The Wagered Widow (37 page)

“Devil it would! No, madam! If aught
should
go wrong—which it won't—I'll have a better chance to get clear am I not hampered by the need to get
you
clear as well.”

Startled by a new thought, she said, “Dear heaven! You never have him in your flat? Or at John Street?”

They were alone out here, and yet he instinctively glanced around and lowered his voice. “Never you mind where I have him, my girl. Least said, soonest mended!” She looked frightened, and he went on in a more breezy fashion, “At all events, he will be gone by the middle of next week at the very latest. After that, I've—ah, certain plans of my own to bring to fruition.” He added rather wryly, “Do I summon up the gall.”

“A lady? Snow, you villain! Is it The Monahan you pursue?” Guilelessly, Rebecca murmured, “I saw how you ogled her.”

“Ogle indeed! What a widgeon you are, Becky! Rosemary Monahan is a true Fair, but scarce the type for whom I would form a lasting attachment.”

Rebecca clapped her hands, her face more animated than he had seen it for days. “
Have
you done so? Oh, how exciting! Is it someone I know well? Is it—I
do
hope it is a certain very lovely girl who is just a little taller than I, perhaps.”

“She ain't so very tall since she's taken to wearing slippers with lower heels,” he said defensively. “Just about perfect, in fact.”

“Yes, she is indeed the very dearest girl.”

“Well, I am, er, very glad you—ah.” Boothe flushed. He seldom flushed and, feeling his face grow heated, averted it, coughed, then stammered, “If—er that is,
should
Letty—er, Miss Boudreaux … would—er,
might
you—oh, dashitall, Becky! You know what I mean.”

She leaned to hug him impulsively. “I do. And she is the
very
girl for you. I have so prayed you would choose her, for she has been in love with you this age!”

He scanned her face with betraying eagerness. “Do you really think so? I scarce can tell whether I'm on my head or my heels. When first we met, I thought her a nice chit, y'know. But the more I saw of her, the more I saw what a truly delightful lady she is. So kind, Becky, and gracious. And gentle. And you must admit she's beautiful.”

“And brave,” Rebecca contributed. “Only think how she stood by me at the ball. Snow, you will
never
know how frightened I was, thinking that at any minute someone would give de Villars away, and we both would be dragged off to the Tower! When Letitia came up so staunchly, I could have kissed her!”

“Yes.” He frowned darkly. “I cannot like her to have run such a risk.”

“Oh, can you not? And what of the risks
you
are running, sir?”

“Fustian! I'm a man.”

She laughed. “Are you, so? I have always fancied you a great, silly boy!”

“Wretch,” he said with a grin, tugging the nearest ringlet. “Poor Letty, to have such a madcap for a sister.”

“Have you offered already, then? Good gracious! You waste no time.”

“I've wasted too damned much already!” But he added rather shyly, “I ain't offered formally, of course. Cannot, you know, until I've approached the old gentleman. Ecod! He's like to judge me a very poor prospect, eh?”

She looked at the fair young face, the clear eyes, the proud tilt to the head, the broad shoulders and athletic build of this loved brother, and said a fond, “He could only be delighted.”

“Silly cabbage!” But he took up her hand and dropped a rare kiss on it. “Never mind about my manly beauty. What about my reputation?”

“What fustian! You've never been much in the petticoat line, nor—”

“Deuce take it, girl! You
must
not use such vulgarities! Whatever would Ward say? Or—my Lady Ward?”

“I know.” But peeping at him mischievously, she said, “I have to overcome the habits picked up from my wicked brothers! Oh, how thrilled Johnny will be by your news! I shall write— No,
you
must, of course. He will come home, and we shall have the most beautiful wedding, and I shall help Letitia choose her bride clothes, and—”

“And—heigh-ho, off we go!” he intervened, shaking his head at her. “Becky, Becky! Do you never mean to stop romancing and start growing up?”

He helped her back into the saddle, swung astride his own mount, and led the way down into the lane.

Rebecca protested his remark indignantly. “And this from a man who only last April walked backwards to Clapham and then lost his wager because he fell into a horse trough!”

He chuckled. “No, but you see I am in love now, and everything in the world so changed! But—you know the feeling, eh?”

Rebecca's smiling gaze fell away. She said rather unevenly, “What did you mean about your reputation? A few escapades, merely, unless— Snow! You were not
deeply
involved with the Uprising?”

“No. I meant only that I'm known to be pockets to let. Trust his lordship to know that. The old boy's keen as a cross-eyed walrus, and I ain't at all sure I'll blame him does he deal me a leveller.”

She frowned. It was very true that they were far from comfortably circumstanced. And Letitia was a considerable heiress. If her great-uncle judged Snow a fortune hunter … Uneasily, she said, “Lord Boudreaux is likely happy as a minnow. He must be does he love Letitia, for I am very sure she is
aux anges,
dear girl.”

“I pray you have the right of it.” They rode on in silence for a short while. Then Snowden said, “One thing, when the old boy learns how you saved de Villars' life, that may turn the trick!”

Rebecca was properly reassuring, but she could not place much dependence upon that fact. After all, my Lord Boudreaux
had
disinherited his notorious grandnephew.

*   *   *

“Why so dismal, my dearest?” Tripping across the back garden to where Rebecca sat alone under the apple tree, Mrs. Boothe held up the paniers of her charming gown of primrose muslin, all decked about with tiny bows of yellow satin, and was herself as light-hearted and bright-eyed as a girl, from dainty beruffled cap to tiny slippers. “I have been looking for you this age,” said the little lady blithely. “Anthony and Patience went blackberrying, and he teased her, so she pushed him into a bush and is now overset with remorse. Can you not feature it? That tiny mite of a child!”

Amused, Rebecca said, “I do not blame her a bit. Anthony treats her as though she were a loved but rather wooden-headed pet dog. Is he badly damaged?”

“Physically, no. But mentally—” Albinia threw up her hands and sat beside her niece. “He writhes, poor boy. As all males do when a girl outwits 'em. Speaking of which, has Snow heard aught of poor de Villars? He was much too ill to go riding off like that, and I am convinced did so purely to remove his dangerous presence from— Good gracious, dearest! Are you feeling feverish? Your cheeks are so flushed and your eyes look—”

Attack, thought Rebecca desperately, was ever the best means of defence, or so Papa used to hold. And so she intervened, “Never mind about my cheeks, you sly creature! Only look at your own! I vow you look no older than cousin Evaline, and twice as lovely. Whence cometh these pretty blushes and the stars in your eyes? Eh? What have you been up to that you keep from me?”

Albinia lowered her lashes at once, but could not extinguish the betraying glow from her cheeks. “It must be this pure country air. Now
why
must you stare so, horrid child? I declare one cannot put on a new gown without—”

“He has
offered!
Why, you shameless little jade! Mr. Melton offered and you said naught of it!”

Blushful and fluttering and quite beside herself with agitation, Mrs. Boothe responded, “Why, Becky, I would not— I mean, I did not— I had no thought to say anything until you yourself were— Oh,
wretched
girl!
Yes!
Is it not superb? Your silly aunt is to be
wed
again! Oh, I feel—”

But her feelings were smothered as she was swept into a hug, kissed, exclaimed over, and congratulated, and all with such a depth of love and joy that her eyes became bright with more than happiness and she had to grope blindly for the scrap of cambric and lace she designated a handkerchief.

“Naughtiest of aunts,” Rebecca chided, her own cheeks aglow with excitement. “I demand to know the how and why and where of it! Did he go down upon his knees? Was he too bashful to make a proper offer? Where shall you live? Can he support you in the fashion to which you are accustomed? Is he richer than Croesus? Come—speak up now!”

Between laughter and tears, Mrs. Boothe cried, “Mercy! What a plethora of questions! He proposed last evening whilst we walked back to the cottage. And it was on this very bench, bless the dear object! As for
how
—we were speaking of somebody else, as a matter of fact, and I said that I was sure this particular gentleman was head over ears in love with a certain lady, only it was hard to guess whether or not he might propose. And George—Mr. Melton, I mean—said he had always believed ladies knew long before gentlemen when they had won hearts, and then he—he sort of rushed with great speed into saying, ‘For instance, dear Mrs. Albinia, you must know the depth of
my
esteem for
you.
' And—” She clasped one hand to her rapidly rising and falling bosom, and said happily, “Oh, Becky! I was so
astonished,
and before I could utter a word he had indeed fallen to his knee—well, you may look incredulous, though to be sure it was not very far to fall, since we were sitting down at the time—and begged I grant him my hand in marriage.”

“How splendid!” Rebecca's hug was so boisterous that her aunt wailed she must be quite jellied did she not desist. “And when shall you be wed? The gentleman has a home in the country, I believe?”

“Near Richmond. He is to take me down there tomorrow, if you would not object to stay here alone, dearest. His mama is quite lonely there, so George thinks she must be pleased to know we shall live in the house for much of the year.” She clung to Rebecca's hand and went on earnestly, “I shall expect you to come to us very soon, my pet. You cannot stay in Town alone, though if Sir Peter should make an offer, things would be quite different, of course. And I do believe he will, for he can scarce tear his eyes from you when—”

“When he is not gazing at Mrs. Monahan,” Rebecca put in dryly.

“Oh, but every gentleman looks at The Monahan. Even George. And one can scarce blame them—she's a striking woman. Besides,” continued Mrs. Boothe carelessly, “everyone knows she was de Villars' fancy piece, and even
he
did not offer for her.”

Her eyes flashing, Rebecca flared, “Why do you say ‘
even
he'? Trevelyan de Villars is as well-born as any man!”

Her aunt blinked, but persisted, “I do not dispute that. But—his reputation…! Horrors!”

“Reputations are all too often created by unconscionable gabble-mongers.”

“Very true. But not in this case. All London knows he ruined a lady when he was no more than a boy, and—”

“And has been paying a cruel price ever since for that piece of folly!” Her brows drawn into a fierce scowl, Rebecca said hotly, “And if it comes to that, Aunt Alby, I would give a deal to know how this sadly disgraced lady contrived to make an excellent match not a year later. It appears to me there is more to that tale than has ever been revealed!”

“Why, there always is, my love. And do not mistake, I think de Villars charming. Despite the fact he so recklessly endangered us all—and you in—”

“
Endangered
us! He risked his life for a poor wounded fugitive! I would not call that reckless. Gallant, unselfish, courageous, rather!”

It became necessary that Mrs. Boothe purse her lips so as to hide a smile. “Hmmnnn,” she mused. “Nonetheless, I cannot believe Sir Peter to be seriously enamoured of The Monahan. So soon as he returns he will make
you
an offer, dear one. I
know
it!”

Rebecca sighed. “I hope so,” she said, forlornly.

Mr. Melton called for his betrothed at a very early hour the next morning, and they drove off in his light carriage, bound for Surrey and his country estate, with Albinia's handkerchief fluttering from the open window, and her promise to be back next day before sunset echoing in Rebecca's ears.

They had been gone scarcely two hours when a sleek black travelling coach bowled up the drivepath and Lord Kadenworthy and Viscount Glendenning alighted. Rebecca had walked out onto the porch to greet them and, chancing to glance at the handsome vehicle, was struck by the absurd notion that one of the footmen was Lord Graham Fortescue. The coach was in motion before she noted the resemblance, and Kadenworthy was planting an ardent salute upon her hand.

“My lord,” she said urgently, “I know it is foolish in me, but I am sure that footman was—”

“Well, well, more company,” drawled Horatio Glendenning, and sure enough another carriage made its way along the drive, this time bearing Martha and Walter Street. Delighted, Rebecca welcomed her callers, sent Millie scurrying to warn Evans they would sit down five to luncheon, and forgot all about the footman. He did not, in fact, come back into her thoughts until she and her guests went inside after a merry game of croquet and found the dining table readied for lunch and my Lord Fortescue dozing in an elbow chair in the parlour.

“Forty!” exclaimed Rebecca. “So it
was
you!” She went over to give him her hand. “And why the business of wearing Kadenworthy's gold livery?”

Fortescue looked down in apparent bewilderment at the elegant maroon coat and pearl grey satin small clothes he wore.