Page 18 of Wager for a Wife

He wanted to marry Lady Louisa.

He buried his face in his hands.

* * *

“I’m not quite sure I understand what you are telling me,” Lord Kerridge said to Louisa later that afternoon. “Let me see if I have got this straight—your grandfather lost a wager, and as a result, our betrothal is at an end before it could even be announced.”

She had told her parents after her meeting with Lord Farleigh this morning that as she had been the one to accept Lord Kerridge’s proposal, she would be the one to end it.

“But only think, my dear,” her father had said. “I have been the person negotiating with him and the Duke of Aylesham and their respective solicitors. Allow me to be the one to inform him and the others and take this burden from you.”

“No, Papa,” she’d replied. “I gave the earl my consent. I will be the one to withdraw it.”

And so she had sent a note to Lord Kerridge, asking him to call on her as soon as was possible, and now here she was in the same drawing room in which she herself had been given the unfortunate news of the vowel, having just told Lord Kerridge their betrothal was off. He looked austere and coldly furious and every inch the duke he would become someday. She studied his face, desperate to find a hint of the charming gentleman who had wooed her with flowers and stolen kisses, but that gentleman was not to be found.

“I agree that it’s confusing,” she said in an effort to placate him, shaken by his angry reaction. “I admit I, too, was terribly confused at first and didn’t believe it and was even shocked when it was all explained to me. Grandpapa never spoke of it to anyone. Even Papa knew nothing of its existence. Had we known, I should never have accepted your proposal and gotten you and the duke and, oh, everyone tangled up in all this. You must believe me.”

“I find myself struggling, nonetheless, to comprehend what you are telling me. You would have me accept the notion that your grandfather lost a bet—one that occurred nearly thirty years ago, mind you—in which he wagered you, whom he didn’t even know would ever exist, and yet now you and your father both agree that it is binding?” The words he hurled at her hit their mark and stung.

“Yes,” she said—simply, for once.

“And so you are marrying this viscount, who has nothing to offer you but crushing debt and little, if any, social standing, while I, who can and have offered you wealth and prestige and more, have now been cast off. Jilted, as it were.”

“I am so terribly sorry.” It wasn’t as if she’d wanted any of this to happen, for heaven’s sake.

He shook his head in disbelief. “But it’s ludicrous, Lady Louisa! Completely illogical and utterly archaic—like something out of the Middle Ages or an old folktale or worse. I cannot fathom that either of you actually think you are obligated in any way to the terms of this . . . this . . . ridiculous vowel and these lawyers’ nonsensical drivel. And what does it say of the viscount’s character?” he added, rising to his feet and beginning to pace the room. There’d been a lot of pacing today. “I do not know the man, nor do I wish to. That he would hold you to this—why, it’s barbaric. Rather than the normal, refined discussions between families to determine marital property agreements meant to reassure everyone involved, he arrives with his solicitor and makes demands.”

“He didn’t actually demand. It was more a statement of fact,” Louisa carefully pointed out.

“That’s beside the point!” Lord Kerridge exclaimed, slashing his hand through the air angrily. Louisa recoiled; she had never seen Lord Kerridge angry before. It was a revelation. “Not only that,” he continued. “The timing of this is highly suspicious. If this vowel has existed for thirty years, why is it only now that this pathetic viscount, whoever he is, comes forward—immediately after you accepted my proposal, hmm?” He dropped back into his chair and drummed his fingers on his thigh as though pondering the merits of this last thought.

The timing was rather coincidental, but Louisa suspected it had more to do with her coming of age or the previous viscount’s death than the earl’s attention to her. It also seemed rather self-important of Lord Kerridge to think Lord Farleigh’s proposal had been made to cause him particular injury, Louisa thought, feeling bruised by his callous assumption.

“Well,” Lord Kerridge said, his countenance shifting from burning rage to a distant, icy hauteur. “He is a fortunate man, I must say. He has obtained one of the fairest and highest-ranking ladies of the ton with little effort on his part.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” Louisa said softly.

“Not to mention the most wealthy,” he added.

Louisa dropped her gaze to her lap. His remark was ungentlemanly and wholly unexpected.

He rose to his feet once more, this time in a manner meant to indicate the conversation was at an end, so she rose as well. “I believe there is nothing more to say, then, other than to wish you well,” he said, albeit his tone suggested just the opposite. He bowed formally. “I bid you adieu and will think fondly on what might have been. Good afternoon, Lady Louisa.”

Louisa remained in the drawing room until she was sure he was no longer in the house. The whole of the day had left Louisa exhausted and numb—a blessing of sorts, she supposed, as it would give her the appearance of composure when she eventually left to go to her bedroom. How abruptly her life had changed. This morning she had been anticipating dining this evening with her betrothed and his family. Now she would be staying home, contemplating marriage to a total stranger—her new betrothed. How was one to react in such a situation?

But it was more than that, for during the past few hours, Louisa had also come to understand that one man had proposed to her because of her suitable social rank, while the other was only interested in the resources a connection to her would provide his estate.

Neither had wanted Louisa for herself.

She rose from the chair and walked to her bedroom with what she hoped was a serene expression on her face, where she collapsed on her bed, unable to hold back the hot flood of tears any longer.

---