Page 41 of War of the Wedding Wagers
“Of course not!
But Amelia couldn’t look at him as she said it. She was reliving the sensations she’d felt when he kissed her and how everything he’d said this afternoon had resonated in a way that made her question all her assumptions about him.
And about marriage.
Chapter Nineteen
Eugenia sighed.
As ever, Lady Pendleton was expounding on the state of the world and humanity as if she knew it all and Eugenia knew nothing. As if being a spinster put her in a category that meant she was beyond all feeling.
As if she did not know what it was to feel joy, or to grieve, or to love.
To be fair, Eugenia had almost forgotten what it had felt to love. For so long she’d existed in a state where she’d accepted that to have been overlooked must of course be her fault.
She was too plain. Too dull. Too—
Not too poor, though. In fact, as Lady Pendleton was now talking about the lavish breakfast she’d hosted for her darling eldest daughter’s betrothal, Eugenia brought to mind of the fact that it had, in fact, been she, Eugenia, who had funded it on account of Elizabeth being her god-daughter.
And then, there were all the other occasions where Eugenia’s generosity and good nature had been prevailed upon for all manner of expenditure for which Lady P had claimed credit.
It was as if the scales were being lifted from her eyes. Lady Pendleton wasn’t more attractive than Eugenia. Maybe she never had been. She certainly wasn’t cleverer. But she was more cunning. She was more calculating, more manipulative.
And she was certainly more conscienceless.
So when her friend leaned across to say to another friend, as if Eugenia were not even there, “I was talking to darling Sir Frederick this morning about his charming sister who has so entranced Mr. Greene,” Eugenia said in an agreeable manner, “Not that it will do Mr. Greene any good since Sir Frederick doesn’t approve.”
The two ladies’ heads spun round as if she’d uttered a blasphemy and, predictably, Lady Pendleton snapped, “What would you know about it, Eugenia?”
Eugenia shrugged, not looking at them as she continued with her needlework. “Sir Frederick doesn’t approve, that’s all I’m saying. Thornton was telling me—”
“And what was Thornton telling you, Eugenia, my dear?”
A moment before, Eugenia had felt quite superior, but now her heart was hammering like the piston engines Thornton had described to her at dinner that were driving the new weaving mills. For it was Thornton himself, dressed in a coat of navy superfine, looking just as dashing as he ever had, and much more handsome with his salt and pepper sideburns.
Eugenia glanced at the door to make sure Mr. Greene wasn’t lurking in the corridor and said, “Merely that Sir Frederick is not keen on a match between Mr. Greene and his sister, Miss Caroline.”
“Ah, well, I don’t know anything more than that,” said Thornton, taking a seat. “I’m not surprised you ladies are gossiping about such a topic, however. Isn’t that what has made us arch enemies, Eugenia?” However, his grin was so disarming, Eugenia could only feel a surge of pride and satisfaction with how Lady Pendleton now regarded her.
“Pray explain yourself,” said Lady Pendleton.
“I’m referring to our wager. The very reason we are all here. The very reason I am to win my Persephone.” He winked atEugenia, which occasioned a fierce fluttering in the region of her heart.
“We all knew Eugenia would never win that wager. This party is just a lovely excuse and the means to prove the impossibility of such a union—”
“Why, look! There they are!” Eugenia interrupted with a cry, standing so she could obtain a clearer look over the sloping garden. “Miss Fairchild and Sir Frederick are walking back from the stables. They’ve been riding. And…and they’re alone!” Turning with a satisfied smile, she added, “See how engrossed they are in conversation, Thornton. Ha! My matchmaking instincts were correct.”
The radiant, satisfied look she leveled upon Thornton was met with a raised brow.
“Don’t be too hasty, my dear,” replied Thornton. “A single conversation doesn’t make a match. No, my contention stands. Miss Fairchild and Sir Frederick are such fundamentally different people, they will never make a match.”
“Opposites attract, Thornton. Their differences could be what draws them together.”
“Or drives them apart. I wager it won’t take much to expose how unsuited they truly are.”
Lady Townsend fanned herself. “I don’t think you will get your Persephone, Lord Thornton. No, I think you should start planning our balloon ride over London.” A smile tugged at her mouth and a warm, molten feeling invaded her insides as he gave her a slow, considering smile, then responded, “No, Eugenia, I intend to take possession of your Persephone.” He pursed his lips consideringly, then turned to their hostess. “What, say, you suggest a game of charades this evening?”
“Charades?” queried Eugenia.
