Knave's Wager

Julian entered the small, tastefully furnished room where a cold meal had been laid out. The door to the adjoining bedchamber was partly open. He closed it.

He pulled a bottle of champagne from the silver ice bucket, opened it, and filled one crystal goblet.

Lilies had been cut into the crystal. Lilies bloomed everywhere, in one form or another—upon the wall coverings and draperies and carpets. There were orchids, as well, because he’d once compared her beauty to orchids, and because she’d worn them in her hair—his gift. The first of many gifts, he’d thought. He would shower his imperious mistress with tributes.

He took his wineglass and walked to the window, where he stood a long while. Evening was hours away, yet black night seemed to be falling already. The heavy clouds had darkened, and rain tapped steadily upon the windowpanes.

She might have been with him now. They might have stood together, watching the rain draw hurried, swirling patterns upon the glass.

He would have appeared to watch the rain, but his glance would steal to her face, to study her proud profile. He would not have heard the pattering beat against the windowpanes, only her quiet, cool voice, its cadences rich and smooth, even when animated, when she talked of Derbyshire and her land. Or wistful, as she sometimes was, caught by some bittersweet memory.

He would have made her laugh, perhaps. But he would not have been quite content until he had taken all the pins from her hair. He would not have been altogether easy until she was in his arms. Then he would sweep her into the storm with him, because hers was a passionate spirit, demanding and willful as his own. Not to be broken or bent. Still, he might have possessed it. Even now, all that was Lilith Davenant might have been his.

This is how you lose a wager.

He turned and hurled his wineglass across the room. It struck the mantel and shattered into sparkling shards. Lost—aye, lost her—and all his own doing.

What had he told Elise? Something about the challenge being irresistible, wasn’t it? A challenge merely. The tart had known him better than he knew himself. She’d comprehended quickly enough the extent of his overweening vanity.

That was it. Vanity and one thoughtless moment—and his was a lifetime of such moments—had cost him this one woman he wanted above all others. Wanted, he discovered now, as some blade seemed to twist in his chest, more than anything else in this world.

A few minutes after Mrs. Davenant had left her niece’s room, Susan appeared to dress the girl for the evening. She found Miss Glenwood curled up in a chair, her chin resting on her hand and her brow puckered. She looked up at the maid’s entrance.

“Oh, Susan, how I wish you and Hobbs had been quicker— though I much doubt it would have helped. It is worse than I thought.”

“I was as quick as I could be, Miss Cedly,” said the maid. “But Hobbs couldn’t get away in time, and if the missus was to get wind –”

“She’s got wind of something, and I wish I knew what it was. It must have been dreadful, because she is so miserable, and terribly, terribly confused. Why, she just now said she’d been neglecting me. Have you ever heard the like? And such a long lecture about my gentlemen friends. She said it all so kindly and sadly, I didn’t have the heart to remind her I already knew all that.”

“Knew what, miss?”

Cecily stood up and walked to the wardrobe. “I should like to wear the pink muslin, but tonight we’d better do without the lace.”

“Do without? Your aunt will have my head. You know how she feels about young girls showing their bosoms.”

“Yes, and I should not wish to upset her, so I must be late going down, and you must be certain to arrange my wrap very carefully.”

The widow’s party was unusually late arriving at Lady Violet Porter’s rout.

Lord Robert, who’d been elbowed, backed into, and trod on this last hour, was beginning to wonder how he could have been so mad as to come. He had no one to talk to, and he couldn’t breathe. He’d have done better to spend the evening pacifying his mistress. Julian had warned that an emotional woman like Elise might so far forget herself as to create scenes at the most inconvenient times.

Then Lord Robert spied Miss Glenwood proceeding slowly up the stairs, her aunt on one side, Sir Thomas on the other. Miss Glenwood met his glance and smiled. Lord Robert promptly began shoving his way through the crowd. He reached the top of the stairs just as the trio did, greeted the widow and the baronet politely, greeted Cecily—took a second look at Cecily—then hastily excused himself.

He was about to plunge back the way he’d come, when he happened to glance back. He saw Mr. Ventcoeur bend over Miss Glenwood’s small hand. In the next moment, that hand was tucked into Mr. Ventcoeur’s arm.

Lord Robert left the rout.

Indecent was what it was.

What on earth could her aunt have been thinking of, to allow the girl to go about half naked, so that every lout in London could ogle her? And of all the louts to give her arm to, that crude imbecile, Ventcoeur.

Well, if the aunt didn’t know better, Lord Robert Downs certainly did. He would give Miss Glenwood a serious talking-to. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow came and went and there was no talking-to, because Lord Robert found no opportunity. The one country dance Miss Glenwood allotted him was hardly conducive to serious conversation. She was winded at the end of it—as was all too evident in the rapid rise and fall of—

At any rate, by the time they’d both caught their breath, her next partner had stepped in to claim her.

The following night was exactly the same.

Consequently, early Monday afternoon, Lord Robert borrowed his cousin’s curricle without permission, called at the house, and invited Miss Glenwood to drive with him.

She was very quiet until they reached the Park gates. Then she sighed and said she had something to tell him.

“Yes, well, I have something to tell you, Miss Glenwood,” he answered. Before he could lose his courage, he plunged into the sermon he’d rehearsed.

She listened very attentively then looked at him in a puzzled way. “I don’t understand,” she said. “When Papa wants to sell a mare, he doesn’t cover the poor animal with blankets, but displays her to best advantage. I’m on the market, you know.”

“On the what?” he cried.

“To be married. That’s why I’m in London, isn’t it? That’s why all the girls come. And I don’t at all understand what’s so immodest. Lady Rockridge is quite strict, yet Anne’s frocks are much more daring than mine, and no one’s shocked. Even my aunt had to admit that, though she blushed the whole time. But poor Aunt is so confused.”

Lord Robert made no answer. Miss Glenwood was a levelheaded girl, and it was quite true about Anne’s frocks—indeed, about most of the gowns to be seen in any Season. All the same, it seemed very wrong for Miss Glenwood to go about in such revealing costumes. She was a child, still. Well, not exactly, but—

There burst into his mind at this moment a vision of a feminine form in breeches, and he grew dizzy.

“It’s because they’ve quarrelled, you know,” Cecily continued. “I know it was something dreadful because I heard Aunt Lilith tell Cawble that Lord Brandon was not to be admitted to the house. And your cousin must be just as angry, because he keeps away.”

Lord Robert shook himself to attention. His cousin he could talk about articulately.

“Miss Glenwood, I must tell you, Julian would never keep away from anything on account of a woman.”

“He was not at Lady Violet’s rout Friday, or at Lady Shumway’s Saturday, or Lady Greenaway’s last night.”

“Saturday was Kean’s first appearance as Othello,” Robert argued. “Naturally, Julian would go.”

“For weeks and weeks he’s always appeared wherever my aunt is. Yet ever since they quarrelled, we haven’t seen him. I expect he’s just as miserable as she is, and they’re both too proud and stubborn to admit it.”

“In that case, they’re better off apart, d

on’t you think?”

“How can you say such a thing?” Her blue eyes flashed a reproach. “You know they must marry. Fortunately,” she added reassuringly, “I have a plan.”

He was so startled he nearly dropped the reins.

“Marry? Each other? Your aunt is engaged already.”

“Well, she can’t many that tiresome, preaching man, can she?”

“Miss Glenwood—”

“You’re confusing the horses, Lord Robert. Do call the one on the left to order before takes us into that tree.”

Lord Robert drew the carriage to a halt.

“Miss Glenwood—”

“You needn’t be anxious. It’s a very good plan, and really, quite simple.”