A Wager for Love (4 page)

“Ah, Miss Davenham, pray allow me to introduce myself, I am Jonathon Hoare,” He shook his head. “I had the pleasure of knowing your grandmother quite well, before

she went to live in Rome of course.” He removed his glasses, polishing them carefully, all the while watching his young visitor speculatively. A Davenham all right, one look was enough to tell him that, and with her grandmother’s spirit unless he was very much mistaken. To be sure she was not dressed in the first stare or fashion, as one would suppose a young lady other birth to be, but Jonathon Hoare could find nothing strange in these circumstances. His knowledge or the late Dowager Countess’s family was extensive. Indeed he had been privy to the making of the Will. His glasses cleaned to his satisfaction, he resumed the conversation.

“Miss Davenham. I take it you have received a letter from Laidlaw, the late Dowager’s man of business.”

Lavinia, normally cool and composed, round herself answering a little hesitantly. “Yes, I did hear from him. He writes that my grandmother has left me her entire fortune. I was so surprised. or course, I don’t know just how much money is involved,” she finished a little doubtfully.

The banker placed the tips of his fingers together and eyed her calmly. Naturally he was perfectly cognisant with the extent of the Countess’s fortune. Indeed, he had had many persons of quality sitting before him in that very chair, but very few quite as wealthy as this particular young lady. The Dowager had invested her money well, and had quadrupled the amount she had inherited from her own father. Even Jonathon Hoare himself had been surprised when he knew the full amount involved. He sighed a little. “Well, Miss Davenham. I can tell you there is quite a considerable sum involved.”

“How much?”

Controlling his surprise at such a point-blank question, he tilted his chair back a little to get a better view of Miss Davenham. Normally it took his customers quite a time to work their way round to this all important question. In one particular, at least, he had not been wrong; Miss Davenham was clearly cast in the same mould as her grandmother.

“Er, let me see now.” He knew to the exact penny how much money was involved, but years of experience had taught him always to be cautious. “Let me see. Umm. I think, in round figures of course, you understand.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully, whilst Lavinia clung tensely to the edge of her chair. So much depended on the sum of money there was. He looked down at the papers on his desk, jotted down a few calculations, and then raising his head said gravely, “Something in the region of two hundred thousand pounds, I believe.”

Unable to hide her relief, Lavinia leant forward, “So much! Oh no. Surely you must be wrong.” Another thought, a good deal less pleasant suddenly struck her. “Oh dear, my uncle.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Has …has my grandmother left him anything?”

The banker shook his head gravely. “No, indeed the Will was most explicit. Every penny to you, my dear.”

He sighed a little. He had spent a most trying afternoon with the Countess’s son, when her ladyship had died. His Lordship, despite his handsome house in the country, his wife’s fortune, and his own title, had not been pleased to learn that his mother had seen fit to bestow the entire sum of her wealth on his younger brother’s child. There had been a good deal of striding about the room, thumping on the banker’s desk, and some unpleasant talk about senile old women, before Mr. Hoare had been able to convince him of the legality of the document. He pondered for a moment on the particularly unpleasant attitude My Lord had taken when acquainted with the definite legality of the will, and then banishing him from his mind turned back to the young girl, who was watching him with dazed eyes. “There, my dear, I should not worry too much about your uncle. I understand he has left town for his estates.”

There was a brief comprehensive silence. Mr. Hoare smiled kindly at Lavinia. “Now, my dear, you can safely leave things to me and, of course, your late grandmother’s lawyer. I trust you will be happy with such an arrangement.” He glanced at his watch. It had been along morning; he had arranged to meet a business acquaintance in the coffee house, and the day was already well advanced.

Lavinia saw, and correctly interpreted his look. It was time to make her request. “There is just one thing before I leave.”

“Yes, my dear,” he replied genially.

“I shall need seventy thousand guineas.”

The banker swallowed, wondering if he had heard correctly. However, one look at the set face before him was sufficient to dispel any notions that he had been mistaken. “Er, you did say seventy thousand?”

Lavinia inclined her head wordlessly.

“I see, a matter of utmost urgency, I collect?” Mr. Hoare had not been a banker to the nobility for fifty years without learning to recognise gaming debts when he saw them. But this girl. For the first time he began to doubt the wisdom of the Countess’s will. Seventy thousand guineas. It was not to be thought of. He shrugged to himself and rang the bell on his desk. Within seconds the door opened to admit the clerk who Lavinia had seen earlier.

“NaturaIly, you will need a draft. To carry such a large amount in gold would not be safe. Besides, it would scarcely fit in your reticule.” he added dryly. “Now, Simpson, I want a draft on Miss Davenham’s account for seventy thousand guineas.” The banker turned back to Lavinia. “To whom is it to be made payable my dear?”

Lavinia thought quickly. “No-one, I shall require it to be blank.”

Seeing his clerk’s eyes fixed on Miss Davenham with awed fascination, the banker amended, “A blank draft, Simpson.” He was beginning to see more of the late Dowager in her granddaughter with every passing minute. When the clerk returned with the draft, he handed it to Lavinia without another word, giving her his arm and carefully escorting her from the room.

Once free of the bank, Lavinia heaved a sigh of relief, blushing a little as she recalled certain shrewd and assessing glances cast at her by the banker. Still she had the draft. That was the main thing, and now for the second part of her mission. Squaring her shoulders, cheeks flushed, but head held high, she signalled to a couple of chairmen, addressing the first man to step forward in slightly hesitant tones. “I wish to have the direction of the man who is the heir to the Earl of Saltaire, do you know it?”

She waited anxiously for his reply.

If the chairman found it strange that a young lady, completely unescorted, should be enquiring as to the address of such a notable personage, he did not betray it. He pushed his wig back and pondered for a moment. “Saltaire, you say. I dunno, I’m new to these ‘ere parts.”

Lavinia’s heart sank. or all the misfortunes, for her to pick a chairman who was unfamiliar with the City. However, help was quickly forthcoming. The other bearer stepped forward to see what the delay was. “What’s that you say, Miss?” he asked. “Saltaire? Aye, it’s all right, Charlie, I knows where it is.” He winked knowingly at his companion. “In you gets, Miss. We’ll have you there in a trice. Aye and we won’t charge you more than six-pence. It isn’t every day we get such a pretty face.”

Blushing fiercely, Lavinia climbed into the box. She was still not used to the free and easy ways of the Londoners. In Rome the distinctions between the classes had been clear cut and strictly adhered to. For a few moments the chair bumped uncomfortably over the cobbles. At last it came to a standstill, and the chair was set down. The chairman banged on the roof. “Here we are, Miss, that’s it, over there.”

She followed the direction of his pointing finger. They were in Grosvenor Square and the house they had stopped outside of was a large and extremely grim-looking mansion.

Gathering up her skirts she tossed the man a shilling, and feeling more than a little nervous walked determinedly up to the door. The footman who opened the door to her imperious knock, gaped at her open-mouthed. He had been long enough in his present Master’s service to know that the type of women he favoured were not the ones who made a habit of visiting gentlemen in their own homes, unless under cover of dark. He gave the visitor one startled look, torn between embarrassment and fear, should his Master learn that he had admitted an importuning female to the house. Unfortunately for him, he tried to rectify what he thought to be his mistake by closing the door in Lavinia’s outraged face. Her temper roused by this treatment, Lavinia adopted her most efficient manner, which had quelled even the most voluble of Italians, and demanded icily to be taken to his Master, and at that instant. Although only a little above five feet, and as slender as a willow, she could, when the occasion demanded, be extremely determined. The ensuing altercation was sufficient to bring the formidable butler from his sitting room, where he had been having a most pleasant chat with the housekeeper over a glass of his Master’s best wine. None too pleased at the interruption he sailed into the hall, quelling and dignified. One look was sufficient to assure him that the lady, whatever she might be, was not one of My Lord’s lovebirds. A second look appraised him of the fact

that she was in truth a member of the Quality no less. With one shrivelling glare at the dejected footman, he addressed himself to Lavinia in measured tones. “Ahem. Can I help you, Miss …?”

Holding her head high, Lavinia eyed him coolly. “Miss Davenham. And yes, you may. I wish to see your Master, the heir to the Earl of Saltaire.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Davenham, but …”

Lavinia cut in angrily. “No excuses I beg you. I wish to see your Master, and I shall not leave until I do. You may tell him that I am the sister of Lord Arnedale.”

This last comment was delivered in tones of dire warning, and it brought a worried frown to the butler’s face. However, this was completely wasted on Miss Davenham, for she had turned from the butler and was making a passable pretence of examining the portraits adorning the walls. The butler sighed heavily, ushering Lavinia into the small salon. Closing the door, he started to mount the stairs, a look of pained resignation on his face. Trouble was brewing—he knew it in his bones.

Upstairs in his bedchamber, the object of Lavinia’s visit was seated in front of a small cheval mirror, long legs asprawl. His valet leaned forward, fussed over the fit of the clocked hose his Master had on, and then stepped back, waiting anxiously. For a second both gentlemen considered the effect of pale blue small clothes with a coat of dark blue velvet, lavishly embellished with a quantity of the finest Mechlin lace.

“Yes, I think it will do. Perhaps the sapphire ring, and the matching pin. What think you?”

The valet expelled his breath on a relieved sigh. My Lord might be an exacting Master, prone to sharp words and cutting remarks, but at least he was a credit to him. Not for My Lord the necessity of padded calves or shoulders, stiff with buckram wadding. It was true that his dress could be a little careless, his dislike of powdering most frustrating, but …

His Master’s cool voice broke in upon his thoughts. “This lace, Fairmile, I really don’t think …” The words the Earl was about to utter were lost for ever as the butler knocked and entered. For once his air of implacable calm appeared to have deserted him. One might even have been forgiven for thinking him a trifle distraught.

“My Lord, there is a young lady downstairs asking for you.”

For a second there was complete silence, and then when he did speak it was so quietly that it was difficult to understand why both the valet and the butler should blench so.

“Of course you denied me, Thompson?,’ he asked smoothly.

The unhappy Thompson shook his head apologetically. “I’m afraid the young lady was most insistent. She refuses to leave until she has had speech with you.”

The other’s voice hardened a fraction. “You will return downstairs at once and remove this person from the house. Do I make myself clear?”

The butler was beginning to look extremely flustered. “I think there may have been a mistake, My Lord.”

“Indeed there has, Thompson. A very unfortunate mistake-for you,” drawled the Earl suavely.

The butler cleared his throat nervously. “No, My Lord, you don’t quite understand.”

The other’s eyebrows rose. “You astonish me, Thompson, I had always believed my understanding to be of a most superior order.”

The butler licked his lips. “Forgive me, My Lord, I was referring to the young lady. She told me she wished to see the heir to the Earl of Saltaire.”

The Earl appeared totally engrossed in the sapphire ring he was placing on his finger. He barely looked up. “Did she so,” he drawled. “Perhaps you would care to explain to me then what she is doing here? To the best of my knowledge, my cousin still resides in Half Moon Street.”

There was a brief and painful haitus, during which the butler consigned Miss Davenham to an unmentionable and painful fate. At last the unhappy Thompson offered defensively, “She was most determined, My Lord. She wouldn’t listen

when I tried to tell her …”

“Indeed?” The Earl’s lips thinned ominously. “Well, you may tell Miss …?”

“Miss Davenham,” supplied the butler helpfully. “She said she was the sister of a Lord Arnedale.”

The smile which curved the Earl’s mouth on hearing these words was totally devoid of warmth. In fact it was distinctly unpleasant. His eyes rested speculatively on his butler, and the look in them made that gentleman feel extremely unhappy. “You begin to interest me, Thompson. You may tell the young lady,” he paused slightly over the last word, “that I shall be with her shortly.”

The butler, thus dismissed, withdrew quietly.

“Now, Fairmile, where were we? Ah yes-the sapphires.”

A good fifty minutes later, fuming with embarrassment and temper, Lavinia paced the floor ofthe room. She had examined the paintings a score of times, sat in every chair the room possessed and admired the view from the windows, but none of these admirable pursuits had served to lessen her fury one whit. She heard footsteps outside the door and swung round, hands at her sides, to prevent them from trembling. The door opened and Lavinia stared in disbelief. Her speech, so carefully rehearsed, and which until that moment had been occupying her every thought, forgotten. This tall, dark man with his lean, arrogant features and air of careless grace was not what she had expected at all. She watched him cross the room, a little warily. He leaned negligently against the mantle, his hooded eyes regarding her with insulting amusement. Try as she might, she could not prevent the colour rushing to her cheeks. For a second the strange, glittering eyes rested on her red-gold ringlets and wide, grey eyes, noting her discomfort sardonically.