“Ah, a wager, eh? What kind of a wager?” he made the mistake of asking.
“I am going to masquerade as you, and you will be me—let’s see who the chit wants.”
“Don’t like it … we don’t even look like one another. For one thing … you have at least six inches on me.”
“No one there has ever seen us … so that doesn’t signify.”
“Yes, but … why? I tell you what—sit down, old boy … rest … all this has gone to your head …”
“No, no, Robby. This will liven up our stay. They want to marry off their country bumpkin to a rich marquis. We will trade places. I will put up my hunter as the wager. I say the Henshaw chit will try and marry you in spite of your inability to turn a flattering line and in spite of your disinterest. I will flirt outrageously with her … attempt to gain her attention, and she still will put out her hooks for you—simply for your name and your money …”
“You are daft, Ryker … daft!”
“Perhaps … is it a bet?”
“What if I slip up with the name?”
“I’ll just keep m’given name, and you will keep yours. I will continue to call you Robby, not Oscar, so no one will be the wiser.” The Marquis eyed him. “Is it a bet?”
Robby looked at him with a quizzical eye and shook his head. “I don’t like it, but, aye, it is a wager.”
*
At the Henshaw house, Mrs. Debbs, the late Mrs. Henshaw’s sister, paced about the parlor. Her lavender silks rustled about her short, plump figure as she moved about deep in thought.
She glanced at her daughter sitting serenely with her embroidery and let out an exasperated sigh. “My word, Elizabeth, I should think you would at least show some interest.”
Her daughter raised soft brown eyes. She was a slender girl, quietly pretty, whose gentleness had won a warm welcome in the Henshaw household. However, her more erratic though capable mama was wont to see this characteristic as a fault. Mrs. Dora Debbs had come to Henshaw House with her only child two years ago, after the Henshaws’ tragic accident. She had always been close to both her sister and brother-in-law, and their deaths had been a terrible blow. She loved her sister’s children and wished to help them in any way she could, but alas, a poor widow herself, she was not in any better straits financially to do more than offer a caring and much appreciated hand in the running of a severely understaffed estate.
“Interest in what, Mama?”
“Faith, child—I have told you the Marquis of Lyndhurst will be arriving soon, and just look at you … could you not find a brighter, prettier gown? I do so dislike this dove color you seem to prefer.”
“Mama, my gown is both serviceable and pretty. What is wrong with this shade? And doves are lovely. Besides, it is Jewelene we wish him to notice.”
“That is quite true, child, but Jewelene is … Jewelene, and it may be that she might not encourage his interest. Or he may not find her to his taste …”
“Oh, Mama …” Elizabeth scoffed without rancor. She was a practical-minded girl. “What man would not find Jewels not to his taste? What man would look elsewhere once he has seen Jewelene?”
Mrs. Debbs cast an appraising eye over her daughter, who had long, fawn-colored hair. Its texture was soft, and its shine was nothing to scorn. Her gentle grace, lovely smile, youth, and gentle mannerisms were most becoming, and while her mother knew that Elizabeth’s prettiness could not compare to Jewelene’s exceptional beauty, she also knew that gentlemen’s tastes were often surprising.
Ah, but it was true that Jewelene’s bright green eyes slew, and her rich, honey-colored hair captured a man’s imagination. Mrs. Debbs had often seen how heads turned when Jewelene walked by, not that her niece noticed or gave a fig. Jewelene didn’t seem interested in anything but horses, while Elizabeth’s gentle ways were quite taking and she also captured the eye.
In fact, John Hopps, the local vicar, had applied for Elizabeth’s hand twice already, but Mrs. Debbs was in agreement with her daughter that he was not the man for her.
At any rate, there was very little she could do other than hope for a fortunate outcome to wh
at looked like dire straits at Henshaw. And now there was no time to think more about the problem, as their elderly butler, Stanton, appeared to announce the arrival of the marquis.
Mrs. Debbs clasped her hands and felt as though she were about to faint. “Good God … here already?”
She turned to her daughter. “I did not expect them for another hour … where—oh faith, where is Jewelene?”
Elizabeth laughed out loud to hear her mother so frazzled. “Mama …”
The gentlemen were announced, and Mrs. Debbs, just a bit flustered, went forward to greet them. Introductions having gone round, Ryker, who had been introduced as merely the Honorable Ryker Robendale by his cousin, asked, “And where is the lovely Miss Henshaw I have heard so much about?”
Mrs. Debbs’ hands flew about herself as she searched for an answer. Elizabeth smiled sweetly and had just said she was sure her cousins would be back any moment when they heard the sound of laughter as the front door opened and closed and then boots on hardwood flooring as two people made their way to the open double doors of the parlor.