A Bargain With Fate

Michael eyed him as if he had taken leave of his senses. ‘Exactly what I’ll end up with if my father has his way. That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’

‘Would save you a lot of trouble,’ said Charles earnestly with all the experience of a happily betrothed man. ‘Now that I’m betrothed to Beth I never worry about matchmaking mothers trying to foist their daughters on me. Not that I’ve ever had the number you’ve had. No more hounding from my mother about finding a suitable wife. And Beth’s a good girl; doesn’t have odd fits or expect me to escort her to any of those damned musical evenings.’

Michael was fascinated. ‘I never realised there were so many advantages attached to a betrothal.’

‘Well, the point is, Michael, if you were already betrothed your family could hardly expect you to offer for Miss Randall.’

‘Very true. It would be awkward. But the problem with fiancées is that one is expected to marry them.’

Charles downed several slices of ham, his brow creased in thought. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and looked up. ‘You could hire one.’

‘Hire one? One what?’

‘A fiancée! Remember when Greely hired an actress to be his wife so he could inherit from his old uncle in Manchester or some other ungodly place? Worked too; the old man fell for it and Greely got the money. Dare say he had to pay that actress a bundle.’

Michael grinned. A few of the actresses he knew flashed across his mind.

‘That may work very well in Manchester but hardly in London. Where in the world would I find an actress I could hope to pass off in the middle of a London season as my fiancée? Even the best of them couldn’t appear respectable enough to suit my father. Besides, my aunt could sniff out an impostor at ten paces!’

‘Maybe you could find a foreign actress.’

‘Good God, no! My father would be in a rare temper if I announced my engagement to a foreign woman! Don’t trouble yourself, I’ll figure out a way to avoid this entanglement. I always do.’ He polished off his sherry. ‘Where are you off to tonight, Charles?’

‘To Lady Winthrope’s rout. Probably another one of her damned squeezes. Promised to escort my mother and Beth. How about you?’

‘I’ll put in an appearance.’

‘I’ve heard Elinor Marchant is in town,’ said Charles carefully. ‘Have you met her yet?’

‘Today, while riding in the park. She was determined to regale me with every bit of gossip she could think of, half of it probably unfounded rumour.’

‘Hope you don’t plan to take up with her again.’ Charles shuddered. ‘Never saw such a temper in my life. Don’t know how you could have put up with it. That last scene—right in the middle of a ball! Heaving vases around!’

A grin lit up Michael’s face. ‘Only one vase. And it wasn’t in the middle of a ball, merely in a private room.’

‘One vase, half a dozen vases, what does it matter? You’re well rid of her! Never know how you manage to come up with these vixens. Need to show a bit more discrimination in the petticoat line.’

Michael laughed and rose from the table in a lazy movement. ‘Put your mind to rest, Charles. I have no interest in renewing a relationship with Lady Marchant. Ready to go? There’s a pair of chestnuts up for auction at Tattersall’s I’ve been wanting to see.’

Michael only half-attended to his cousin’s conversation as they made their way to the auction yard. Instead, he found himself thinking of Lady Jeffreys. Would she be present at Lady Winthrope’s rout? He hoped so, for he had the perfect excuse for speaking to her. After his aunt had departed, Watkins had presented him with a small folded fan, saying he believed it belonged to the young lady. Michael had taken the fan, assuring Watkins he would personally see it was returned to its owner.

Chapter Two

‘I was sorry to hear of your brother’s troubles. I know how much Meryton means to you,’ Edmund Fairchilde said softly. ‘Perhaps there is something I could do to help.’

Rosalyn looked up into his cool, hooded eyes, and wished she could escape from him. However, it was impossible in Lady Winthrope’s crowded drawing room unless she was to clamber over one of the guests behind her.

‘Thank you, there is nothing you can do. But, how did you know? I had thought it was a private game.’ She tried to keep the dismay from her voice. She had hoped no one outside of Lord Stamford, James and herself knew about the wager.

A faint smile touched his thin lips. ‘I was also there, my lady. I had hoped there was something I could do, but alas, Stamford rarely loses. It makes one wonder…but, his temper, one hates to suggest…At any rate, do not worry, only the three of us were present, and I am very discreet.’

‘Thank you.’ She managed a smile, not certain she trusted him at all. He had been a visitor to Meryton, coming down once with a group of her brother’s friends. Although he had been charmingly courteous, there was something about his hooded gaze, particularly the way it sometimes rested on her, that made her uneasy.

‘But I do wish to offer my help.’ He smiled again. ‘Before you protest, you must hear my proposal. I am not without resources, and I should hate to see you turned from your family home. Come driving with me tomorrow, and I shall tell you my proposition.’

‘That is very kind, but I…I shall be busy tomorrow.’

‘Will you? Then the next day.’ His eyes rested on her face as if he wanted to calculate the impact of his words. ‘I have longed for the opportunity to become better acquainted with you ever since I saw you at Meryton.’

‘My dear, there you are!’

Relieved, she turned to see her grandmother, Lady Carlyn, suddenly appear next to her. Lady Carlyn acknowledged Fairchilde with a cool smile. ‘If you will excuse us, sir, I must introduce my granddaughter to Lady Carruthers. I fear she is about to leave.’ She dragged Rosalyn away, but not before Rosalyn saw Fairchilde’s brows snap together in sudden anger.

Lady Carlyn marched Rosalyn from the drawing room to an adjoining room, then stopped. ‘My dear, you should not be talking to Edmund Fairchilde. His reputation is, well, not quite what it should be. People will talk.’

‘I didn’t wish to talk with him. He approached me. He is an acquaintance of James’s.’

‘Indeed. I must say I am surprised at James, although he has been going about with some rather wild young men. I hope he will settle down soon enough and properly manage Meryton. It has been most careless of him to leave you to do so. Women have no business running estates.’

Rosalyn said nothing. She had not yet informed her grandmother that James had gambled away Meryton. For once she was thankful that her grandmother’s mind tended to jump from subject to subject. ‘However, we must concentrate on you. What did you think of Neville Hastings?’

‘Neville Hastings?’ Rosalyn finally recalled a plump, man with thinning hair and creaking corsets. Lady Carlyn had introduced him to her when they first arrived. ‘He seemed very nice, I suppose.’

‘A bit plump, although a diet of rice and water would help. But twenty thousand pounds a year, that is nothing to sneeze at in a husband.’

‘A husband?’

‘Why, yes, for you, my love.’

‘Grandmama! I don’t want a husband!’

‘But of course you do. You are only six-and-twenty and still quite pretty. I must own Neville Hastings is not quite what I had in mind. Someone with a bit more dash.’

‘I never plan to remarry.’

‘Of course, it will be someone you like,’ Lady Carlyn continued, paying no heed to Rosalyn as usual. ‘I have several eligible men in mind.’

Her sharp grey eyes darted around the packed drawing room, seeking more prey. ‘I see Lord Brandon has arrived. He is searching for a wife. A pity he has five children, but I know you are very fond…’

‘Please, no! I am rather tired. I would like to rest for a few minutes.’

Lady Carlyn fidgeted with her fan, then snapped it shut. ‘Very well. You may stay here. I must admit, you do look a trifle pale. No use having you faint, although Ellen Winthrope would consider that the highest compliment! I must have a few words with Maria Smythe-Howard and then we can leave.’

Rosalyn watched her grandmother make her way through the packed room, a small plump figure dressed in a gown of orange satin completely unsuitable for a woman of more advanced years. The dictates of fashion meant nothing to Lady Carlyn.

Rosalyn shifted uncomfortably. Her feet hurt from standing, her mouth ached from smiling, and her head pounded from the strain of making conversation in the impossible noise. There was no place to sit, as all the furniture had been removed to accommodate the several hundred people Lady Winthrope expected to parade through her rooms.

At least she was free of her grandmother for a few minutes. Lady Carlyn’s unflagging energy was exhausting. And this hare-brained notion of finding her a husband…she had enough to distress her without fighting her grandmother’s schemes.

Her thoughts turned to James, as they had all day. Ever since their mother’s death, four years earlier, he’d become more and more unmanageable. She no longer knew how to reach him. Somehow, she had believed if she tried to preserve Meryton for him, he would return, for he had once loved Meryton as much as she did. Now Meryton was lost and, in her heart, she feared he was lost also.

‘Oh!’ She gasped as a stout gentlemen stepped back, jostling her with such force that she lost her balance and stumbled sideways against a tall, hard form. Strong hands caught her bare arms, causing an unexpected warmth to course through her.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said in confusion.

‘There is no need to apologise. I am always delighted when beautiful ladies fall into my arms.’

That familiar, detestable voice caused her heart to stop. Slowly, she lifted her head to meet the Marquis of Stamford’s laughing eyes. For the briefest of moments, he seemed not to recognise her, and then, a wicked grin spread across his face.

‘Why, Lady Jeffreys, what a delightful surprise to run into you like this. Particularly since you assured me we never moved in the same dissipated circles.’

She jerked away from him. Irritation replaced the unwelcome sensation she’d felt at his touch. ‘Please excuse me, my lord.’

‘But I have looked forward to seeing you all evening. You cannot mean to leave me now when I have finally found you.’

The hated colour flooded her face at the implication that he actually hoped to see her. Of course, she didn’t believe it for a moment. ‘I must find my grandmother. I do not have time for idle chatter.’

He laughed. ‘Is there any other sort at these tedious affairs? But never mind, I wanted to see you for a particular reason. I have something for you.’

‘Something for me?’

‘Yes, your fan. I believe you dropped it in my drawing room. I wanted to return it to you.’

‘You’ve been carrying my fan around?’

‘In the remote chance I might see you.’ He reached under his evening coat, towards his white embroidered waistcoat.

She nearly grabbed his hand. ‘No, please, not here.’ What would people think if they saw him pull a fan from his pocket and present it to her?

‘Shall I call on you, then?’

‘No! I mean, why can you not send it to me?’

‘But I want to give it to you in person, to make certain you get it, of course. I was hoping we could become better acquainted.’

‘I have no desire to become better acquainted with you, my lord.’

‘But I would like the opportunity to change your mind.’ A lazy half-smile, full of meaning, curled the edges of his mouth as he let his leisurely gaze travel over her person.

Mesmerised, she stared back. It occurred to her that his eyes were really not black at all, but the deepest, richest shade of brown she’d ever seen. And would his thick midnight hair, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, feel as soft and silky to her touch as it looked?

What was she thinking of?

‘Never! You’ll never change my mind!’

She whirled away, only to find her escape blocked by two ladies standing directly behind them. They gasped and stared, their fans stopped in mid-air. From the looks of pleasurable shock on their faces, she had little doubt they had heard her every word.

Lord Stamford nodded to the ladies, who tittered and turned away. Grasping Rosalyn’s arm, he bent his head towards her, and said conversationally, ‘It’s best not to pick a quarrel with me in public. It will hardly ease your entrée into society.’

Her mouth fell open. Pick a quarrel with him? He was doing his best to provoke her.

‘However, any time you wish to quarrel with me in private I would be delighted to accommodate you.’

‘If you had an ounce of sensibility you would realise that, under the circumstances, I want neither to speak to you nor to see you.’

‘I take it you refer to the business with your brother. I cannot see what it has to do with you or…with you and me.’

She was floundering, badly out of her depth. Nothing in her limited experience with the opposite sex had ever prepared her to deal with a man such as Lord Stamford, a man with devastatingly dark expressive eyes, a man as handsome as the devil himself, a man who was flirting with her in a blatantly sensual fashion that caused her to feel vulnerable and utterly confused.

Desperate, she looked around for escape. With relief, she saw Lady Carlyn winding her way towards them. Her relief was short-lived when she noted the look of utter disbelief on her grandmother’s face. What if Lord Stamford said something about this morning?

He must have read her mind for he said, ‘There is no need to fear, my lady. I promise I will not tell your grandmother how you called on me in such a bold manner without so much as a maid to accompany you. As far as I am concerned, our first meeting has only now taken place. Of course, I shall not mention your fan. I will find a more private moment to return it to you.’

The wicked spark in his eye did nothing to reassure her, but it was too late to do a thing. Lady Carlyn had already made her way to them.

Lord Stamford’s mouth curved in a disarming smile as he bowed over her plump hand. ‘Lady Carlyn, I have just had the delightful opportunity of meeting your granddaughter. She is as lovely and charming as her grandmother.’

Lady Carlyn fluttered her lashes at him in a disgustingly flirtatious fashion. ‘It’s no use trying to turn my head at my age, young man. Rosalyn is much lovelier than I ever was. But how did you come to make her acquaintance? With a proper introduction, I trust?’

His eyes danced. ‘Not at all. I was forced to introduce myself after she stumbled into my arms. Quite by accident, of course. But now that I have met her…I hope to secure your permission to call on her.’

A peculiar expression crossed her grandmother’s face. ‘You may, but I’ll have you know I intend to keep a strict watch on her. She may be a widow, but she is not one of your flirts. I will not have you trifling with her.’

He turned his gaze on Rosalyn who felt as if she’d turned to stone. ‘I shall behave with the utmost propriety.’

‘That I shall have to see to believe.’ Lady Carlyn stared at him for a moment. ‘Very well, you may call on her.’

Rosalyn had to put a stop to this. ‘It is quite doubtful that I would ever be at home to you, my lord.’ And how could they discuss her as if she were in leading strings with no mind of her own? She did not know which one to strangle first.

‘Nonsense. Of course you will, dear.’ Lady Carlyn shot her a quelling glance.

A smile of pure devilment quirked his mouth. ‘Unfortunately, I must depart now. I will see you soon, very soon, Lady Jeffreys.’ Her name sounded like a caress on his lips.

He made an elaborate leg and strode off. Lady Carlyn watched his dark-haired figure weave its way through the crush.

With a bemused expression, she took Rosalyn’s arm. ‘My dear, I can scarcely believe this! Lord Stamford wishes to call on you. I cannot image why; he never pays the slightest heed to any respectable woman. Surely he cannot think that…no, of course not. Not with you dressed in that gown!’

‘Isn’t it fortunate that I wore it, then,’ Rosalyn replied with a humourless smile. Her simply cut blue gown had been a source of contention between them, Lady Carlyn declaring it was fit only for a Methodist.

Rosalyn barely noticed as they made their goodbyes to Lady Winthrope, descended the crowded staircase, and waited a good twenty minutes for the carriage to be brought around. Her thoughts were totally occupied with the icy set-downs she planned to give Lord Stamford.

It wasn’t until they had settled into the carriage and her grandmother spoke that Rosalyn started out of her reverie.

‘My dear, what do you think of Lord Stamford? I hadn’t even considered him. But now that I think of it—he would do quite nicely. No woman would ever be bored with him.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Lord Stamford. For a husband.’

‘A husband?’ Horrified, she stared at Lady Carlyn.

‘I don’t believe you’ve been attending at all. His aunt, Lady Spence, told me—in strict confidence, of course—that Eversleigh has been casting about for a wife for him. Why did I not think of this before? There is no reason why you should not be in the running. Now that you are finally in London, I shall call on Margaret and drop a hint in her ear.’

A most alarming headache was beginning in her right temple. ‘Grandmama, please, no. I would rather be dead than ever, ever consider him for a husband.’

His most blatant efforts to flirt with her had failed dismally.

Michael received his overcoat and hat from the footman and headed down the steps into the cool spring night. He liked walking at night, despite the risk of footpads.

A smile curled his lips. It was wicked of him to tease Lady Jeffreys so much. Especially in front of Lady Carlyn. But the fire that sprang to her eyes and the all too-ready colour washing over her cheeks was too tempting to resist.

He had no idea why such a respectable widow should interest him. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her dress, even tonight, was unfashionably plain; no rows of lace and flowers adorned its hem, no low-cut bodice designed to reveal its wearer’s charms. But it became her.

He usually found such ladies excessively dull. But not Lady Jeffreys. Behind the proper façade she tried to present, he sensed a warm, passionate woman. It would be a challenge for any man to storm those barriers.

Particularly as she detested him and made no pretense otherwise, not even in hopes he might relent and return her brother’s estate. He admired her for that. At least she was honest in her dealings with him.

It would probably be too much to hope Miss Randall would harbour the same sentiments. No, from what he gathered of the young lady, she was very biddable and unlikely to disobey her family’s wishes. A pity Lady Jeffreys was not his intended bride; he’d never get her to the altar unless she was drugged and bound.

Suddenly, Charles’s words flashed through his mind. His head snapped up and he stopped dead in the quiet street, inspiration hitting him like a bolt of lightening. Why not? She was well bred, respectable, pretty, intelligent. And she disliked him thoroughly.

What more could he want in a prospective bride?

Having the proper, disapproving Lady Jeffreys in his power would be most agreeable. He’d wager any sum that by the end of their association, he could break down her resistance to him.

And he knew without doubt he could induce her to agree to his plan.

Chapter Three

Morning sunlight streamed through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains of Rosalyn’s bedchamber. She fought to open her eyes, heavy with sleep, wanting nothing more than to snuggle back down into the cosiness of her bed.

It was these late nights. She was not used to staying up past midnight, let alone until two or three in the morning. She had never realized what energy a woman of sixty some years could possess. An evening at home was far too tame for Lady Carlyn; she must be out to a soirée or ball or to a concert every night. And she insisted Rosalyn accompany her.

Rosalyn struggled up as Mrs Harrod, her housekeeper, entered. She carried a tray with a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast.

‘Anything else, my lady?’ she asked as she set the tray in front of Rosalyn. She was plump and kindly and watched Rosalyn with a motherly eye. ‘I thought you might like a tray today seeing how you did not come in until nearly three. Such a long night for you.’

Mrs Harrod bustled about, opened the curtains and then departed. After pouring herself a cup of the steaming chocolate, Rosalyn sunk back on her pillows, wondering if there was any way she could escape tonight’s ball. She had been to more of these affairs since arriving in London ten days ago than in the eight years since her own coming-out.

Her husband, John, had considered ton parties a frivolous waste of time, as did most of his scholarly colleagues. After the miserable, tongue-tied shyness of her one and only season, she had been grateful.

Sometimes she had longed for a little more gaiety. It seemed after the first year or so of their marriage, as he became more deeply immersed in completing the massive book he’d spent years working on, that anything which distracted him from his work was a waste of time.

Including her.

Tears pricked her eyes. She brushed them away with an angry hand. It was only that she had lost so many people she loved in the past five years, first John, then her mother a year later. Her father’s spirit had been buried along with her mother, his body finally succumbing to a bout of influenza two years later. Now, she was losing James.

She had come to London, hoping to somehow bridge the gap between them. Since their mother’s death, he’d walled off his emotions, rarely talking to her as he once had. Her father had been no help; lost in his own sorrow, he’d scarcely noticed James was growing more unmanageable, running around with some of the wildest young men in the neighbourhood. After her father died, he stayed away from Meryton for long periods of time, only once bringing a group of his new friends down for a week.

Rosalyn had been appalled. It took no more than a few hours in their company to discover he kept company with some of the most disreputable rakehells in London. She’d stayed out of their way, afraid to say anything to James for fear he’d shut her out even more. But he’d never asked them again.

She finally forced herself out of bed. Her abigail, Annie, helped her dress in a long-sleeved navy print cambric gown with a ruff around the throat, then dressed her hair in its usual knot.

Rosalyn had just reached the staircase when Mrs Harrod bustled up to her, her plump face shining with curious excitement.

‘You have a visitor, my lady. I have shown him to the drawing room.’

‘A visitor? Is it James?’

‘No, not your brother.’ Mrs Harrod clasped her hands. Her voice quivered with anticipation. ‘It is the Marquis of Stamford, my lady. He wishes to see you.’

Rosalyn backed away from the staircase, her hand fluttering to her throat. What was he doing here so early? It was hardly the hour for morning callers. Did he think she was at his disposal at any time?

‘Lord Stamford? He wishes to see me? Please inform him I am not at home.’

‘But, my dear, he is very anxious to see you.’

‘No, I certainly do not want to see him. It is much too early.’

Mrs Harrod pursed her lips in disapproval. When she saw Rosalyn did not plan to relent, she nodded and bustled away.

Irritated, Rosalyn turned back to her room. She supposed he’d finally decided to return her fan. A full three days had passed since the rout. Well, he could leave it with Mrs Harrod. She would hide out until he left. She picked up a novel she was reading, but the words jumbled into nonsense.