The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp
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was handsome and titled and no doubt wealthy, as well. If she remembered correctly what her aunt had said about Lady Haughston’s background, their father was an earl, and as viscount was typically a title given to the heir to the earldom, then he would someday possess the greater title of earl. For that title alone, he would have been sought after. To have good looks and charm, as well, must make him hunted like hounds after a hare.
It was all the more impossible, of course, that she should have any chance with him. Even if Francesca were right in her optimistic assumption that Constance could find a husband this Season, she knew that her patroness doubtless aimed lower than a title for her. And Lord Leighton’s kiss, however wonderful she had found it, was not anything on which Constance would be foolish enough to build her hopes. It had meant nothing to him, she was sure. At best it had shown that he was attracted to her; at worst that he simply was in the habit of kissing any young woman he caught alone. It did not mean that he had any serious interest in her; indeed, in all likelihood, it meant precisely the opposite. A gentleman, after all, did not make improper advances to a woman whom he would consider marrying. He made them to women he would not marry, but only dally with.
Of course, she had no intention of dallying with him. But a little light flirtation…now that was a different matter.
Constance turned her head toward the window to hide the secret smile that curved her lips. She was quite looking forward to tomorrow, she thought. It would be pleasant, indeed, to face Lord Leighton looking, for once, at her best.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of a spacious redbrick house, and Leighton glanced out the window. “Ah, here we are.” He opened the door and stepped down, then leaned back in to say, “Thank you for a most enjoyable ride.” He made a general bow toward them. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening.” His eyes went to Constance and he added, “I am very glad to have found you again, Miss Woodley. Promise you will give the first waltz to no one but me.”
Constance smiled back at him. It would be hard, she thought, not to return his smile. “I will.”
“Then I will bid you goodbye.” He closed the door and stepped back, and the carriage began to roll again.
“Your brother is a very personable man,” Constance said after a moment.
“Yes.” Francesca smiled fondly. “It is easy to like Dominic. But there is more to him than people assume. He fought in the Peninsula.”
“Really?” Constance looked at Francesca in surprise. “He was in the army?” It was an uncommon venture for the eldest son, the heir to the estate.
Francesca nodded. “Yes. The Hussars. He was wounded, in fact. But fortunately, he survived. And then, of course, when Terence died and Dom became the heir, he had to sell out. I think he misses it.”
Constance nodded, understanding now. It was common for younger sons to enter the military, or the diplomatic corps or the church, but if the oldest son died and the younger one became the heir, his future would change. He would one day inherit all the wealth and responsibilities of the estate, and the career he had been engaged on would have to be put aside. Besides, it would not do to have the heir to an estate risking his life in a war. Among noble families, the inheritance was all.
“And so now that he is the heir, he is fair game for all the marriageable young ladies.”
Francesca chuckled. “Yes, poor boy. He does not enjoy it, I can tell you. I suppose there are men who thrive upon that sort of popularity, but not Dom. Of course, he will have to marry someday, but I suspect he will put it off as long as he can. He is a bit of a flirt.”
Constance wondered if Francesca was giving her a subtle warning about her brother, telling Constance, in essence, not to endanger her heart with him. She looked at the other woman, but she could see nothing in Francesca’s lovely face to indicate any hidden meaning. Still, Constance did not need a warning. She was well aware that a man of Lord Leighton’s standing would not marry someone like her.
But, Constance told herself, as long as she was aware of that, as long as she knew not to give her heart to him, there would be nothing wrong in flirting a little with the man. She could dance with him, laugh with him, let herself have a little fun. And, after all, that was all she could reasonably expect from this Season.
When they reached the house that her aunt and uncle were leasing, Lady Haughston went inside with Constance. Aunt Blanche goggled at the sight of Lady Haughston’s coachman bringing in a number of boxes, with Constance carrying several more and even Lady Haughston herself helping out with the last few bags.
“My lady! Oh, my goodness. Annie, come here and take these things from her ladyship. What—” Aunt Blanche stumbled to a halt, looking from her niece to Lady Haughston in befuddlement.
“We haven’t bought out all the stores, Lady Woodley,” Francesca assured her gaily. “However, I do think that your niece and I put something of a hole in Oxford Street’s wares.”
“Constance?” Aunt Blanche repeated. “You bought all this?”
“Yes,” Constance replied. “Lady Haughston assured me that my wardrobe was sadly lacking.”
“Constance!” Francesca exclaimed, laughing. “I never said such a thing. You will have your aunt thinking that I am the most lack-mannered woman imaginable. I merely suggested that you add a few things here and there.”
Francesca turned toward Lady Woodley. “I find that girls rarely realize how many frocks they need for a Season. Don’t you agree?”
As she expected, Lady Woodley nodded her head, not daring to disagree with one of the foremost members of the Ton. “Yes, but I—well, Constance, this is a little unexpected.”
“Yes, I know. But I am sure I have enough room in my dresser for everything. And Lady Haughston has kindly agreed to help me sort through my gowns and decide what to do with them.”
At the news that one of the most elegant and highborn ladies in the land was going to be upstairs in her niece’s tiny room rummaging through her small store of decidedly ordinary dresses, Lady Woodley appeared torn between elation and embarrassment.
“But, my lady, surely…I mean, Constance should not have asked such a thing of you,” she said finally, stumbling over her words.
“Oh, she did not ask me,” Francesca assured her. “I volunteered. There is little I like more than dressing up one’s wardrobe. It is such a challenge, don’t you think?”
She swept up the stairs behind Constance, with Lady Woodley following them, babbling offers of tea and other refreshment, interspersed with admonitions to Constance not to impose on Lady Haughston.
At the door to Constance’s room, Aunt Blanche hesitated. The little room, barely large enough for the dresser, bed and chair that occupied it, seemed even smaller now with the piles of boxes and bags. There was hardly enough room for the three of them, as well, yet Lady Woodley clearly hated to leave Lady Haughston.
So she hovered by the door, looking uncomfortable and chattering on, while Francesca and Constance pulled out Constance’s dresses and laid them out on the bed.
“Such a small number of gowns, my love,” Aunt Blanche tittered. “I told you that you should bring more to Town. But, of course, a girl never foresees how very many gowns one will need.” She turned toward Francesca with a confidential look that suggested that the two of them were old hands at the social whirl. “And, of course, Constance is merely chaperoning the girls.”
“But what nonsense,” Lady Haughston said briskly. “Constance is much too young to be a chaperone…as no doubt you told her.”
“Oh, my, yes, of course!” Aunt Blanche exclaimed. “But what can one do? Constance’s nature is rather retiring, and she is, after all, well past the age of coming out herself.”
Francesca made a noise of disdain. “There are a good many years before Constance reaches that point. One has only to look at her to see how ridiculous it is to place an arbitrary