The Wagered Bride (2 page)

She
gripped the crimson curtain beside her and drew in a shaky sigh. It would do
her no good to argue with her father. She would have to take action instead.

Oh, she
knew her father had always wanted the best for her. Even their present lodgings
were the finest the hotel had to offer.

Crystal
chandeliers hung in every room. Rich red velvets decorated most of the seating.
Rosewood tables and sideboards with intricate inlays of contrasting wood sat
beside stately marbled fireplaces. Sparkling silver covered the breakfast table
from the teapots to the utensils. Even the bedchambers boasted luscious blue
and cream colored coverlets with mounds of matching pillows and plump feathered
beds.

Elizabeth
dragged a hand over the curtain's gold brocade trim and bit the inside of her
cheek. Kings and queens were said to reside in these very chambers when
visiting England. And why not the best for William Shelby, too?

After
going from rags to riches in ten years, he was going to make sure he lived like
a king, and if that included marrying his eldest daughter to a lord, so be it.

"Don't
you go moping on me, girl. You've had the best money has to offer. Why, I sent
you to Miss Horatio's Seminary in Bath, did I not?"

"Yes,
Papa."

"And
you can speak French, Italian, and Spanish. How many girls your age can do
that?"

"Not
many, Papa."

"See
there," he said, as if making his point clear. "All I ask of you is
this one simple thing, and you have given me nothing but grief on the subject.
And what about Millicent? Your sister should have a chance to live in the
splendor that high society has to offer, should she not? See here, now, if you
marry a lord, she can have that too, my girl."

He
puffed out his chest and grinned as if everything was settled, then sank into a
chair near the hearth. "That and more. Don't you agree?"

"No
... I mean, yes ... I—oh, you don't understand, Papa."

Elizabeth
felt her world slipping out of control. Her father's sudden announcement of her
upcoming marriage to some lord she had never met made her ill. She didn't want
a peer of the realm; she wanted a man who loved her.

And who
was to say her father would not buy a lord for Milli too? He had made no
promises.

At
nineteen years old, Elizabeth had her own plans. She loved her father, yet she
knew he had a head as hard as Henry VIII when it came to decisions. Once the
man's mind was made up, there was no turning back. He wasn't one of the richest
men in England because of an indecisive streak. No, indeed. But this blatant
command was insufferable!

She kept
her gaze on the parade of carriages below, her chin taking on a stubborn line.
"Whether I speak one language or fifty, Papa, it does not signify. I will
not marry a man I do not love and that is final."

She
turned suddenly when her father rose from his chair, blurting out a sharp
curse, stabbing the air between them.

"Listen
here, Lizzie. You will marry him. This ain't your decision. I have always done
right by you, haven't I? He's a right one, he is. He hasn't asked for you yet,
but he will soon, I tell you. Handsome as Apollo. Comes from good stock,
too."

"Good
stock? People are not cattle. Papa!" Clenching her hands, she shifted her
gaze back toward the street. "Besides, if you must know"—she spun
around—"I love Mr. Fennington."

Dead
silence blanketed the room. Elizabeth regretted her outburst immediately. She
should have used a bit more tact in explaining her position.

Her
father’s pudgy cheeks turned bright red. "Who in the blue blazes is Mr.
Fennington?" Her father all but growled out the words through his clenched
jaw.

"Oh,
he's the man Lizzie thinks she loves." The sweet voice came from Millicent
Shelby, Elizabeth's younger sister, who had been lounging on the settee in the
corner of the room, reading her newest romance novel from the Minerva Press.

"Milli,"
Elizabeth scolded, walking toward her sister, instantly inhaling the strong
scent of lavender that the girl seemed to always wear. "Thank you, but I
am in no need of comments from a girl still in the schoolroom."

The
fourteen-year-old rolled her gray eyes, as though she were an expert on the
subject of love. She had a slim, modest body for a girl her age, making her
seem younger than she was. Dark chestnut hair framed a heart-shaped face,
giving her the appearance of a bewitching elf, and Elizabeth adored her.

"Fudge,
Lizzie. I am not two, you know." Milli slapped the book closed, slipping
her body sideways, feigning a swoon. "Oh, woe is me. My heart is but a
palpitation of my innermost core."

Elizabeth
stifled a laugh at her sister's antics. "Milli... you are
incorrigible."

Large
gray eyes twinkled above a pert little nose, giving the false impression of a
very innocent and manageable female, an impression Elizabeth had told her
sister would find the girl in more trouble than Milli could handle some
fate-filled day if she did not curb her theatrics.

William
Shelby waved his hand in agitation at his youngest. "What in heaven's name
are you talking about, Milli? There ain't nothing wrong with your heart!"

Milli
shut her eyes and heaved a groaning sigh. "My love, my love, why have you
failed me? Come to me and save me from these woeful ingrates."

"Ingrates?"
William took a menacing step forward. "Listen here, my girl. Enough of
this foolishness. You may want to be an actress in Drury Lane, but I will have
none of that entertainment here."

Milli
peeked out from one eye. "Papa, how could you disrupt my performance? I am
only—"

"You
are disrupting my conversation with your sister, and if you think for one
second that I have forgotten your mischief with your last governess, you are
sorely mistaken, girl."

Sitting
up, Milli gave her father a mulish expression, then looked at Elizabeth with a
shrug. "Well, I tried, Lizzie."

Elizabeth
managed a smile, realizing Milli had only wanted to obtain her father's
attention in order to divert the man from his goal. "Yes, you did,
dearest. But I think this is something Papa and I need to discuss alone."

"Oh,
very well." Milli stood solemnly and with the air of a queen, threw a
righteous hand to her breast. "But never fear. Your knight in shining
armor will come to you on his white horse and swoop you into his arms"—her
arm swung wide, pointing deliberately at her father—"saving you from this
conniving and despicable villain!"

 William
Shelby, his gray eyes widening in shock, shook a fat finger at his youngest
daughter. "Now see here, Millicent, you have exactly five seconds—"

Milli
frowned. "Well, I can see that you have no taste for theater, Papa. Did you
know that Elizabeth thinks I'm wonderful? She thinks—"

"Millicent!"

"Oh,
very well."

Putting
a hand on her small hips, Milli lifted her chin toward her sister, gave a
mischievous wink, and sashayed from room as if she were a flamboyant opera
dancer luring the London bucks to her side like hapless, tongue-wagging
puppies.

William
Shelby blinked hard.

Elizabeth
chuckled. "You must admit she is quite the little actress, Papa."

Shelby
shook his head and turned a confused face upon Elizabeth. "She is that, my
dear. The thing is, I have no idea where she gets it from. I fear she will
never be as biddable as you."

Elizabeth
raised a delicate brow in protest. "Biddable? I am most certainly not
biddable. I will not marry a lord, Papa. I want to marry for love, like you and
Mama."

Something
flickered in the back of the older man's eyes, and Elizabeth's breath hitched.
"You did love Mama, did you not?"

William
Shelby fiddled with the fob on his waistcoat. "Certainly. Certainly. But
that ain't the point, Lizzie. I want you to marry into a good family. Have a
name for yourself. Blue blood, my dear, that's what counts."

He
swallowed visibly and looked up. "Now that's the ticket for the good life.
Once you are married into the
ton
, little Millicent will have her choice
of husbands. It ain't much to ask, poppet. That's all I want for my girls. A
place in Society. A place where they belong."

Elizabeth
frowned. A place where they belong.

And
there lay the crux of the problem. Her father was accepted in Society because
of his money, yet there was always the hushed snicker, the snide remark, the
malicious smile of a haughty dowager or another snob of the
ton
. To
them, blood was everything, and William Shelby's blood was as contaminated as
the Thames.

Elizabeth
crossed the room and held her father's hand in a gentle grip. "But I don't
want to belong to those people, Papa," she said, her voice softening.
"Being part of that group means nothing to me. My life would be over if I
married one of those stuffy lords. He would only be marrying me for my money,
do you not see? I want love, Papa. Is that so much to ask?"

Her
father gave her hands a squeeze. "See here, Lizzie. You are a beautiful
girl. There are many men who would want you for a bride. Why not have a
handsome lord if you have the choice?"

"But
I don't seem to have a choice, Papa." Elizabeth jerked her hand away.
"And besides, I am not beautiful. I am plain. My hair takes hours to curl,
and at the end of the day it is as straight as a pole. As for the color, it is
a drab mousy brown, nothing to fetch a man's eye."

"That
ain't so, Lizzie."

"Oh,
Papa. You are blind to my faults. And as long as we're speaking of eyes, see
these?" She raised a finger to her brow. "My eyes, Papa—well, they
are a dull blue, and I cannot read very well unless I have those stupid
spectacles." She pinched her cheeks. "And look at these. I still have
baby fat. I am not at all the thing. So the person who marries me will either
love me for my heart or love me for my money. I choose my heart, Papa."

"You
are not ugly, Lizzie. You are ... well, rather tall and pleasantly plump. And
as for your eyes, they are, er, a very nice blue. But as to your marriage, I am
only acting in your best interest. Believe me, I know about Society, my
dear."

The door
sprang open, and Milli appeared, dancing into the room with a tray of lemon
cakes swaying in her hands. "No, Papa, they are the color of a mountain
spring."

William's
lips curled in exasperation at the outburst. "Millicent, by heaven, I have
had just about enough out of you."

Milli
batted her eyes. "But I have a tray of lemon cakes, Papa. Your
favorite."

William's
face softened. "Very well. Come in. We can always take a break for food.
Ain't going anywhere, are you, Lizzie?" He chuckled as he swiped a cake
off the tray. "Not as if some knight is going to break through the
barriers here, eh?"

"No,
Papa," Elizabeth said somberly. "No knight here."

William
stuffed the cake into his mouth, wiping his lips with a napkin. "No one is
going to tell me you're ugly, Lizzie. You are a very healthy female, and that's
all a gentleman wants in a wife. Prime stock, you are."

"Papa,
please."

William
lifted his brows. "Well, you are a capital girl, Lizzie, and don't you
forget it."

Milli
glanced admiringly at her sister. "And your face, Lizzie, is like a
whisper of heaven, with angelic cheeks of celestial rose. Your skin is as
flawless as a diamond of the first water. Your hands are as soft as a
lamb." She sighed dreamily. "Your knight will want to sweep you away
forever."

William
stuffed another bite into his mouth. "Life ain't a flight of fancy, Milli.
Depend upon it. You've had too much of that Shakespeare and what not. My Lizzie
has a head on her shoulders, she does. She's a practical girl, and doesn't fill
her head with knights and white horses."

Milli's
gray eyes flashed. "Oh, yes, she does! Why the other day she told
me—"

Elizabeth
interrupted her sister, placing a meaningful grip on the girl's arm.
"Milli, please, not now."

"Oh,
very well, but she does not want some pompous lord."

William
patted his youngest daughter's head. "Yes, yes, now go on, Millicent. Your
sister and I have more to discuss."

Elizabeth
curled her hands by her sides. "But we have nothing to discuss, Papa. I
will marry for love. I will not many some money-hungry lord. I don't care who
you have in mind. I won't have it. I may have been biddable in the past, but
this time I will put my foot down."

William
squished the cake in his hands. "By Jove, you are going to marry a lord,
Elizabeth!"

"I
won't!"

"You
will, even if I have to drag you to the altar myself."

"Papa!"
The color drained from Elizabeth's face. Her father had never spoken to her
with such anger. But she knew he meant what he said. There was no doubt about
that. Without another word, she bit her lip and hurried from the room.