Page 6 of War of the Wedding Wagers
But action was.
“Edward,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder and forcing him to meet her gaze. His eyes were a little bloodshot and hazy, but she knew he was attending. “Tell me exactly the terms of the wager.”
“I did tell you, Amelia. That Sir Frederick would announce his betrothal and walk a vivacious, blonde vixen down the aisle before six weeks was up.”
Amelia nodded. “That sounds simple enough,” she said, forcing a smile. “Now we just need to make sure he does.”
“Excuse me, Miss Fairchild.” A delicate clearing of the throat interrupted Edward’s response as Lady Townsend insinuated herself into their circle.
Amelia wouldn’t have minded if it had only been the older woman whom she had met but a few times with her mama in the days when Lady Fairchild showed her face in society.
Making the situation even more uncomfortable was the gentleman at her side and to whom it appeared she wished to introduce Amelia.
Sir Frederick.
He was the last person Amelia wished to meet now that Sir Frederick’s marital situation suddenly determined whether Amelia could enjoy the remainder of her life as a contented spinster in the country.
Or—God forbid!—be forced to find herself a husband if she no longer had the means to keep herself, thanks to Edward.
Another thought intruded.
Amelia’s future depended upon ensuring Sir Frederick’s heart was captured by a petite, vivacious blonde. Of course, Amelia must smile and be gracious if only to break the ice so she could begin, at the earliest, introducing to him all the petite, vivacious blondes she could find in the hopes that one of them would appeal to the gentleman.
“Miss Fairchild, I came to ask after your dear mama,” the older woman said. “I am sad I no longer see her about, for she was a friend of mine, as she was of Sir Frederick’s mama. In fact, I prevailed upon him to join me in sending you my greetings, for he tells me you have already been introduced.”
“A long time ago.” Amelia inclined her head, forcing a polite smile, but not succeeding so successfully in hiding her skepticism when Lady Townsend added, “Sir Frederick has been pursuing his interest in the antiquities during his five years on the Continent. Like you, my dear, he has a great love of learning and I’m sure the pair of you would have much to discuss.”
Chapter Three
The amusement SirFrederick felt at seeing the normally collected Miss Fairchild positively flaming with mortification was fleeting.
Why should he expend any thought, much less interest, on a female who clearly held him in such low regard?
It was a long time ago, now, but he’d once admired Miss Fairchild for her charm and humor. He remembered the way her dark eyes had sparkled as they’d discussed Roman antiquities over lemonade at Almack’s.
They’d danced a few sets together, her infectious laugh drawing envious glances from other gentlemen as they’d discussed literature and debated the merits of various classical artists.
But that was before Thomas Blackheath, with his severe black clothing and permanently furrowed brow, had proved himself a more desirable candidate.
Sir Frederick had been surprised by how quickly they’d become betrothed.
Then Blackthorn had gone to fight for King and country, leaving behind a changed Miss Fairchild, her vibrant spirit dimmed like a candle snuffed too soon.
No, Blackthorn was not a man Sir Frederick had cared for, with his dour and killjoy demeanor that masqueraded as a serious concern for his fellow creatures, his lips thinning indisapproval at the slightest hint of frivolity, as though joy itself were a sin.
He’d been a do-gooder who had killed Miss Fairchild’s joyful spirit with his endless lectures on propriety and duty before he, in turn, had got himself killed at Waterloo. The last time Sir Frederick had seen Miss Fairchild laugh with genuine delight had been just before her betrothal was announced, when they’d been examining a collection of Roman coins at Lord Pembroke’s soirée.
Sir Frederick smiled at the recollection. He’d kissed her that night. He remembered it well.
And then she’d pledged her troth to Blackheath.
After Blackheath’s death, Miss Fairchild had never been the same, and while Frederick could have dealt with the fact she had little interest in replacing Thomas in her affections, it did rankle that she seemed to have formed such a poor opinion of Sir Frederick’s character.
I’d marry a goldfish before I married a swaggering lothario like Sir Frederick…
That was a bit low, he thought; but, it was said on account of several public liaisons with women that had not reflected well on him, though Miss Fairchild clearly did not know the full picture of his exploits abroad.
Then again, few did, and that was how it had to be. Fortunately, that had not meant he had a shortage of female admirers.
