Page 12 of Wager for a Wife

Mr. Swindlehurst cleared his throat. “Lady Louisa, a situation has been brought to our attention by these two gentlemen that has a direct effect on you, it would seem.”

Louisa glanced at her father, who still hadn’t moved, and then at the viscount and his solicitor. “I cannot imagine how. I have never met either of these gentlemen before. Have you, Papa?”

“No,” he said flatly, still staring out the window.

Mr. Heslop lifted a faded document from atop the stack he’d been leafing through earlier. “Viscount Farleigh is in possession of a vowel, a guarantee of payment of debt, from the Marquess of Ashworth.”

“I don’t see how that concerns me. My father is a wealthy man, Mr. Heslop, and I’m sure he will fulfill the terms of the vowel. Won’t you, Papa?” Louisa said.

Her father continued to stare out the window. “The terms of the vowel don’t involve money, Louisa. I cannot believe the old fool did this.”

She was more confused than ever. What old fool? “I don’t understand—”

“Allow me to explain it to you, Lady Louisa,” Mr. Heslop said. “I hope you will pardon my choice of words, but it is best to present this as frankly as possible. The terms of the vowel are this: that the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth be united in marriage to Viscount Farleigh. You are the daughter of the Marquess of Ashworth, and as has been pointed out to you already, this gentleman is Viscount Farleigh.”

Louisa’s head snapped in the direction of the young man, who was still watching her intently. “This cannot be,” she declared, fear curling through her like acrid smoke. “I am already betrothed to Lord Kerridge.”

“Not officially betrothed, from what we understand,” Mr. Heslop said. “And very soon, not even that. At least, not to the Earl of Kerridge.”

Louisa struggled to breathe. Mr. Swindlehurst placed a glass in her hand. “Drink this,” he said.

She obeyed him and swallowed, choking on whatever it was. Brandy, perhaps; she didn’t know. She handed the glass back to him, her throat and eyes burning.

“You see, Lady Louisa,” Mr. Swindlehurst said, waiting until she had caught her breath before attempting to explain Mr. Heslop’s jarring words. “Based on the evidence they have presented, it appears that your grandfather, when he was the marquess, made a wager with one Viscount Farleigh—this gentleman’s father.” He gestured toward the young man. “Rather than a traditional bet of money or property, however, the wager was unique in that it enabled the viscount to marry the daughter of the marquess.”

“My grandfather never had a daughter,” Louisa said.

“Which was undoubtedly the reason he agreed to the wager in the first place. The viscount in question was a young man at the time and unmarried. The marquess had long given up on having additional children, something he’d most likely assumed the viscount wouldn’t have realized when making the wager.”

“What you are saying is my grandfather made and lost a wager, not caring whether he won or lost because he assumed the terms of the wager could not be fulfilled.”

“Precisely, milady,” Mr. Swindlehurst said.

“However,” Mr. Heslop said, “the late viscount was exceptionally clever in how he wrote the vowel for the marquess to sign. He never explicitly stated which marquess or viscount the vowel pertained to. It is, therefore, still valid, in our opinion.”

“May I see this vowel?” she asked as calmly as she could, although her heart was pounding violently.

Mr. Swindlehurst handed it to her. She read the words and then read them again. There, at the bottom, was her grandfather’s signature, and there were witness signatures as well. Her grandfather had even affixed the marquess’s seal to it.

“Good heavens,” she whispered, handing the vile document back to Mr. Swindlehurst with shaking hands.

“As you are the first daughter of a Marquess of Ashworth to come of marriageable age since the vowel was drawn up, the current Viscount Farleigh has the right to claim the debt owed on it,” Mr. Swindlehurst said in a compassionate tone that did little to soothe Louisa.

“Which he wishes to do,” Mr. Heslop added briskly. “At the soonest possible convenience.”

“But it isn’t convenient!” Louisa cried, jumping to her feet. “This . . . this obligation has nothing to do with me. You cannot possibly mean to hold me to the terms of this vowel, which is decades old. We live in a modern age—this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore.” She ran to her father and grabbed his arm. “Papa, tell them! Please!”

Her father kept his hands braced on the windowsill and took a deep breath before turning to face her.

“Papa, tell them,” Louisa begged, clutching at his lapels. “The vowel is meaningless. I am betrothed, or as good as betrothed. You will pay him whatever he wants, won’t you, Papa? There is no need for this. Tell them, Papa!”

“I cannot,” her father said. His face was all bleak, hard lines as he looked back at her and drew her hands away from his person, then kissed each one before letting her go.

Mr. Swindlehurst rose and took her gently by the arm and led her back to her chair. “You understand, certainly, that under the law, children are considered the property of their fathers, just as wives are, although I doubt this sort of claim has ever been made before, nor do I believe they would succeed if they were to take this to court.” He glared pointedly at Mr. Heslop. “I have advised your father not to honor the vowel.”

“So you have, Mr. Swindlehurst,” Mr. Heslop said. “Allow me to point out to Lady Louisa, however, that the debt remains; we have verified the vowel’s authenticity, as has Swindlehurst here, to everyone’s satisfaction.”

“Not to mine.” She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. She would not cry before these men. She would not show that weakness to them, and especially not to him, who had said nothing so far and still watched her too closely. “You don’t have to do this,” she said to the viscount. “You can rip up the vowel right now.”

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