Lady's Wager (15 page)

Uncle Charles set aside his paper and gave Charlotte a
stern look. “I’ve thoroughly inspected his finances and background and I’m
satisfied he’s not running up debts.”

“But—.”

“He loves you, and I’m sure you love him, but in doing so,
you must accept him no matter what his situation, good or bad. Things might be
well now, but in the future if there’s illness or trouble, the stronger your
regard for him no matter what his situation, the more your relationship will
endure.”

“Or course. If you’ll excuse me.” She gathered up the book
and note and made for her room, torn between believing Edward and trusting her
uncle. The Comte had hidden from everyone his secret relationship with the rich
widow. What might Edward be hiding from her which not even Uncle Charles could
uncover? Despite her uncle’s entreaty to love Edward no matter what, she resolved
to confront Edward tonight and force him to tell her the truth of his finances.
If there was trouble brewing, she’d discover it before it was too late.

Edward escorted Charlotte into Mrs. Greenville’s sumptuous
home, followed by Aunt Mary and Uncle Charles. They were not two feet into the
spacious foyer when Mrs. Greenville hurried up to them, her red face flushed
with the excitement of the evening.

“Charlotte, the Prince has yet to arrive. Do you think
he’ll come?”

“I hope so,” she lied. If the Prince failed to come then
Edward wouldn’t have to spend a great deal to win the painting.

“Even if he doesn’t come, Lady Chesterton and Lady Banke
are here. If nothing else we have succeeded in attracting two members of the
ton
.
Perhaps next time there’ll be more. There’s Mr. Taylor, I must speak to him.
You two go to the ballroom and decide which paintings you wish to bid for,
though I already know your selection, Lord Woodcliff.”

Mrs. Greenville hurried off through the crowd, much to
Charlotte’s relief, for she had no desire to be reminded once again of her
current dilemma.

Edward led her through the foyer toward the rear of the
house and the massive ballroom situated between two smaller rooms. The room on
the left held a hefty selection of refreshments laid out on massive,
rectangular tables. The room on the right was dominated by card tables and a
variety of anxious players, alternately cheering and sighing with each winning
hand.

“Shall we gamble or shall we eat?” Edward asked.

“Neither, for I’ve had enough of gambling for the time
being.”And there was little possibility of calming her nervous stomach enough
to eat. All day long she’d worked through different ways of asking Edward about
his finances, all the while needled by guilt over her lack of faith in him. She
should trust him, love him no matter what his fortune, but she must know.

“Shall we inspect the paintings then?”

“Please.”Anything to take her mind off what she intended
to do.

He led her into the ballroom while Aunt Mary and Uncle
Charles wandered into the refreshment room to speak with friends. The
plasterwork swags and blue walls of the ballroom were covered with false walls painted
a deep shade of red to replicate the Musée Napoleon. Paintings hung two or three
rows high along these temporary structures, the line of them broken by the
occasional bronze statue situated on a half pillar. Chairs assembled from all
over the Greenville house sat in neat rows before a small platform at the far
end of the room. On it an easel waited to display the auction items and a small
podium had been erected for the auctioneer.

Edward and Charlotte made their way around the room
admiring the works and searching for his mother’s painting. It hung near the
back, halfway up the wall and Charlotte and Edward stopped to admire it.

“I’m sorry I was so difficult about the matter at Mr.
Taylor’s,” she offered, wishing she hadn’t been, then she might have enjoyed
tonight instead of fretting over Edward’s situation.

“An apology from Miss Stuart?” Edward pressed his hand to
his chest in mock surprise. “Why, it’s almost unheard of.”

“You must admit you were also very disagreeable.”

“I’ll take my share of the blame. But I’m happy we’ve put
such days behind us.”

“Me too.” Though all their troubles weren’t entirely
settled. One still remained. She struggled to find the words to broach the
subject when Edward seemed to bring it up for her.

“Did you receive the book?”

“I did. Thank you, but how did you manage to acquire it?”

“I told you, I know a gentleman who’s very good at finding
rare books.”

“But how did you come across the necessary funds purchase
it?”

“It’s not a much sought-after book, therefore it wasn’t
very dear.”

“And your mother’s painting. How will you purchase it if
someone tries to outbid you?” she choked out, her mouth dry with her worry.

He didn’t answer right away, but continued to stare at the
painting of Boston as if he could bring the far off city into clear view. She
braced herself, unsure how he might answer, afraid whatever he said would ruin
everything between them.

At last he turned to her with a seriousness to increase her
unease. “I can’t keep the truth from you any longer. I can’t be outbid
because—”

“Edward, there you are,” Lord Ashford interrupted as he
and Elizabeth approached.

Charlotte groaned in frustration. He’d been so close to
answering her question and settling her concerns. With the seats filling with
patrons and the auction about to begin, she wasn’t sure when she’d find the
chance to raise the subject again and she had to. She must be sure he loved her
for more than her money.

“Charlotte, I have to tell you about my wedding dress,
it’s so beautiful,” Elizabeth gushed taking her arm to lead her around the
room. The men followed a short distance behind.

Charlotte tried to listen to Elizabeth’s description of
the dress but snippets of the gentlemen’s conversation caught her attention.

“Have you told her?” Lord Ashford asked and Charlotte
strained to hear Edward’s response.

“I was on the verge of telling her when you interrupted
me.”

“The silk is French, of course, cream with cream lace,”
Elizabeth explained and Charlotte nodded absentmindedly, turning her head
slightly to better hear the men.

“I’ll tell her after the auction for I can’t continue the
charade much longer. She’s far too intelligent to be put off by my sad
excuses.”

Panic made her heart race. What was he lying about?

Mrs. Greenville’s butler called for the guests to take
their places for the auction. Charlotte followed Edward to their seats,
desperate to know what he planned to reveal to her. The auction began and in
the quiet room, as everyone listened to the auctioneer call out the prices and
paintings, she couldn’t ask him. She was forced to endure the sale of three
landscapes, four portraits and a watercolor before Edward’s painting finally
reached the block.

The auctioneer began the bidding and Edward made the
opening bid. “Five pounds.”

“I have five pounds, do I hear seven?” The auctioneer
paused, waiting for an answer. Much to Charlotte’s relief, no others came
forward. She felt confident Edward would acquire the portrait without a great
deal of expense. Then they could step out of the room and talk and hopefully set
her mind at ease.

“Going once,” the auctioneer called, scanning the room for
any other interested parties. Seeing none, he called again, “Going twice.”
Still no one else bid. “Third and final call.” The auctioneer’s voice rang
through the room.

He raised his gavel to mark the sale when a man called out
from the back of the room.

“Ten pounds.”

Everyone turned to see the mystery bidder. An older, round
man in a dark suit and white hose stood behind the chairs grasping his lapels
as if he’d already won the painting.

“Who is he?” Charlotte asked and Edward frowned.

“The Prince’s solicitor. I haven’t come this far to lose
it now.” Edward turned to the auctioneer. “Fifteen pounds.”

“Twenty-five,” the solicitor countered.

Edward stood. “Thirty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Forty.”

Charlotte could hardly breathe as each man attempted to
outbid the other and the price began to rise far beyond what she thought Edward
could afford. The furious bidding soon attracted the attention of the other
guests. Women left the refreshments to watch the auction. Old gentlemen quickly
settled their wagers at the whist tables then crowded the back of the ballroom
to place new bets on who would win the landscape.

“One hundred,” the solicitor challenged.

“One hundred and ten,” Edward shot back.

Charlotte bit her thumbnail, fighting her desire to stand
and put an end to his recklessness. There was no way he could afford such an
amount, not without borrowing from who knows whom, or spending what little
remained of his wealth, or using hers.

“One hundred and twenty,” the solicitor called.

“I’m going to put an end to this,” Edward hissed.

“No, think about what you’re doing.”

“Trust me, I am.” He turned to the auctioneer. “One
thousand pounds.”

Everyone in the room gasped, including Charlotte. Then
they went silent as they waited for the solicitor to respond. He didn’t.

“Going once,” the auctioneer announced but the solicitor said
nothing.

“Going twice.”

The solicitor still didn’t reply.

“Last and final call,” he leveled his gavel at the
solicitor who shook his head.

“Sold to Lord Woodcliff.” The gavel came down and the room
erupted into excited cheers and applause.

Charlotte was the only one not clapping. She looked up at
Edward who beamed at her in triumph.

“Can you believe it? My mother’s painting is mine again.”

“Well done,” she managed before a crowd of people surged
in around them to offer their congratulations. The crush was suffocating and
Charlotte struggled to stand, wanting to be somewhere quiet where she could
sort out the thoughts tangling in her mind.

“Excuse me, I must thank the man for his rousing challenge
and settle the account.” Edward kissed her hand then disappeared into the
crowd.

As he made his way to the solicitor, gentlemen clapped him
on the back while the ladies applauded him. Charlotte couldn’t believe what she
was seeing. All of London knew Lord Woodcliff’s situation and yet they cheered
as though he had the blunt to toss away. And how would he settle the account?
She must know.

She rose and tried to push her way through the crowd to
where Edward stood speaking with the solicitor, when Mrs. Greenville stopped
her, alight with joy.

“Isn’t this marvelous? I told you the painting would help
us capture the
ton
.”

“Yes, indeed.” Charlotte peered around the large woman,
trying to catch a glimpse of Edward.

“You must hold an auction for the hospital.”

“I’ll consider it. Please excuse me, I must speak to Lord Woodcliff.”
Charlotte stepped around Mrs. Greenville and made for Edward.

She was very near to him when Elizabeth cornered her.
“Aren’t you excited for Lord Woodcliff?”

“I’m curious to know how he can afford such a sum and I
intend to discover it this minute.”

Elizabeth grabbed her arm, horrified. “You mustn’t. It’s
not your place to inquire into such matters.”

Charlotte shook out of her grasp. “I intend to make it my
place.”

Uncle Charles and Elizabeth might trust Edward but she
couldn’t, not until she learned the truth of his situation for herself.

She followed Edward into the hallway, losing sight of him
in the crush. She rose up on her toes, trying to spot him over the heads of the
guests, when the conversation of the ladies next to her made her sink down
slowly on her heels.

“It’s fortunate Lord Woodcliff is marrying so well,” Lady
Chesterton said to Lady Banke as they huddled together near the door, their
backs to Charlotte. “If he’s to be so exorbitant with his blunt he’ll need a
rich wife.”

“Were it not for her money, the match would be entirely to
her benefit,” Lady Banke sniffed. “Her uncle may be a gentleman of considerable
property but to continue to involve himself in trade is utterly gauche.”

Charlotte hurried away, struggling to brace up her
faltering pride. She was tired of love making her a laughingstock.

Along the far side of the foyer she noticed a small
hallway and followed it to where it made a turn. There she saw Lord Ashford and
Lord Woodcliff speaking quietly together. She slipped back around the corner
before they could see her, listening to their hushed conversation.

“Don’t forget, you still owe me for our Almack’s wager,”
Lord Ashford said.

“It seems I’m perpetually in your debt in more ways than
one.”

He’s borrowing money.
Who else in London did he owe
and how much of her money would be left if they married and he paid off his
creditors?

“Without your help, I might never have won Charlotte.”

“Won me? Am I a prize to be won or is it my fortune?” She
stepped around the corner, making her presence known as she fought to maintain
a façade of control through the torrent of emotion raging inside her.

“Charlotte, what’s wrong?” Edward hurried to her, his
false concern making her heart crack.

“Are you in debt to Lord Ashford?”

He stopped short then turned to his friend. “Would you
please excuse us?”

“Of course,” Lord Ashford bowed and left.

“Society is whispering about us,” Charlotte said before
Edward could speak, clasping her hands in front of her to stop them from
trembling. “They’re saying I’m exchanging my wealth for a title.”

“It’s not true. I’m not poor. I was the one who donated
the money to St. Dunstan’s. I have ten thousand a year.”

She stared at him in disbelief, attempting to take in his
revelation. He hadn’t pursued her for her fortune, yet still he’d misled her
and everyone about his situation. “Why did you lie?”

“I came to Town to find a woman who loves me, not my inheritance.”
He took her hand and tried to rub away the shaking with his fingers. “And I
did.”

She snatched her hand away, his touch as mocking as it was
soothing. “And in doing so you’ve exposed me to ridicule and gossip. I won’t be
made the butt of society’s jokes, not by a man who claims to love me.”

“I do love you and my wealth changes nothing.”

“It changes everything. You’ve humiliated me, just like
the Comte.”

“Who?”

“In Paris I loved a man, the Comte de Vimeur. He did
everything he could to prove he loved me and I was too naïve to recognize his
lies. Then one day he sent me a note informing me of his sincere and unending
affection as well as his marriage to a very wealthy widow. Society’s most
petty, those I’d always tried to ignore learned of it and laughed at me. I
struggled to not care, attending every ball and salon and acting as happy as I
could while crying every night. I vowed it would never happen again.”