner
at Whites, I think, then a visit to Pickering Place. What d’you think?”

“Not for me,” Peregrine said. “I’m engaged to dine with a party at the Royal Society.”

“Astronomers or scientists?” Sebastian inquired, not in the least surprised by his brother’s engagement.

Peregrine laughed. “Neither. In this case, I am dining with two philosophers and a somewhat mediocre poet.”

“Well, enjoy their company.” Sebastian patted his brother’s shoulder in companionable fashion. “I shall enjoy a good dinner and a visit to the gaming rooms in Pickering Place.”

“Don’t spend it all at once,” Peregrine warned as he strode away.

“What did that mean?” Harley inquired.

Sebastian smiled. “Just a little fraternal teasing. Let’s to Whites and dinner.”

The coffee house was crowded, and the two men were quickly drawn into a group sitting at a long trestle table in front of the fireplace, where, despite the mellow early-autumn afternoon, a fire burned to heat a cauldron of steaming water suspended just over the flames, ready to refill the coffee pots ranged on a sideboard against one wall. Waiters dodged hither and thither with laden platters of roast mutton and carafes of wine. In one corner, the rattle of a dice cup was accompanied by the shouts of exuberant gamesters. In another, a more solemn group of players stared at the cards in their hands and made their bids in low tones.

Sebastian glanced around the room, acknowledging friends and acquaintances with a wave, before sliding onto the bench at the table and greeting his companions with upraised goblet. He held his own throughout the dinner-table conversation, but his mind was elsewhere. A third share of nine hundred thousand pounds was an almost unimaginable fortune, most particularly to one who had no private funds. Jasper, as head of the family, did his best to keep his brothers solvent from the diminishing revenues of the Blackwater estates, but he himself was, as he often bemoaned, in danger of incarceration in debtors’ prison at the Fleet or Marshalsea. He seemed to make light of his predicament, but his younger brothers knew him too well to believe that the threat was not a very real one. And Jasper’s situation was exacerbated by the demands made upon him by the extended family, who all seemed to believe that his lack of generosity stemmed from miserliness rather than genuine lack of funds.

In order to realize the fortune dangled in front of them by their eccentric uncle, all three brothers had to fulfill the terms of the will. All three had to convert and marry women who had somehow strayed from the straight and narrow.

Why the devil had the old man come up with such a devious scheme? Jasper had a theory, and it seemed reasonable enough. Viscount Bradley had been the black sheep of the Blackwater family since he was a very young man. No one seemed to know why anymore, but his
name was never mentioned within the family. Bradley’s response had been to cut all ties with his family himself and take himself off to India, where he’d made his fortune as a nabob, merely adding to the family’s disgust. The idea of a Blackwater in trade was anathema to the high sticklers, and the rumors about the young viscount’s dissolute life were anathema to the moral arbiters in the family. And, as Jasper had pointed out rather sourly on several occasions, there were more than enough of those showering shocked criticism upon any family member who strayed even an inch from the straight and narrow.

Jasper’s theory was that this devious plan of their uncle’s was a piece of pure vengeance. By forcing three highly unsuitable and less than upright women on the Blackwater family, Bradley could go chuckling to his grave. Jasper’s unsuitable bride would, of course, be the crown jewel in his plot. Jasper was head of the family, and his countess would take precedence over every other woman in the family, however high in the instep. The idea of those women compelled to give precedence to an erstwhile whore was a prime jest. And the cream of it was that the viscount’s fortune, earned in the grubby world of trade, would go to rescue the family fortunes. Even the three brothers could enjoy the idea of it. But putting it into practice was a rather different matter.