Fran Baker (13 page)

A distant crash of thunder gave emphasis to his prediction and filled Rose with dismay for she wondered how she could manage to keep the relaxed mood between Helen and his lordship from dissolving. The solution was delivered from an unexpected source when Esmond wandered absently in behind his brother, remarking, “This is the kind of day I remember we used to spend hours playing at slip-groat. Remember that, Rose?”

“Indeed, I do,” she answered, smiling.

“And what is slip-groat?” Stratford asked.

“Have you never played?” Rose asked in return. “Oh, that’s infamous! It was once a game of kings, you know—”

“I believe we still have the old board about here.” Esmond glanced at his mother. “Haven’t we? Perhaps we could find it and show his lordship how to play.”

A search of the attic was rewarded with an antique wooden playing board, which was thoroughly dusted in a matter of moments. The viscount volunteered the shillings for the game, and the challenge was on.

Esmond soon displayed an astonishing skill and he confessed with a sheepish grin on his handsome face, “I’ve not spent
all
my time at my books, you know!”

The room filled with merry laughter as Stratford and Baldwin made their first clumsy shots. A wager was suggested by Griffen, but his lordship rejected this. “I rather think not,” he drawled. “Among family I play only for . . . love, shall we say?”

When it was Rose’s turn to play, she demurred, saying blandly, “Since I know nothing of love, I fear I’ve nothing to stake.” Try as she might, she could not refrain from looking at Stratford as she said this.

He was clearly amused. “Come, Miss Lawrence,” he coaxed. “We shall gladly let you play for nothing more than your own whim!”

The others joined his attempts to persuade her and Rose was at last prevailed upon to take her turn. She judged her shot to a nicety and with a quick press of her palm sent her shilling sliding neatly into a bed for a point.

“I am relieved I did not bet against you,” Stratford commented with a crooked smile.

“You know it is said only a fool wagers against an unknown,” she rejoined on a knowing laugh. “And you are certainly no fool, my lord.”

“I must disappoint you,” he said as his smile faded. “I have wagered on an unknown.”

“Oh? And did you win or lose?”

“Oh, I won the wager, Miss Lawrence,” he said wearily. “But I fear,” he added beneath his breath, “I may have lost the game.”

Chapter 9

It was not to be expected that the spirit of cheerful festivity be sustained for long, but Rose was at a loss to understand just what had so utterly ruined the viscount’s pleasure in the game. Though he continued to play and converse easily, his dark eyes no longer smiled and his face bore his more usual aspect of restless discontent. The game had ended without giving her an answer and as they kept country hours at Appleton, Rose was forced to quit the room immediately after in order to help Mrs. Mosley prepare for dinner.

A fierce staccato beat against the windows as the clouds delivered the promised rain in full force. Griffen pressed his guests to remain, saying, “You certainly can’t wish to ride out in this storm, and you needn’t worry about changing for dinner
here
. We don’t stand upon ceremony, especially with family.”

Baldwin, too, had noticed his lordship’s saturnine humor, but he was given no opportunity to speak privately with Stratford until well after the simple but savory supper. The two were finally left alone at the table, each reposing with a glass of hock, while Griffen descended into the cellar in search of a very special bottle of port he had been saving, he insisted, for just such a time as this.

“I think, Colin, I should offer you my congratulations,” Daniel remarked diffidently. “Things have turned out rather well for you.” He raised his glass to his cousin, then watched Stratford over the rim as he drank.

With great deliberation, the viscount reached for the decanter and slowly refilled his glass. He sat gazing into the liquid for some time before responding flatly, “Before you become too effusive with your felicitations, Daniel, you might remember that you were opposed to this match from the outset. I cannot recall your precise words, but you made your views of the wager perfectly clear. I may have pocketed Maret’s five hundred guineas, but each time I suffer through a conversation with my beautiful, bird-witted fiancée, I wonder just what I lost!”

Stratford looked up from his contemplation of his drink to find his cousin staring beyond him, shocked dismay stamped ludicrously on his face. Colin glanced quickly over his shoulder. Miss Rose Lawrence stood in the door frame, her large gray eyes fixed scornfully upon him. Before he could collect his wits, she pivoted sharply and disappeared.

“Damnation!” Turning his fury on the unfortunate Baldwin, he demanded, “Why the devil didn’t you warn me?”

“I didn’t see her ’til it was too late! And if you insist upon making such comments about your fiancée, something like this was bound to occur.”

“What I choose to say about Helen Lawrence is my business alone!” Stratford enunciated through clenched teeth. He pitched the full glass of wine down his throat and set the empty glass onto the oak table with a thump.

Ignoring this danger signal, Daniel said in a tone of deep disapprobation, “I foresaw how it would be with a match founded upon a wager.”

“Don’t you see it’s all of a piece!” snapped the viscount. “All of life is a toss of the dice. Do you think I’d have fared any better submitting meekly to the earl’s choice of a bride?”

“No. But I do think having chosen this imprudent course, you could be more gracious to your bride-to-be. Your displays of ill temper—”

“For God’s sake, Daniel! Had she not desired to marry me, Helen only had to say no. But whether for my charm of manner or my fine fortune, she chose to play out this hand. You must see that I cannot now forfeit the game.”

This was said with such a bitter edge that Daniel forbore making any further argumentation, and they sat in strained silence until Griffen reappeared.

Proudly displaying a dark bottle covered with a film of dust, Griffen stood where his sister had been an instant before. “Just wait ’til you taste this, gentlemen! I’ll swear you’ve never had a finer port in any grand house.”

Baldwin returned a courteous response and attempted to keep a smooth appearance up while Griffen busied himself with the decanting and serving of the wine. It was not easy, for his lordship was barely civil.

Stratford’s only thought now was to see Miss Lawrence, to explain the situation in a way that would somehow erase the contempt from her eyes. Upon being handed a glass of the red port, the viscount downed the contents with an impatient toss. This cavalier treatment of so fine a wine scandalized Griffen, but he said nothing, merely assenting in a strangled tone when his lordship brusquely suggested they now rejoin the ladies.

As they entered the sitting room, Stratford rapidly searched the small room. Rose was not there. When he inquired of Helen where she was, he was told she had retired for the night. Such a heavy scowl crossed over his features, Helen wondered what she had done to have so violently offended his lordship.

At that moment, Rose was striding furiously up and down the length of their tiny bedchamber. Her rage surpassed that of the storm outside as she reviewed every despicable facet of Stratford’s vile, detestable nature. She thought fondly of the bygone days of the French Revolution when aristocrats were very properly guillotined and visualized with relish a certain lord’s head being severed from his body. She decided it was much too good for him.

Over the past few days she had begun to think him likable and even, in many ways, actually kind. But she now saw clearly that he was far worse than the cold, arrogant beau she had originally thought him to be. That he should claim Helen for a
wager
was an infamous act of wickedness which left Rose feeling sick with anger.

Such a consuming wrath soon spent its force and Rose sank quietly to the edge of her bed, trying to determine what she should do. In the end, she realized there was little she could do. To tell Helen was unthinkable, while Griffen, with Nell and Mama behind him, would undoubtedly turn a blind eye to the matter. The insult would have to be borne in silence, but she, at least, vowed never to forgive the viscount.

While Miss Lawrence conjured up a series of intricate and exceedingly gruesome deaths for Lord Stratford, he sat below suffering polite, meaningless conversation, pondering how he would convince her he’d meant no harm. Used all his life to women whose deepest concerns were the latest fashions and most current
on dits
, Stratford felt himself to be at point nonplus with the tall, intelligent creature whose good opinion had suddenly become all-important to him.

As soon as it was possible to do so, Stratford made his excuses and departed. Though it was no longer storming, a fine drizzle accompanied the cousins on their way back to Adderbury Inn, perfectly matching their dampened spirits. The short journey was made wordlessly, but as they neared the inn, Baldwin broke the silence. His apology was stiffly given and as stiffly received. The companionable mood which had been building up between them during the week now appeared destroyed.

The constraint between them had not lessened by morning. They prepared for their return to London in leaden silence and so drove back to Appleton Cottage to make their farewells.

It was his lordship’s intention to have it out with Miss Lawrence before he left and it was with a grim frown that he learned she was not at home. She had gone out, he was told, on an errand of mercy, delivering a basket of foodstuffs to a sick tenant. He suspected she had gone to avoid seeing him, and a martial gleam sprang into his eyes.

The viscount had been quite right. Rose left the cottage as early as she could manage, for, she told herself firmly, if she never saw Lord Stratford again, it would be too soon for her. Her anger had abated somewhat, but the disgust and disappointment were felt as vividly as in the moment she had heard that hateful voice disclosing his lordship’s true nature. She walked slowly along, reluctant to return home, afraid he would not yet have gone and, still, somehow, equally afraid that he would.

The rapid pounding of horses’ hoofs drummed in the distance. Even as she moved to the side of the road, Rose knew who it was. She did not look behind her, but continued to walk steadily along, her head held high, her heart keeping beat to the rhythm of the horses’ gait.

The curricle dashed past her.

Stratford skillfully steered it to an abrupt halt across the road some feet before her, effectively blocking her way. As she neared, he commanded curtly, “Get in.”

She stood, weighing the possibility of denying him and trying to walk on. She knew this would be a hopeless attempt on her part, resulting in the kind of scene she most wished to avoid, so she shifted her empty basket to her left arm and extended her right hand to meet his lordship’s outstretched palm. With a nimble movement, she mounted to sit rigidly beside him.

“You are, Miss Lawrence, a woman of rare good sense,” Stratford remarked as he expertly backed his horses onto the road and proceeded on the way.

Rose did not respond.

He cast a sideways glance at her. She sat erect, only the rapid rise and fall of her bosom disclosing her furious state of mind. “I wish,” he said earnestly, “to explain my remarks last night.”

“There is nothing to explain, my lord,” she said in frozen accents. “Your arrant contempt for my sister is all to evident.”

“But I did not mean—”

“What you meant, sir, was obvious! To marry my sister on the basis of a wager is—is odiously wicked.”

With a curl of his lip, Stratford answered her charge. “I believe the majority of your family would feel that my fortune—if not my title—more than compensated for any lack of finer sentiment.”

“Must you insult us all?” she exclaimed in heat. “Have you not the least shred of decency?”

Her biting words and disdainful tone kindled his ever-ready temper as the viscount invariably met anger with anger. “I am aware—as indeed, you have not made the least attempt to disguise it—of your disapprobation of me, of this match. I’m willing to admit I should not have wagered on my choice of a bride, but you needn’t fear I’ll treat Helen with any disrespect.”

“But you have already done so! What you do not realize, however, is that Helen is not so brainless as you would believe. In fact, the only
bird-witted
thing that I know she has ever done is to have agreed to marry you!”

“I take leave to tell you, Miss Lawrence, that Helen stands in no need of your defense. I shall treat her with the utmost respect and kindness. I shall treat her as befits the Viscountess Stratford.”

Rose sat perfectly still, her eyes blazing and her back held rigidly straight.

Colin cast his eyes at her once, then away as he made a fresh attempt. “I do not often make apologies—”

“That I can well believe!”

“But I’m offering you my sincere apology for having offended you,” he finished stiffly.

“Do you not understand, Lord Stratford, that it is not I to whom you should make your apology, but to Helen, whom you have offended most gravely? Helen’s nature is so sweet, so kind that
she
would undoubtedly forgive you.
I
cannot,” she declared in a colorless voice.

Stratford said no more and devoted his attention, seemingly, to the road. His jaw muscles flexed erratically and lines etched deeply beside his set mouth. But Rose did not see this for she kept her eyes resolutely fixed upon her lap. She vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her eyes blur with tears.

When he pulled the curricle to a sharp stop before Appleton Cottage, his groom ran quickly up to help Miss Lawrence alight. She entered the house without so much as a backward glance, wondering at the perversity of her own heart, which was at this moment knocking painfully against her ribs at the departure of one whom she thoroughly detested.

“Tell Mr. Baldwin I am waiting!” the viscount rapped to Jem, who emitted a soundless whistle as he ran to obey this stern command. He could only conjecture wildly as to the cause for m’lord’s ugly mood.