Page 6 of A Sham Engagement

Fairley snorted. “Would you give up the joys of a mistress for a missish girl ruling your household and a nursery full of squalling brats?”

Jack shook his head. “Not for a moment.” Not even if the wife in question resembled the beautiful Miss Wetherby. Definitely not.

Fairley leaned closer. “Which reminds me—do I hear you’ve been escorting the exquisite Lady Raby about town?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down a few times, something he clearly thought suggestive of intent.

Jack tapped his nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Fairley laughed out loud. “Not just me but the gossipy old harridans who rule over the Ton. They’d all like to know if you’ve breached the walls there.”

“And I suppose if I told you, you’d rush off and spread the story to everyone here.” Jack lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. “Hey, did you hear, Broxbourne’s scaled the heights of Raby.” He finished with a laugh.

“Damn you, Jack, I can never tell if you’re gulling me or not.”

Jack shrugged. “Take it whichever way you wish.”

Fairley’s eyes lit up. “Does she? Take it whatever way you wish?” He licked his lips. “I’ve always had a fancy to broach that lady’s defenses. Such as they are. I hear she doesn’t fight hard to defend her virtue.”

“Lord Raby might have something to say about that, as you’re not the most discreet of lovers, even though he keeps to his country estate nowadays. We can all tell which lady you’re trailing after, every time. And so can their husbands.”

“Probably why I’ve never tried.” Fairley paused. “But you’re hardly the soul of discretion yourself, so don’t tell me off for my inability to hide how happy I am each time I find a new light o’ love. And we all know Raby won’t come up to Town and doesn’t give a fig what his wife gets up to as long as he has his hounds to ride to.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of Sir Simon Westlake and Lord Arthur Dugdale, each bearing two glasses of lemonade. They sat down.

“I’m determined not to drink while I play this time.” Dugdale, a sturdy man whose carefully upswept sandy hair hid a growing bald spot, handed a glass to Jack. “Or I’ll be lured into playing too deep and you’ll fleece me again. No one with your breeding has a right to be so damned lucky at cards. You’re meant to lose sometimes, you know.”

Westlake, a lugubrious fellow with the visage of a disappointed undertaker, snorted with laughter. “Staying sober won’t help you any, Arthur. Playing you is like taking money from an old lady. In fact, you play like an old lady at an afternoon tea party.”

Dugdale huffed. “It’s a jolly good thing you and I are old friends or I’d have to call you out for that. At the very least plant you a facer.”

Westlake pulled a disbelieving but good-natured face and turned to Jack. “I say, didn’t I see you dancing with the most gorgeous girl in the room just now?”

“Did you?” Fairley asked, ears pricking. “What girl was that?”

“Not one to interest any of you,” Jack said. “I only managed to dance a few steps with her in the cotillion. She has a bulldog of a mother who refused to allow her to dance with me and a father who’s on his uppers, so her face is her only fortune. I suspect the mother knew quite well who I was, and that she’s relying on the girl’s looks to snare her a rich husband.”

“A diamond of the first water, I’d say, by the look of her,” Westlake said. “Prettiest girl here tonight. If I were a bit younger and not hog tied to Amelia’s apron strings, I’d be out there pressing her for a dance.” Eyes suddenly furtive, he glanced at the door. “Amelia’s not there, is she, spying on me to make sure I behave myself?”

His three friends laughed in unison, and Jack picked up the new pack of cards that had been left ready on the table by their hosts. “No, she’s not, but if it keeps you out of trouble, let’s keep the bets to below five guineas.”

“Oh, the ignominy of always having to do as my wife says,” Westlake moaned, turning back to the table. “You three are wise to steer clear of tying yourselves down to a chit.” He paused. “Well, I thought that was what I was doing when I asked Amelia’s papa for her hand in marriage, but it turned out that what I was really marrying was a hard-nosed accountant.”

Dugdale poked him in the arm. “Methinks you protest too much. You know you like being married to Amelia.” He reached into an inner pocket of his frock coat and drew out a snuff box. Having taken a pinch himself and snorted it, he offered the box to his friends.

Jack, who rarely indulged, shook his head, his gaze wandering back to where, from the sound of it, Sir Nicholas was losing heavily. Again. His thoughts returned unbidden to Miss Wetherby and her termagant of a mother. He’d seen that look in the eyes of enough mothers of daughters to recognize it when he saw it—she was a woman for whom only the most advantageous match would do. To his surprise, a tiny pang of pity rose in his breast for Miss Elenora Wetherby. Too many mothers were willing to sacrifice the happiness of their daughters for the cachet of saying they’d snared a title for them. He glanced about the room. How many of the men here possessed unhappy wives? The relief that he would never be father to a daughter washed over him. “Shall I be banker?”

Chapter Four

As the evening wore on, Elenora found it increasingly difficult to hold her tongue with her mother. She’d already had the argument she envisioned repeating itself here several times prior to this, her first ball, and on every occasion she had come off the loser. Only this kept her from voicing her objections to this cattle market of a ball.

The argument had begun at home in Penworthy when Mama had announced she’d decided it was high time for Elenora to come out. She’d clearly been expecting her oldest daughter to be ecstatic and had been less than impressed at the reaction she’d received. Elenora, wondering how her mother had lived with her for nearly twenty years yet still didn’t know her, had expressed her ardent desire, in rather too explicit terms, to forego such an ordeal.

Mama, in high dudgeon and appealing to Papa for support, had pointed out all the reasons why it would be advantageous not just to her but to the whole family if she acquiesced meekly and found herself a rich husband. Mama had been frustrated and sadly disappointed at what she called Elenora’s “selfish obduracy,” quickly followed by anger, and had demanded that Papa inform Elenora of her duty with a capital D. Papa had done this with reluctance and retreated into his study, the door of which he’d locked behind him.

The fact that Augusta, three years her junior, and Frances, only one year below that, had been present had not helped Elenora’s argument. Both of her sisters had been not just green with envy but also wildly enthusiastic for her prospective debut on the London social scene. Because, with her married off, they could see it would soon be their turns to be presented and for both of them, perplexingly, this seemed to be their one aim in life. Empty-headed feather-brains that they both were.

So no support had come from either of them. In fact, they’d acted as though they couldn’t wait to see the back of her, which had seemed a little unfair. All that had resulted from that first, heated confrontation was that Mama had come down with a megrim and taken to her bed with her much-used smelling salts and Elenora had been left feeling guilty. She hadn’t wanted to, because she felt it was Papa’s fault she needed to be married off advantageously, and if he hadn’t had such an addiction to gambling, she could have remained happily at home in the country forever.

On arrival in London, any hopes Elenora had cherished of appealing to Aunt Penelope had come to nothing, as Papa’s only sister was overjoyed to be bringing out not just her own daughter, but her prettiest niece as well, especially as both girls were so similar in appearance. Well, Petunia had inherited her late father’s sturdy figure whereas Elenora was more like her tall and slender father, but they were alike in coloring at least, a fact which Aunt Penelope was wont to repeat ad infinitum to anyone who would listen and even those who didn’t want to.