Love In The Wager (Women 0f Worth Book 4) Read online

  “I understand.” Which, I did. But I also knew how teachers were difficult to obtain and I was a willing, free participant.

  Mrs. Coulter rang for tea and sent an excited little boy to retrieve his siblings. “Might I inquire on something of a personal nature?” Mrs. Coulter asked after the tea arrived.

  I nodded, accepting my cup and sipping the bitter liquid. It was not as strong as I was accustomed to, but it was a decent blend.

  “Thomas read the announcement this morning in the newspaper before he gave it to our neighbors. I was unable to see it for myself, so tell me: is it true you are engaged?”

  How odd to answer such a question before speaking to my betrothed. Was I engaged to be married if the man had merely signed an agreement with my father and not asked me himself? I supposed the announcement was more ironclad than any vocal agreement could be. I attempted to refrain from slumping my shoulders, pasting a smile on my face instead. “Yes, I am to marry Mr. Thornton.”

  She looked at me a moment, searching my face. Could she see through my false courage?

  “I am not acquainted with the family,” Mrs Coulter said. “But I wish you well.”

  I sipped my tea to avoid responding. It felt unreal. It likely would until Mr. Thornton approached me himself. If he could remember to.

  Smiling to myself, I turned to the children sitting quietly at the table against the far window. “I’ve brought a few books with me,” I told them. “They are for your father’s schools, but I am sure he won’t mind if we read a few of them now. If your mother could be persuaded to allow it.”

  “Allow it, Mama!” the children sang in unison.

  Her endearing smile was broad. “Of course. But you must thank Miss James for reading to you.”

  I slid over on the cushion to allow space for the children to sit beside me. For one miniscule moment, I imagined myself in the role of mother and the idea warmed my soul. Perhaps marriage would not be so horrid, after all. Perhaps it would even be a blessing. Even if my husband had a habit of forgetting about me.

  2

  Edward

  He’d done it. He’d actually, truly done it.

  I sat back against the cushions, letting my head fall against the top of the sofa. Sunlight streamed between the drapes and cascaded onto the carpet before me. I watched as particles floated within the bright sphere of light and danced about as if they, too, had been summarily relieved of a massive amount of debt.

  I lifted the note to read the words again, allowing my gaze to drift slowly over the last few lines. Everything has been taken care of, and my daughter has been informed of the arrangement. You no longer owe money to any man in London—but you shall owe me if the wedding does not occur forthwith.

  Freedom was sweet, and my shoulders were significantly lighter for it. I would now be able to focus my attentions on bettering my estate and building a life for myself at Thornville—with my new wife.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sat up tall.

  Lydia James. It was my own fault for my distraction at the ball where we’d met, but I could hardly remember what she looked like.

  Resting my elbows on my knees, I stared, mesmerized, by the dancing particles within the shaft of light once more. James’s note had been abundantly clear. He’d relieved my debts, but I was not out of the woods completely until the wedding took place.

  It would likely be in my best interest to call on Miss James and smooth any discomfort caused by our arrangement and the way it came about. James had indicated that he had already spoken to his daughter. I couldn’t imagine her finding the agreement pleasing, but I could do my best to make the transition easier on both of us.

  I folded the note from James and crossed the room to tuck it into the top drawer of the writing desk situated beside the window.

  Pausing, I perused the painting hung on the wall, depicting Thornville in all of its glory. I felt a beat of trepidation at returning to the area, but shook my head to ease my discomfort. Surely I was not the only person involved who wished to keep quiet.

  And regardless, the house was an absolute oasis away from Town, with seclusion and beauty found within the grounds and surrounding woods. Sarah and I had been orphaned many years ago, but had spent a good deal of our childhood within those walls. It was an idyllic place to run about and get into mischief.

  Sarah. I would need to let her know about my impending nuptials. She would likely wish to meet my bride. And now that I’d pulled us from the dark claws of overwhelming debt, she could return to London in style.

  She might even have a chance of obtaining a competent husband now.

  Gazing at the oil painting of the house, I smiled to myself, allowing my fingers to trail along the hedge of Blackthorn which lined the perimeter of Thornville’s garden. It was difficult to tell in the wintertime, but the grounds were lovely, and that hedge had once been my mother’s pride and joy.

  I would not mess this up. James had given me an opportunity to start anew, and I would not succumb to the distinct temptation which lay in a game of cards.

  In fact, I would never, ever touch playing cards again. If I could refrain from such, I could retain what little fortune I had left and build a life for myself, my sister, and my future children.

  Oh, and I supposed for my wife as well.

  Shaking my head, I slung my hands in my pockets and left the room. It would take some getting used to, but I would not forget my wife again.

  In fact, it would likely be easier once I recalled her face. I needed to call on her, and I would do so immediately.

  My life had just turned around and I was not about to waste this opportunity.

  3

  Lydia

  My emotional state felt a tad ragged, so I chose to have Jacob procure a hackney for the ride back home. With an empty basket swinging lightly from my fingertips, I climbed the stairs to our stately townhome in Mayfair and stepped through the open door, nodding at our butler, Harrington, before removing my shawl and gloves and delivering them into his waiting hands.

  Voices trailed down the hallway, alerting me to the presence of another man in our home. The masculine timbre reached my ears, belonging to a voice far younger than my father’s, and causing a wave of prickles to run down my neck. Could this be Mr. Thornton?

  Hesitating before the looking glass in the hallway, I smoothed back tendrils of my rich dark hair and pinched my cheeks for color. Anticipation heightened my nerves as I pushed open the drawing room door and stepped inside.

  Instantly, I deflated upon seeing the young Mr. Radmahl seated opposite Father in the high wingback chairs beside the fire.

  “We were just speaking of you,” Father said as Mr. Radmahl got to his feet, bowing. “You’ve come at the most opportune moment, for Radmahl is determined to wish you well.”

  I curtsied before coming to sit on the couch across from the men.

  “I only read the notice this morning,” Mr. Radmahl said, his dark red hair falling forward in the Brutus style and nearly blocking his eyes. “I am well acquainted with Thornton, as we are neighbors in the north.”

  The north? I had not considered before how Mr. Thornton might own a home away from London. Surely it would not affect me, however. Ours was not a love match and Mr. Thornton would likely not mind where I spent my time.

  A knock sounded on the door and Harrington stepped forward, delivering a card to Father. A wide smile spread on his round face and he nodded to our butler before turning to Mr. Radmahl. “You are in luck, young man. Thornton himself has decided to join us.”

  My heart pounded, color rising to my cheeks. I didn’t know why I was so nervous when the man had sought my hand in marriage, and not the other way around. Surely he had his reasons. Though, I would not mind learning what they were.

  “Good day, Thornton,” Father’s voice boomed, startling me. I forced my gaze to move slowly over my shoulder toward Mr. Thornton so I might not appear too eager; I was vastly displeased when I finally looked at th
e man.

  Had I expected a sort of jolt within me at the sight?

  He was very much the same as I recalled him appearing at the ball, possessed of light brown hair and a square jaw, only now he wore an expression of apprehension upon his brow. A light of recognition passed in his eyes. His hands clasped his gloves tightly and he seemed to hesitate before approaching us and bowing to me.

  His boots, I noticed, were particularly shiny without a hint of dirt attached to them. Father would undoubtedly approve.

  I stood, delivering a curtsy, fluid and meek. It should not have been a surprise when Mr. Thornton chose to sit beside me on the couch, but it was. I did my best to swallow my reaction, smiling at him pleasantly. Did he recall the moment from the ball as clearly as I did? Likely not.

  If only I’d thought to grab my work basket, then I could mend that hole in my shawl and give my hands something to keep them busy. Instead, I clasped them, awaiting Father’s direction.

  Mr. Thornton spoke, his voice low and even. “Have you had a pleasant morning, Miss James?”

  “Yes, I have. Thank you for inquiring.”

  “And thank you for choosing to visit when I might offer my well wishes,” Mr. Radmahl said with amusement. “I had no idea you were looking to wed, Thornton. What an interesting surprise.”

  Silence sat in the room for two beats of the mantle clock. “Indeed,” Mr. Thornton agreed.

  I caught a trace of restraint in his tone. Or, perhaps I was imagining it.

  There seemed to be a level of dislike between the men, but I could not put my finger on the precise cause.

  Unaware of the unease in the room, Father began a discourse on the fine horse he’d bet on just last week, capturing the men’s attention and leaving me to ponder. Would it be very inappropriate to request a private conference with Mr. Thornton, or would Father prefer I remained in his presence? Our engagement ought to allow us a moment together, but Father could be quite opinionated, and I didn’t wish to displease him.

  “How fortunate that your luck turned around,” Mr. Radmahl said, “but gambling itself can be a slippery slope to ruin if one is not careful.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Thornton agreed, his face tight. “It is frightfully dangerous.” He turned to Father. “Mr. James, might I request an audience with Miss James? Perhaps a ride in my phaeton?”

  “By all means,” Father answered, gesturing us off with his arms. I caught Father’s gaze dipping down toward Mr. Thornton’s boots and the subsequent smile of approval. I had been correct.

  Turning to Mr. Thornton to accept the invitation—though once again it was directed at my father and not to me—I found him watching me closely.

  “Should you mind very much?” he asked.

  Had he read my mind? Appreciation for his consideration won out and I almost accepted when hesitation halted me. Would now be the moment to inform Mr. Thornton of my aversion to carriages? But then, an open, slow phaeton should not be too bad. Bravely, I shook my head. “I must retrieve my bonnet, sir, but I should only be a moment.”

  He nodded and then I fled to my bedchamber. It was all happening so quickly.

  Securing my bonnet under my chin, I sucked in a deep breath and went downstairs to meet my future husband for our ride.

  * * *

  Lydia

  I was grateful Mr. Thornton chose to drive down lesser known streets and leave the highly occupied park for another day. I was not overly fond of extra regard and that morning’s announcement, along with our close proximity on the seat of the phaeton, were likely to garner an unhealthy dose of attention.

  “Your father tells me you like to read,” Mr. Thornton said, after two city blocks of silence.

  That made sense. Father knew that about me, if nothing else. “I do. It is a favorite pastime of mine.”

  Another street passed quietly, punctuated by the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels, until I asked, “Do you read, as well?”

  “Not much, no. It is not a favorite pastime of mine.”

  What sort of person didn’t enjoy reading? Stumped, I reverted to silence. When around children or people I knew well, conversation came easily. With strangers, however, I never quite knew how to proceed.

  “I suppose your father spoke to you already?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, shifting on the seat to face him better. He handled the reins with ease and maneuvered about the road smoothly. What did I say next? Should I thank him for an offer of marriage which I did not receive, but had been directed to my father without my knowledge?

  No, I think probably not.

  He cleared his throat. “I appreciate your cooperation in our unique situation. It must have come as quite a shock to you.”

  “Indeed, it did.”

  “I flatter myself that I am offering you the opportunity to venture outside of London. Something, I am told, you’ve seldom done.”

  Oh, dear. How did I phrase this the right way? “I am perfectly content in London.”

  “Yes, it is a wonderful metropolis. Yet, you will enjoy Thornville too, I vow. The estate is a positive oasis and the house itself is nothing to smirk at. A little away from society, but it is near Melton and shall make for a pleasant wedding trip.”

  A wedding trip was acceptable, but not a permanent residence. I wished to stay in London. I needed to stay in London. The Sunday schools were here. Mrs. Coulter and her husband were here. I glanced away, gathering the courage to speak, when I caught sight of the bridge which led to Vauxhall Gardens.

  “Might we venture over the Thames?” I asked, surprised at myself. “I have a wish to see White Hart Street.”

  He regarded me curiously, before turning the horses toward the river. “I suppose so.”

  We crossed the wide waterway and drove through Vauxhall, the streets growing less reputable the further we ventured from the river. We continued, then turned right on White Hart Street, slowing the horses to a stop.

  “It is nice,” Mr. Thornton said, looking about us at the plain brick buildings.

  There was nothing worthy of note, but Mr. Coulter’s school resided on this street and it would become the place for my first teaching assignment…eventually. I looked at Mr. Thornton from under my lashes. Surely he would not forbid my volunteering efforts once Mr. Coulter accepted me. Perhaps I ought to err on the cautious side and not mention precisely how I was planning to volunteer.

  “That is all,” I said. “We can return now. Thank you for following my whim.”

  He smiled at me and my stomach constricted. Oh, dear. I had not considered that I would be marrying such a handsome man. I didn’t know what to do with that information.

  The drive back across the bridge was completed in quiet, though I found myself reflecting in a way that was far from comfortable.

  “Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of driving you about,” Mr. Thornton said.

  I dipped my head, avoiding the familiar gaze of the women walking down the side of the road. Returning to Mayfair, there were any number of people who recognized us.

  “It was my pleasure,” I said. “Thank you, Mr. Thornton.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but paused, searching my eyes. Nodding concisely, he delivered a wide smile. “Shall we plan to meet again before the wedding?”

  Would it change anything? Perhaps it would help us to know one another better, but the union had been announced and the agreement signed. What did it matter how well we knew one another?

  “If you would like,” I said finally.

  Amusement played on his lips. He pulled the phaeton in front of my home and stopped, tossing his reins to his tiger and coming around to help me down. His large hand closed around my own and through the gloves, I felt his strength. I hazarded a glance at his face and found him watching me. His thick brows were pulled together in concentration and he lifted my knuckles to his lips, bestowing a soft kiss on the back of my gloved hand.

  I mounted the steps and entered my home in a daze. Perhaps ge
tting married wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing in the world.

  4

  Edward

  She was more beautiful than I recalled.

  Since I had not remembered her before stepping into the James’ drawing room, that was not such an odd thing. Still, I hadn’t expected her to be beautiful.

  I directed my phaeton toward my club, leaving the horses with my tiger while I climbed the stairs in a daze and admitted myself into the parlor. Claiming a table in the far corner of the room, undisturbed by the other patrons and secluded with my own thoughts for company, I ruminated.

  Her dark hair would rival a raven in sheen and depth, and her intelligent eyes forced me to sit taller in my chair, aware that I likely would not get anything past her.

  I ordered a drink from the waiter and leaned back in the leather armchair, fingering the supple, worn arm of the chair as I allowed my eyes to drift closed. I recalled meeting her at the ball, but she had been quiet and shy—not unlike her demeanor today—and conversation had been difficult.

  I could only hope that would change as we came to better know one another. Her oddity in wishing to see White Hart Street, a plain, grungy road covered in bare brick buildings raised questions. Perhaps in time, she would answer them for me.

  “Marriage, eh?”

  I kept my eyes closed a moment longer. I knew that voice well, though I despised its owner with every fiber of my being. Swallowing my distaste, I allowed my gaze to fall upon the red-headed man who had nearly derailed my life.

  “Radmahl.”

  His smile was snake-like as he spun an eyeglass around his finger. Nodding to the seat opposite me, he did not await my approval before lowering himself and stretching his long legs out before him.

  “She’s quite a gem,” he continued. I could only assume he was referring to my betrothed. “Intelligent, but can’t be bothered with any suitors, according to her father. It’s odd that she went from having no interest in the beau monde, to suddenly being betrothed.”