A Wedding Wager (32 page)

“Just with her maid, ma’am.”

“Show her into my parlor. I’ll be with her directly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget curtsied and disappeared.

Serena checked her reflection once more, satisfying herself that she looked as much like herself as was possible in the circumstances. She teased out her dusky side curls with her fingers, making them fall loosely around her face, which she decided had a softening effect. Satisfied,
she rose from the dressing stool, draped a paisley shawl around her shoulders, and went to her parlor.

Abigail was standing by the window, nervously pulling at the fingertips of her gloves. She was unaccustomed to paying social calls on her own. But Serena instantly put her at ease as she entered.

“What a lovely surprise, Abigail.” She came forward, hands outstretched in greeting. “Let me ring for coffee.” She turned to the bell rope beside the fireplace.

“Oh, the maid said she would bring some at once.” Abigail looked around admiringly. “What a pretty room. It must be lovely to have a parlor of one’s own.”

“Yes, my sanctuary,” Serena said lightly. “Won’t you take off your pelisse and sit down?” She gestured to a sofa by the fire.

Abigail dropped her outer garment over the arm of another chair and sat down, drawing off her gloves. “I have a most particular question to ask you, Lady Serena.” She stopped, wondering how to phrase the question without sounding conceited.

“Go on,” Serena said with an encouraging smile. Abigail’s puzzles would be a welcome change from her own convoluted situation.

“Well … it’s rather awkward.” Abigail played with her gloves in her lap. She looked up and said resolutely, “Do you remember Mr. Wedgwood?”

“Jonas, the young man who accompanied us to Green Park? Yes, of course I do.” Serena nodded with the same encouraging smile.

“Well, Papa has made Mama invite him to dinner tonight. He says we must be courteous and welcoming to a member of the Wedgwood family, because he and old Mr. Wedgwood belong to the same business set in Stoke-on-Trent.”

“Yes, I quite understand that.” Serena nodded again, turning slightly to the door as Bridget came in with the coffee tray. “Thank you, Bridget. Set it down there. You needn’t serve it.” She poured coffee and leaned over to hand a cup to her guest.

“Of course, Mama is cross because it means she has to invite old Miss Bentley to make up the numbers,” Abigail confided. “She’s some kind of a distant cousin who’s a companion to an old lady in Kensington. Mama doesn’t think she’s suitable company, but Papa says she’ll do very well in a pinch.” She sipped her coffee.

Serena concealed her amusement at this artless speech. She said neutrally, “It will be nice to see Mr. Wedgwood again this evening.”

“Yes,” Abigail said.

Serena frowned. She couldn’t tell whether Abigail agreed with her. “Is there some difficulty, my dear?”

Abigail blushed. “Mr. Sullivan will be there, too.”

“Ah. I begin to understand.” Serena smiled. “Two suitors at the same table.”

Abigail’s blush deepened. “Oh, please, I don’t mean to sound forward or … or …”

“You’re not, Abigail. ’Tis a fact, and you must admit it has its pleasing side.” She raised a teasing eyebrow.

“But … but Lady Serena, do you think it’s possible that Mr. Sullivan might consider an alliance with my family?” It came out in a rush, as if she were afraid that if she stopped to think, she would lose the courage.

Serena considered the question. On the one hand, she didn’t want to give Abigail false encouragement, but on the other, she didn’t want to create a vacuum for her stepfather to step into.

After a moment, she said delicately, “Would you consider Mr. Sullivan as a suitor, Abigail?”

The girl’s blush turned fiery, and her eyes dropped to her lap. “It would be most flattering. I would feel so … so fortunate.”

Serena pursed her lips. Abigail sounded a lot less than enthusiastic.

“He’s … he’s such a perfect gentleman,” Abigail rushed on. “So handsome and so courteous … any girl would be immensely flattered, don’t you think, Lady Serena?”

“I do,” Serena agreed drily. “Mr. Sullivan is everything you say. But tell me, do you have reason to think he might make you an offer?”

Abigail shook her head. “He has never given me cause to think it, although he is always so gallant. But Mama … Mama, you see … she has set her sights on a great marriage for me, and she thinks that Mr. Sullivan …” Her voice faded, and her great blue eyes were fixed pleadingly upon Serena.

“Well, Mrs. Sutton is like all mothers, Abigail. She wants only the best for her daughter.” Serena spoke
briskly. “But I think, if you have a dislike of Mr. Sullivan, you have only to—”

“Oh, no, please don’t misunderstand me, Lady Serena. I do not hold him in dislike, not in the least, ’tis only that … that …”

“That what?” Serena offered another encouraging smile.

“That I can’t be quite comfortable with him,” Abigail finally confessed with a great sigh. “And … and I am so very comfortable with Jonas … Mr. Wedgwood.”

“Ah.” Serena leaned back in her chair. “And ’tis very clear to anyone with eyes that Mr. Wedgwood is very comfortable with you.”

“Yes … yes, I think he is.” Abigail picked up her cup, but the coffee was now cold, and she set it down again. “But Mama …”

“Mama will not favor such a match,” Serena finished for her.

Abigail nodded. “And I wouldn’t wish any discourtesy to Mr. Sullivan.”

“Oh, don’t let that worry you,” Serena said with a touch of acid. “Mr. Sullivan’s heart recovers quite quickly, I can promise you. He will take no offense.” She regarded her young visitor with a half-smile. “The issue, it seems, then, is how we persuade Mama that Mr. Wedgwood is the only man for you … if one might permit oneself the vulgarity.”

Abigail gave her a watery smile. “Papa will not present any objections, that at least I know.”

“Then we must recruit Mr. Sutton to our cause.” Serena’s nod was decisive. “I suggest you cajole him a little before this evening, mention how much you like Mr. Wedgwood, and then at dinner tonight, I will do all I can to encourage Jonas to shine at the dinner table. If your mother sees what a charming, educated, and assured young man he is, one who can hold his own in any company, she might prove easier to persuade.”

Abigail’s smile was now radiant. “Oh, you are so wise, Lady Serena. I knew you were just the person to ask. Of course, I must be polite to Mr. Sullivan, but—”

“Of course, you must be as polite to him as to all your guests, but you may leave it with me to ensure that he has no inflated hopes.”

Abigail rose to her feet. “I am so grateful, Lady Serena. I have often wished for an older sister,” she added shyly. “’Tis as if my wish has been granted.”

Serena kissed her cheek. “I am happy to play that part.” She pulled the bell rope for Flanagan. “Go home and rest, so that you will be at your best this evening.”

Abigail went into a peal of laughter. “Oh, you sound just like Mama, but you are not in the least like Mama.”

“For which I am profoundly grateful,” Serena murmured, turning as the butler entered the parlor. “Flanagan, Miss Sutton is leaving.”

“Very good, my lady. Miss Sutton’s barouche is still at the door, and her maid is waiting in the hall.” Flanagan held the door wide for Abigail, who went past him with a jaunty farewell wave for Serena.

She followed Flanagan to the hall and was crossing to the door when General Heyward came into the house from the street, slapping his riding crop against his boot. He was frowning, his face a mask of sullen anger, but it cleared miraculously as he saw Abigail.

“Why, my dear Miss Sutton.” He bowed over her hand. “What a delight for the eyes. Such rare beauty. Such an honor to welcome you under my roof. Tell me what brings you here.” He held on to her hand, his fingers closing more tightly as she made a tentative effort to free it.

“I have been calling on Lady Serena, sir,” she said, dropping a quick curtsy. “But Mama will be expecting me any minute. I cannot stay.” She managed to get her hand back. “I give you good day, sir.” She sketched another hasty curtsy and hurried to the door, her maid following.

Heyward stared at the closed door for several minutes, his expression unreadable, his eyes unfocused. Then he turned on his heel and went into the library. He rarely found himself nonplussed, but he felt the edge of desperation more sharply now than he had ever felt it before. He had run into Lord Burford that morning, and his lordship had been unpleasantly pointed about the mortgages. His lordship had informed the general that the loan had always been a temporary one, and since Heyward didn’t seem able to put up the price to buy them back, then he was left with little choice but to call them in.

General Heyward could think only of what Serena had told him, that Burford had offered to give her the mortgages if she agreed to his protection. It seemed that the earl had been intending to double-cross him all along. The conversation had filled him with a deep and terrible rage, fueled by the knowledge of impending disaster, and he had barely managed two words in response. To make matters worse, the earl had gone on his way smiling benignly, as if it had been a perfectly ordinary conversation.

Heyward now poured himself a brandy, staring into the fire. Serena was a lost cause. He knew that now. By resorting to violence, he had burned his boats. Even if he could manage to deliver her to Burford drugged and trussed like a hen ready for the pot, the earl would have none of it. He wanted a mistress who was conscious and willing, at least on the surface. Serena would never be that. He could throw her out to find her own way on the streets, and there would be some satisfaction in that, but he needed her at the tables. They could pack up and flee his debts at dead of night, as they’d done so many times before, but he was getting too old for that game.

No, he had to fall back on his only other option, marriage to the Sutton heiress. He didn’t think the girl would fall readily into his hand, but her mother would do his wooing for him, and he was fairly confident that he could win over the father, who already treated him like a familiar friend and seemed flattered by the general’s attentions. Serena was in the girl’s confidence; at
least there, she’d obeyed him without question. It was time to mend fences with his stepdaughter, he decided. He needed to keep her sweet while he pursued the little Sutton.

He set down his brandy goblet and made his way up to Serena’s parlor.

After Abigail had left, Serena sank back onto her chair, resting her head against the back. It seemed likely that with a little more maneuvering, Abigail might soon be safely wed to Jonas Wedgwood. For some reason, it didn’t fill her with expected elation. Such a marriage would ensure her own freedom, but now she wasn’t sure what that freedom meant or why she wanted it. What was she to do with it, all alone?

She felt like throwing something, and at the tap on her door, she turned her head irritably against the chair and demanded, “Who is it?”

“Your father.” The general spoke as he opened the door. “May I come in, my dear?”

“Would you stay out if I said no?” She made no attempt to rise as he came in and shut the door.

“This is my house. I have the right to go where I please,” he informed her, keeping his voice level with a supreme effort.

Serena merely closed her eyes with an infinitesimal shrug. She felt him come close to her chair and barely concealed her shudder. But she was determined not to speak first.

He looked down at her for a moment before saying,
“Come now, my dear, let us call a truce. I forgive you for your ingratitude and disobedience, so let us speak of it no more.”

Serena felt the urge to laugh hysterically.
He
forgave
her?
“Indeed, sir, I am sure I’m suitable grateful. And I daresay the bruises will fade in time.” She kept her eyes closed, her head averted.

“It was unfortunate that it came to that,” he said with some difficulty. “I exercised a father’s right to a daughter’s obedience. I did no more than was called for.”

“Really?” Her tone was one of indifference.

Her continued silence made him uncharacteristically nervous. What if she refused to take her part at the tables, refused to continue cultivating the Suttons? He couldn’t batter her into submission, not when she needed to be in public to play those parts.

“I understand there’s to be a dinner party at the Suttons’ this evening,” he said with an encouraging smile.

“So I believe, sir.”

“You will be present.”

“If you can manage without me in the salons.”

“Of course … of course. No difficulty at all, my dear. I shall dine quietly beforehand and close the main salon.” He rubbed his hands together in an effort to impart perfect comfort with the solution. “And you must enjoy yourself, Serena. Play the Society lady … nothing to concern you tonight except to have a pleasant evening among charming company.”

“You are too kind, sir.” Her tone was flat, uninviting,
and he stood for a moment, still rubbing his hands until they fell to his sides as the silence continued.

“Well, I’ll leave you, then. I’m sure you have things to do.”

“I must consult with Cook about the menu for supper this evening.” She still kept her eyes closed, her head resting against the back of the chair, and after a few seconds, she heard the door close on his departure.

There was some satisfaction to be gleaned from that encounter, and she felt for the first time that she just might have gained the upper hand. He had overreached himself the previous evening and had put himself at a disadvantage, and Serena had every intention of making the most of that disadvantage. In any other circumstances, she would have viewed her position with unholy glee, but now it was like salt and ashes on her tongue.