Page 52 of A Lady's Wager
A Most Unsuitable Suitor
London 1770
IN ADDITION TO A TITLEand an ancient estate, Julian, Lord Wesley, had inherited a reputation. The family’s penchant for dissipation and spendthrift ways had finally caught up to them. However, as Julian was the only member of that family still living, he was the one enduring the consequences. The Wesley estate was in such dire straits that he’d needed to empty the family home in Sussex of nearly all its furnishings and sell them piece by piece to the highest bidders. He’d needed to rent the London home for the Season rather than live there himself, it being entailed and therefore unable to be sold. Between those two efforts, he wouldn’t starve, but neither would he be breathing easily anytime soon.
“I’ve never before seen you grow tired of London so quickly.” The observation was made by his best friend as the two of them sat in a quiet corner of their London club. He and Franklin Daubney had known each other since their school days. There was very little they didn’t know about each other.
“I suppose Ihavelost some of my enthusiasm.” Julian had been nursing a glass of sherry for some time now. Their club wasquiet. Most of the members were at gatherings of thetonor at their homes.
“I suspect my father wouldn’t object if we sauntered out to the family seat.” Franklin’s family wasn’t the collection of ne’er-do-wells Julian’s was and, as a result, were still in possession of their home. Despite being a younger son, Franklin had a future to claim and an income enough to live on while he waited to take his place as the vicar of the family’s parish. “My grandmother is there and would happily occupy all our time and attention for however long we’re there.”
“I don’t think I’m as desperate as all that,” Julian said with a laugh.
Far from offended, Franklin returned to his sherry, his ponderous expression growing a bit lopsided the longer they sipped their troubles away. “What we need is a diversion,” he said after a moment.
“What I need is money,” Julian insisted.
Franklin was undeterred. He rose from his chair and walked, almost in a straight line, to where the club’s betting books were.
Julian shook his head. “Gambling is part of the reason I’m in this mess. I’m not going to place any foolhardy wager in an attempt to escape it.”
“I wasn’t going to suggest that you place wagers.” Franklin dropped to his chair once more, setting the book on the table. “I thought we might amuse ourselves by seeing what ridiculous thingsothershave wagered.”
It was actually a good idea. There was no danger of making his already difficult circumstances worse. He might actually feel a little bit better about himself upon seeing how comparatively responsible he was than some of the gentlemen of Society. A number of their wagers were famous for how absurd and reckless they were.
Franklin flipped through pages until he came across one that he read aloud. “Lord Parcell predicts that his mare Copper will foal before Mr. Jameson’s mare Honeysuckle does. Wagered amount: £50.”
Julian shook his head. “£50 on the birth of a foal.” It wasn’t as risqué a wager as was often found in the betting book, but it was certainly frivolous.
Franklin flipped more pages over. “Oughtta—” He hiccupped. “Oughtta be one that’ll make us laugh.”
“Shame no one wagered that the respected Mr. Daubney would spend this evening at his club, getting deeper and deeper into his cups.” Julian raised his glass, only a quarter full.
“Nonsense,” Franklin insisted. “I’m not drunk, just tipsy enough to enjoy this more than I probably would otherwise.” He turned another couple of pages, then read aloud. “Mr. Preston stakes £100 against the same amount pledged by Mr. Harrington that the Duke of York will declare himself a believer in the Cock Lane ghost before year’s end.”
Julian laughed lightly. A harmless wager but entertaining just the same. “What else is in there?”
Franklin turned more pages before stopping, his eyes pulling wide.
Julian leaned a bit closer. “What is it?”
“A wager involving you.”
“Me?” That was ridiculous. Not since his schoolboy days had he involved himself in the placing of wagers.
Franklin read out loud. “A wager in the amount of £1000 pounds.”
Julian swallowed hard. He knew he hadn’t placed any bets, yet there was no reason for his friend to be inventing this wager.
“That Lady Charlotte Duchamps will be married by her twenty-first birthday, else the placer of this bet, whose identityis recorded elsewhere, will pay Lord Wesley the forfeit declared above.”
Julian was too shocked to even begin making sense of it. “Someone will pay me that exorbitant amount if Lady Charlotte doesn’t marry by her twenty-first birthday?”
Franklin nodded.
Lady Charlotte was not unknown to either of them, though they were little more than bowing acquaintances. Furthermore, it was generally considered ungentlemanly to make a wager involving a lady. To go so far as to wager on a lady’s matrimonial prospects was a significant breach of etiquette—no doubt the reason the placing of the bet remained anonymous in the public book.
But the betwasrecorded there, which made it bonding by the gentlemen’s code. Someone whose identity Julian could not even begin to guess was obligated to pay him £1000 pounds if Lady Charlotte remained unwed.
