Page 2 of Wager on Love


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“It is just that it is so frustrating to know that I was misled so handily. Before last summer, I thought, I should be easily able to discern if a gentleman felt sincere affection for me. Now I see that this is not the case. It is galling, and I suppose, I am not quite over the sting of it.”

“You will be soon enough. I promise,” Lord Keegain assured his sister fondly. “Sooner, I should think, now that you have discovered the root of your discontent.”

“Are you congratulating yourself now, on the success of your advice, brother?” Charlotte asked saucily. “I have not said that I feel better.”

“You do, though,” he teased. “You might deny it, just to be contrary, but you feel at least a small amount better than you did before we spoke.” Keegain nudged her gently as they walked and Charlotte smiled at him. “If I am congratulating myself,” He continued. “It is on having the courage to risk your temper by mentioning anything at all.”

“My temper is hardly as fearsome as allthat,” Lady Charlotte retorted. “I will admit to feeling slightly more at ease. Still, I do not see how I can look forward to my coming out this Season, knowing that I cannot put full confidence in my judgment of my suitors’ character.”

“Perhaps you might consider relying, at least a little, on the judgment of your family,” her brother suggested. “You know that we all want the very best for you, and we are reasonably intelligent as a whole.”

“Perhaps.” Charlotte grudgingly agreed.

Keegain chuckled. “In the meanwhile, enjoy the little time we have at Kennett Park before we must reenter into the whirl of theTon. Put your worries and doubts aside if you can, and we shall go shooting tomorrow afternoon if this fine weather holds.”

The butler, Mr. Hughes, met them and held the door for Charlotte and her brother. “The post has arrived,” he told the Earl. “I took the liberty of placing it on your desk. There is a missive from the Duke of Ely.”

“Thank you, Hughes,” Keegain said, nodding his assent. He parted ways with his sister, heading toward the library.

Charlotte crossed the sweeping foyer and climbed the staircase to her room, catching hold of the balustrade which was carved with an intricate scrollwork of fruits, flowers and leaves across the dark wood.

As Charlotte made her way to her chambers to change out of her riding habit, she felt considerably more cheerful than she had in weeks. Ruddy was right, of course, and she was somewhat ashamed of herself for letting a scoundrel like Lord Marley shake her belief in love, and worse, in herself.

Lady Charlotte had witnessed true love in a marriage. Her own parents had been desperately in love before her father passed. She remembered how happy they had been, and she wanted that feeling for herself. She saw the same happiness between her brother and his new wife, Jane. It was a trust so whole and complete nothing else mattered. Everyone could see it. Charlotte did not know how such depth of emotion was to be achieved, but she was hardly the type of woman to give up at the first sign of trouble. Lady Charlotte Keening was not someone to be trifled with. Consequently, she almost always got exactly what she desired. She was certain love could be no different.

* * *

2

Sir John Ashbrooke of Southridge, Baronet, leaned back from the piles of letters and bills that cluttered his desk, sighing with dismay. He ran long and elegant fingers through his dark hair; then pressed them over his eyes to block the sight of so many discouraging figures. He was well and truly in dire financial straits now, and there remained no sense in dodging the fact any longer. The truth was unavoidable.

Ever since the French government had seized control of his mother’s property across the Channel, he had been forced to make do with the scanty inheritance that his father had left behind. The late Sir Richard Ashbrooke had come from a long and well-respected line, but very little remained of the Ashbrooke legacy aside from their good family name.

It had been a mistake, perhaps, Sir John thought, to keep the residence on Henrietta Street, but it was most convenient to both Covent Gardens and Drury Lane. If he were to sell the house, it would only lead to questions. How then would he be able to keep up the pretense of affluence and woo a wealthy heiress? Which at this point, he was forced to admit, was the only course of action that he could realistically consider. He was not the first of theTonto be found in such a state, nor would he be the last.

“Lord Henderson to see you, sir,” announced Carlton, Ashbrooke’s manservant, in a formal tone, startling John from his depressing reverie.

“Send him in, by all means,” Sir John said, glad for the chance of a distraction. He could not think of any visitor he would not welcome at this moment, and Charles Hale, The Earl of Henderson, was always excellent company. Lord Henderson was one of Sir John’s closest friends. Both handsome and titled, the two gentlemen enjoyed the roguish existence of London bachelors in their mid-twenties. With Lord Henderson’s fair hair and pale grey eyes as a counterpoint to Sir John’s dark roguish looks and distinctive blue gaze, the pair struck fear in the heart of every respectable chaperone in theTon.

“You look most weary for a man enjoying a leisurely afternoon at home,” remarked Lord Henderson after the two gentlemen had exchanged greetings. “You are not still recovering from last night’s opera?”

“If I were, it would be from the miserable quality of the show rather than the lateness of the hour from which I needed recovery,” Sir John remarked ruthlessly. “How it ever came to be produced is beyond my comprehension.”

“Itwaswretched,” Lord Henderson agreed. “That will teach us to attend anything financed by Blakely, I suppose.”

“As if we had not already had that lesson a half dozen times over. He is a dear friend, but the poor man has unerringly bad taste.”

“Poor judgment, at the very least. He cannot seem to resist investing in any theatre company that flatters him; and bless them all, they know it. Still, he has the money to toss around. It is a harmless enough sort of hobby, I do suppose.”

“After sitting through that nonsense last night, I am surprised that you can still consider it harmless.” Sir John scoffed somewhat bitterly. “But perhaps I am simply not in a charitable frame of mind just now. I would wish that I had a fortune like Blakely’s; that is, one that requires squandering.”

“So that is what has you so ruffled, is it?” Lord Henderson eyed his friend’s piles of correspondence and documents with a considering look. “Financial trouble?”

“I do not exactly care to admit it, but yes, as a matter of fact. Ever since Napoleon’s supporters seized my mother’s property I have been rather plagued with that particular woe. It is quite dull, actually,” Sir John lamented.

Lord Henderson would not be able to relate, having been blessed with a fortune just as large as their friend Lord Blakely, but John knew at least that he would sympathize.

“It is unconscionable, the wretched French getting away with such a thing.” Lord Henderson proclaimed indignantly. “I do not see how it is allowed, even in a time of war.”

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