Читать книгу The Marriage Wager - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 6

THE TWO WOMEN CLIMBED into Lady Haughston’s waiting carriage, a shiny black barouche. Constance knew, from listening to her aunt’s chatter yesterday evening that this barouche, a slightly outdated equipage for someone usually so slap up to the mark as Lady Haughston, was one of the woman’s well-known and charming eccentricities. The barouche had been given her by her late husband when they were first married, and since his untimely death six years ago, she had refused to buy a new carriage, preferring his gift.

“I have been, in truth, looking at two hats at the milliner’s,” Lady Haughston said. “But we have ample time to stop elsewhere. Shall we go to Oxford Street? What would you like to shop for?”

Constance smiled at her. “I am quite happy to go wherever you wish, my lady. I have nothing particular I wish to buy.”

“Oh, but we cannot neglect you,” her companion said gaily. “You must at least need ribbons or gloves or some such thing.” She looked consideringly at Constance. “A bit of lace for the neckline of that dress, for instance.”

A little surprised, Constance glanced down at her chocolate brown dress. It would be prettier, it was true, with a ruffle of lace around the neckline and the small puffed sleeves—champagne-colored lace, for instance.

She shook her head, unaware of letting out a tiny sigh. “I fear it would not be plain enough then.”

“Plain enough?” A faint look of consternation marred Francesca’s pretty features. “You are not a Quaker, are you?”

Constance let out a chuckle. “No, my lady, I am not a Quaker. It is just that it is not appropriate, is it, for a chaperone to call attention to herself?”

“Chaperone!” The other woman exclaimed. “My dear, whatever are you talking about? You are far too young and pretty to be a chaperone.”

“My aunt needs my help. She has two daughters out.”

“Help? To watch them talk or dance? I think you are far too serious about the matter. I am sure she would not expect you to sit out every dance. You must dance at Lady Simmington’s ball. Her musicians are always excellent. I will speak to your aunt about it.”

Constance felt a blush begin in her cheeks. “I doubt I would be asked, my lady.”

“Nonsense. Of course you will. Especially when we brighten up your wardrobe a trifle. I have a deep blue satin gown—I have worn it far too many times already, and I fear I must give it up, but it would look wonderful on you. My maid can change something here and there, spruce it up a bit so no one will recognize it. You must come to my house before the party and let her make it over for you.”

“My lady! That is much too kind of you. I cannot accept such a generous gift.”

“Then do not consider it a gift. ’Twill be a loan, and you may give it back to me when the Season is over. And, please, that is quite enough of ‘my lady.’ I am Francesca.”

Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Why, what should you said but ‘Thank you for the dress, Francesca?’” the other woman retorted, smiling.

“I do thank you. But I—”

“What? You do not wish to be friends with me?”

“No!” Constance hastened to assure her. “I would like that very much. Indeed, I should very much like to have a friend. But you are too generous.”

“I am sure that you would be able to find a number of people who would tell you that I am not generous at all,” Francesca retorted.

“You make it very difficult to say no,” Constance told her.

Francesca’s white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. “I know. I have worked at it for many years. Ah, here is the millinery. Now, stop all these protestations and come help me decide between these hats.”

Constance put away her doubts and followed Lady Haughston into the store. They were greeted with a smile and pleasant words from the girl behind the counter, and a moment later, an older woman who was obviously the proprietress of the store, swept out from the curtained rear of the shop to help them herself.

Francesca modeled both of the hats in which she was interested. One was a soft, dark blue velvet with a jockey brim, a delicate lace veil hanging down to cover her eyes. The other, a straw cottage bonnet, was lined with blue silk and tied fetchingly under the chin with a matching blue ribbon, Gypsy style. Both did wonderful things for her blue eyes, and Constance declared herself as unable to decide as Francesca was.

“You try them on,” Francesca suggested. “Let me see how they look.”

Constance made a token protest, but, in fact, she had been itching to see how the blue-lined straw would look on her. When she tried it on, she could not help but smile at her reflection.

“Oh!” Lady Haughston cried, clapping her hands together. “It looks perfect on you! You must get it, not I. I will take the velvet.”

Constance hesitated, gazing at her image in the mirror. The blue silk lining did as much for gray eyes as for blue, she decided. It was an excessively pretty bonnet, and she had not bought a new hat this year. Surely it would not hurt to spend a little of her money.

Finally, with a sigh, she shook her head. “No, I fear it must be too dear.”

“Oh, no, I am sure it is not. I believe it is on sale, is it not, Mrs. Downing?” Francesca turned and looked significantly at the store owner.

Mrs. Downing, who was well aware of the benefits of Lady Haughston’s patronage, smiled and agreed. “Indeed, it is. You are right, my lady. It is, um…” She shot another glance at Francesca. “…one-third off the price on the tag.” At Francesca’s smile, she nodded. “Yes, that’s right. One-third off. A true bargain.”

Constance looked at the price, quickly calculating. She had never spent even as much as two-thirds of this price for a hat at home. But, then, none had been as becoming or carried quite the elegant panache as this one.

“All right,” she agreed, saying goodbye to her pin money for the month. “I will take it.”

Francesca was delighted with Constance’s purchase and took the velvet hat for herself. Then she insisted on purchasing a spray of tiny silk buds as an ornament for Constance’s hair.

“Nonsense,” she said when Constance protested. “It will look perfect with the blue gown you are borrowing. It is a gift. You cannot refuse it.”

Their hats in boxes, they went back out to their waiting carriage. When they had gotten in and settled into their seats, Constance turned to Francesca.

“My lady—Francesca. I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”

Lady Haughston turned a look of supreme innocence upon her. “Doing what, my dear?”

“All of this.” Constance made a vague gesture around her. “Inviting me out with you this afternoon. Offering me a dress. Inviting us to Lady Simmington’s party.”

“Why, it is because I like you,” Francesca answered. “Why would I have any ulterior motive?”

“I cannot imagine,” Constance retorted candidly. “But neither can I believe that you spotted me or my aunt and cousins across the great hall at Lady Welcombe’s and were so enchanted with us that you had Lady Welcombe introduce us to you.”

Francesca looked consideringly at Constance, then sighed. “Very well. You are right. I had a reason for meeting you. I do like you—you are a very pleasant young woman, and you have a certain laughing look to your eyes that I know means you see the humor in the world. I would like to be your friend. But that is not why I came over to meet you. The fact is…I made a wager with someone.”

“A wager?” Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “About me? But what? Why?”

“I was boasting. I should learn to mind my tongue,” Francesca admitted in a vexed tone. “Rochford had the gall to challenge me. And, well, the fact is that I bet that I could find you a husband before the end of the Season.”

Constance’s jaw dropped. For a moment she could think of nothing to say.

“I am sorry,” Francesca said earnestly, leaning forward to lay a placating hand on Constance’s arm. “I know I should not have, and I regretted it as soon as it was done. And you have every right to be angry with me. But I beg you will not. I did not mean you any harm. I still do not.”

“Not mean me any harm!” A variety of emotions rushed through Constance, hurt followed almost immediately by anger and resentment. “No, of course not. Why should I mind that I am held up to ridicule by the leaders of the Ton?”

“Ridicule!” Lady Haughston looked at her with alarm and concern. “No, how can you think that?”

“What else am I to think when I have been made the object of a public wager?”

“Oh, no, no. It was not public at all. It was between Rochford and me alone. No one else was privy to it, I assure you. Well, except Lucien,” she added honestly. “But he is my closest friend, and I can assure you that he would never tell a soul. He knows the secrets of half the Ton. I promise you that I shall not spread it about, and I can assure you that Rochford will not tell anyone. A tighter-lipped man I have never met.” She looked rather exasperated at the fact.

“And is that supposed to make it all right?” Constance asked. She had liked Francesca, and now she felt betrayed. Though she had had her reasonable doubts, she found it was a lowering thought indeed that Lady Haughston had not sought out her friendship but was only using her as a test of her matchmaking skills. “Why was I chosen? Was I the most unmarriageable of all the women at the ball? Too plain and old for any man ever to wish to marry me?”

“No, please, you must not think that!” Francesca exclaimed, her lovely features tightening in distress. “Oh, I have made such a muddle of this. The truth is, we made the wager, and then Rochford chose the woman. When he picked you, I was greatly relieved, for I had thought he was going to give me one of your cousins, and that would have been a formidable task, indeed. I am not sure why he chose you, other than that you were so clearly relegated to the background by your aunt and cousins that he must have been sure that I would get no help from them in bringing you out.”

“That is certainly true.” Constance could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

“My dearest Constance—I hope you will not mind if I call you that.” Francesca slipped her gloved hand into Constance’s and squeezed it gently. “I knew at once that he had foolishly chosen the easiest of you to turn into a belle. It is very difficult to give a person wit or beauty when they have none. But a want of fortune is not the hardest thing to overcome, at least when it is accompanied by style, intelligence, and a lovely face and figure.”

“I will not let you get around me with flattery,” Constance warned her, but in truth she found it difficult to dislike Lady Haughston. The woman was disarmingly candid, and her smile was hard to resist.

“I am not trying to get around you,” Francesca assured her.

“Then what do you want?” Constance asked bluntly.

“I am suggesting that you and I join forces. We shall work together to find you a husband.”

“You want me to help you win the bet?” Constance’s voice was incredulous.

“No. Well, I mean, yes, I do, but that is not why you would wish to help me.”

“I don’t wish to help you,” Constance pointed out.

“Ah, but you should. I might win a bet, but the advantages for you are far greater.”

Constance looked at her skeptically. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that I will get a husband out of this.”

“Why not?” Francesca replied calmly.

Constance wrinkled her nose. “I have little liking for listing my liabilities, but surely they must be obvious. I have no fortune. I am past the age of marrying and I am no beauty. I am here only to help my cousins achieve marriages. I am a chaperone, not a young girl on the marriage mart.”

“A lack of fortune is an obstacle,” the other woman agreed. “But it is certainly not impossible to overcome. As for your looks, well, if you took off that silly cap and dressed your hair attractively and wore something to show off your looks instead of hiding them, you would be a very attractive woman. You would also look scarcely older than your cousins. Tell me something, who decided that you should wear drab browns and grays and such?”

“My aunt felt it would be more appropriate for a spinster. She did not make me dress so.”

“But you, of course, are under obligation to her, as you live with them.”

“Yes, but…it is not only that. I do not wish to appear foolish, either.”

“Foolish? Why?”

Constance shrugged. “I am used to living in the country. I have no town bronze. Indeed, I have never even been to London before. I have no desire to make a misstep before all the Ton. To embarrass myself by dressing in something unsuitable for a woman of my age.”

Lady Haughston’s face assumed an expression befitting a woman with generations of earls behind her. “My dear Constance, if you dress according to my guidance, I assure you that no one would think you appeared in any way unsuitable.”

Constance could not hold back a chuckle. “I am sure not, Francesca. But the truth is, I have given up hope of marrying.”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with your aunt and uncle?” Francesca asked. “I am sure you are quite grateful to them, but I do not think that you are…very happy with them.”

Constance cast her a rueful look. “It is that obvious?”

“The differences between you are clear,” Francesca told her flatly. “One could hardly expect to live a happy life with people with whom one has so few traits in common. Nor can I think that your aunt and uncle have done well by you. You told me last night that you did not have your come-out because of your father’s illness. That was a good and properly filial thing to do. But when your father passed on and you came to live with your aunt and uncle, how old were you?”

“Twenty-two. Too old for my coming out.”

“Not too old to have a Season,” Francesca retorted. “Had they done the right thing by you, they would have given you a Season. I am sure it is what your father would have wanted, and it is what you deserved. Oh, yes, I know, you were older than the silly little seventeen-and eighteen-year-old girls being presented to the Queen. But, really, it isn’t necessary to have the presentation. Many do not. You could have had a Season. There are still a number of girls who are unmarried at that age. I know I should not malign your relatives, but I must tell you that I think your aunt and uncle acted selfishly. They saved themselves the expense of a Season, and they kept you at their beck and call for the past few years. Looking after their children, no doubt, and running errands for them. Doing the little things that no one else wanted to do. Now instead of letting you enjoy yourself at these parties, your aunt has forced you into the role of chaperone, making you wear dull clothes and dull hair.”

She cast a shrewd look at Constance and added, “Of course, she would want you looking as plain as possible. You outshine her daughters as it is.”

Constance stirred uncomfortably in her seat. Lady Haughston’s description of her life with Aunt Blanche was uncannily accurate. Constance herself had thought the same things many times. Aunt Blanche had used Constance’s sense of duty and obligation toward her, taking advantage in countless ways of her gratitude and her good nature.

“You cannot want to spend the rest of your life with them,” Francesca said, pressing her advantage. “Besides, you seem to me to be a rather independently minded young woman. Do you not wish for your own house, your own life? A husband and children?”

Constance’s thoughts turned to that brief time, many years ago, with Gareth, when she had let herself believe, at least for a little while, that such a life might be hers.

“I have never wanted to marry just to achieve a position in life,” Constance told her quietly. “Perhaps you will think me foolish, but I would like to marry for love.”

Constance could not read the look in Lady Haughston’s eyes as she regarded her. “I hope you do find love,” she said gravely. “But whether one loves or not, marriage gives a woman independence. You will have a place in life, a status that one can never find even in the happiest of situations, living with loving and wealthy parents. There is certainly no comparison to living under the thumb of a selfish and demanding relative.”

“I know,” Constance answered quietly. She knew, she thought, better than the lovely Lady Haughston, the facts of such a life. “But I cannot tie myself to a man for life without love.”

Francesca glanced away. Finally, after a long moment, she said lightly, “Well, surely, there is no reason to believe that one cannot find a husband one loves during the Season. No one will force you to marry any man who asks you. But would you not like to have the chance? Don’t you think it is only fair for you to taste some of what you missed?”

Her words struck a chord with Constance. She had stayed with her father through his years of illness, and she had done her best not to pine for what might have been. But she could not deny that there had been times when she had wondered what would have happened if she had been able to have even one London Season. She could not help but yearn to experience a little of the glamour and excitement herself.

Francesca, seeing Constance’s hesitation, pressed her argument. “Would you not like to have a Season? To wear pretty dresses and flirt with your beaux? To dance with the most eligible bachelors in England?”

Constance’s thoughts went to Viscount Leighton. What would it be like to have a chance to flirt with him? To dance with him? She wanted, quite badly, to meet him again, this time wearing something pretty, her hair falling about her face in curls.

“But how can I have a Season?” she asked. “I am here to act as chaperone. And my clothes…”

“Leave it all to me. I will make sure that you receive invitations to the right parties. I will be there to guide you through the treacherous waters of the Ton. I will make you the most sought-after woman in London.”

Constance chuckled. “I do not think that I could be made into such a creature, no matter what your efforts.”

Francesca cast her another haughty look. “You doubt my ability?”

Constance could not imagine even Francesca pulling off what she promised. But if anyone could do it, she supposed, it would be Lady Haughston. And even if she did not make her the most popular belle of London, Constance had little doubt that she would enable Constance to have a far better taste of a real Season than what she was experiencing now. Aunt Blanche would dislike it, of course. That thought gave Constance a wicked little spurt of amusement.

“I will deal with your aunt,” Francesca went on, as if guessing Constance’s thoughts. “She, I think, will not complain. Your family will, after all, receive the same invitations. And she will not want to go against me. If I choose you as my special friend, I do not think she will fight it. As for the clothes, you may not believe it, but I am rather good at economizing. We will look over your dresses and see what we can add to make them more attractive. The gown you wore last night, for instance—a slightly lower neckline, a bit of lace and it will do well enough. My maid Maisie is a wonder with a needle. She could raise it in the front and add an underskirt. We would just have to buy some material. I will send my carriage for you tomorrow, and you must bring your best dresses with you. We will go over your things and see what can be done, and I will see what dresses of mine we can use.”

Constance felt excitement starting to bubble up in her. She thought of her small hoard of money. She had saved as much as she could every year from the income left her by her father, hoping one day to increase her principal enough that she would be able to live off it, no longer dependent on her aunt and uncle for a place to live.

She could use some of that money, she thought, to buy a pretty gown or two. Something that would bring a man—someone like Lord Leighton, say—rushing to her side from across the room. So what if it meant that she had to spend a few more months, even years, scrimping and scraping her money together? She might have to live with her aunt and uncle for longer than she’d hoped, but at least she would have had a wonderful summer to remember, a time that she could look back on and treasure always. A season of fun and excitement, memories that she could keep forever.

Constance turned to Francesca. “Would you really do all this just to win a bet?”

Francesca’s lips curved up in that little catlike smile, her eyes glinting. “This is more than simply a bet. It is with a gentleman I most particularly want to prove wrong. Besides, it will be fun. I have helped a young girl or two through their first Seasons. They ended up engaged, as well, before long. But with you…”

“It is more of a challenge?” Constance asked, smiling to take the sting out of her words.

“In a way, because with them I had free rein to spend any amount of money for gowns and balls and such. But then I had to worry so much about covering up this problem or that—dresses that brightened a sallow complexion or how to make a short, squat girl look taller and more willowy. With you, that aspect is much easier. We just need to show off what is already there.” She leaned a little closer. “Will you do it, then?”

Constance hesitated for a moment, then took a breath. “Yes. Yes, I want to have a real Season.”

Francesca grinned. “Wonderful. Then let us begin.”

CONSTANCE SPENT THE REST of the day in what was, for her, an absolute orgy of shopping. To Constance’s surprise, Lady Haughston turned out to be quite skillful at shopping for bargains. It took only her smile and a few words to her favorite modiste to have the woman quickly lowering her price on the dresses in which Constance was most interested. Mlle du Plessis also brought out a ball gown that had been ordered but never picked up or paid for, and which she was willing to sell to Constance for only a fraction of its original price.

When Constance quietly commented with surprise on the modiste’s willingness to discount her goods, Francesca merely smiled and replied, “Mademoiselle’s well aware of how much good it does her to have her wares shown on an excellent figure. It makes those less fortunately endowed believe that if they wear Mademoiselle’s dresses, they will look as tall and willowy in them as you do. Besides, she values my patronage. Now…this shawl. It is lovely, is it not? And look at this little flaw. I am sure Mademoiselle will reduce the price for that.”

Even at the discounted prices, the things that she bought at Mlle Du Plessis’s put a serious dent in Constance’s savings, so they moved on to less expensive means of supplementing her wardrobe. Their next stop was Grafton House, where they purchased laces, ribbons, buttons and such to enliven the dresses Constance already owned, as well as several yards of cambric and muslin from which, Francesca assured her, a talented seamstress whom she knew could whip up several quite respectable and attractive day dresses. There were, as well, gloves and dancing slippers to be bought, and they also made a stop at a fan shop, where they spent a good many minutes admiring a variety of fans before Constance reluctantly decided that the prices were too dear, and she would simply have to make do with the ivory-handled fan she already owned. Last, but certainly not least in importance, there were hair ornaments to be purchased, not to mention adornments such as silk flowers or a cluster of wooden cherries with which to brighten a plain, inexpensive bonnet.

By the time they finished late in the afternoon, Constance was exhausted but almost giddy with excitement. She could hardly wait to get home and go through all her purchases again.

“I feel positively decadent,” she told Francesca, smiling, as they left the shop and started toward their carriage. “I have never splurged so.”

“You should do it more often,” Francesca counseled, grinning. “I find that splurging is a wonderful restorative for the soul. I make sure to do it frequently.”

The coachman took Constance’s most recent purchase from her and stowed it up on the seat where he rode, for they had already filled up the rack behind the coach and had even taken up a good portion of the space inside the barouche. Francesca took his proffered hand and started up the step into the carriage when a masculine voice rang out behind them.

“Francesca!”

Lady Haughston paused in midstep and turned toward the voice. Her face lit up, and she smiled in welcome. “Dominic!”

“Francesca, my dear. Buying out Oxford Street again?”

Constance turned to the man who was walking toward them, sweeping off his hat and reaching out to take Francesca’s hand. He smiled down warmly at Lady Haughston, affection evident in his handsome face.

Constance stared, surprised. He loves her, she thought, aware of a sinking feeling of regret.

“Apparently it is the only way I can see you,” Francesca laughed. “Since you never call on me. You are the rudest man alive.”

He chuckled. “I am incorrigible, I know. I detest paying calls.”

“There is someone I want you meet,” Francesca told him, turning toward Constance.

The man followed her gaze, and his eyes widened when they fell on Constance. “Miss Woodley!”

“Lord Leighton.”