The Wagered Bride (3 page)

Milli
gasped. "Oh, Papa," she said in a disgusted whisper.

William
flushed to the roots of his white hair. "I ain't one to drag you,
Lizzie," he shouted. "You know I ain't. Something in those lemon
cakes, you know. Always bothered me."

Milli
turned on him when she heard her sister sob. "She will have her knight,
and I will see to it."

With a
hand to her forehead, Milli fled the room, her voice dwindling to a theatrical
whisper. "Oh, treason of thy very blood, murder not my heart for I have
only one."

Muttering
a curse, William Shelby sank into the plush velvet beneath him and pulled out
the papers in his jacket pocket. Lizzie would thank him later. She thought he
was misguiding her, but he was doing this for her own good. Creighton Hall would
be a nice summer home; now all he had to do was nab the lord along with the
property. He would make a nice husband for his Lizzie. A nice husband, indeed.

Chapter
Two

“L
izzie, what are you doing?"

Taking
her spectacles off the bridge of her nose, Elizabeth looked up from her
dressing table, turned toward her sister, and feigned a smile. No use letting
Milli know how miserable she was about her father's demand. "I'm writing a
letter, you silly goose. What does it look like I'm doing?"

Milli
frowned, plopping on her bed and drowning herself in a heap of silk and damask
pillows. A shaft of sunlight illuminated her impish face, and Elizabeth
wondered for the thousandth time how they could ever be sisters. Milli was such
a fetching little thing.

"Papa
loves you, Lizzie. The thing is, he wants a lord in the family so badly, he
will do anything to have one."

"I
know, dearest. But it is my life, not his." With a tired sigh, Elizabeth
switched her gaze back to her letter and raised her spectacles to her eyes once
again. She only needed the spectacles for writing and reading, but they were so
very ugly, she tried to avoid using them in public.

After
signing her name, Elizabeth placed her pen into its holder and stood, hoping
Mr. Fennington would respond quickly. She was doing this for Milli, too, she
reminded herself. If she married of her own free will, Milli would know she
could do the same, whether her suitor was a gentleman of the
ton
or not.
Papa would not be able to lock her sister into a marriage of convenience for
the sake of a name or a title, even though he had said otherwise.

"Woe
is me. Oh, woe is me," Milli exclaimed, putting a hand to her head,
striving for her sister's attention. "I will be forever a spinster—"
She stopped and sat up. "Do you know, Lizzie, I believe these pillows
smell of vanilla?"

Laughing,
Elizabeth walked toward the bed and took Milli's hands in hers, drawing the
girl out of the pillows. "Yes, they do smell of vanilla, and now they
smell of your lavender bouquet. And you are the silliest girl to tease Papa. He
almost had an apoplectic seizure when you sashayed from the room like
that."

Milli
giggled, twirling about the room. "Oh, Papa reminds me of one of those
stuffed antler heads in Lord Pommly's study. You know, all stiff and inflexible."

"And
when have you been in Lord Pommly's study?"

"I
met his daughter in Bath. We are good friends." Milli's eyes twinkled
mischievously. "But do you think Papa knows about my visit to the back
stairs of the opera house?"

"Good
heavens! I never knew of it until this instant, Millicent. You little
minx!"

Milli's
face took on the soul of innocence. "I took his mind off you for a bit,
did I not?"

Elizabeth
caught the wicked gleam in her sister's gaze and chuckled. "I can fight my
own battles, dearest. You must not compromise your own situation with
Papa."

Milli
whacked her hand against a pillow. "But, Lizzie, I do so want you to be
happy. Papa likes to have a hold on everything we do, as if we lived in
medieval times. It is not quite the thing today, you know. A woman can do many
more things than she could have done hundreds of years ago.

"Like
what?" Elizabeth asked skeptically.

"Well...
like acting!" Milli put on a militant face when Elizabeth's brows rose.

"Yes,
I know what you think of that," Milli went on. "And I daresay Papa
does care about what we do; however, sometimes he treats me as if I am a
four-year-old."

Elizabeth's
blue eyes twinkled. Milli did act like a four- year-old sometimes.
"And?"

"Well,
never mind me, but he means for you to marry a nobleman or at the very least
some odious lord, Lizzie. That is the point I am trying to make. You are going
to have to do it, you know."

Elizabeth
frowned, thinking of her letter. "I am going to marry Mr. Fennington. He
loves me."

"You
mean that blond-haired gentleman you met at the lending library? The one with
that monstrous quizzing glass?"

Elizabeth
smiled. "The very one. I have even danced with him at Almack's. Papa is a
friend of the patroness, Lady Sefton. Anyway, my gentleman says he loves me. He
will do anything to have me."

Milli
closed her eyes, a simpering smile upon her lips. "How utterly
romantic," she drawled.

No
sooner had she uttered those words than her eyes snapped open in horror.
"But Papa will not let you marry him. You heard him. Even I could not sway
him. He has a plan and that always means trouble, Lizzie. You might be locked
away until your wedding like a princess in hiding. What will you do?"

Elizabeth
strode back to her writing desk. "I have a plan."

"Goodness,
I must know it then. For depend upon it, I have no wish for this to end like
Romeo and Juliet. I always believed the lovers should have told someone, at
least someone who could have done something other than get them killed."

Elizabeth
grinned. "I am not Juliet. And you are not going to do anything. However,
I believe it best that you know I am going to elope with Mr. Fennington the
night of the Harmstead Ball. It will be an easy feat to accomplish since we
will be staying as guests of Lord Harmstead. But if you dare tell Papa, I will
never speak to you again."

Milli's
eyes widened. "Elope! Well, I certainly will not tell him. He will find
out soon enough, I daresay."

Milli
swayed slowly toward the bed. "But woe to the man who separates thy
daughter from her father's breast. He is like the thief who plucks the rose
from the king's garden, stealing into the night, never to be seen again."

Elizabeth
smiled and looked thoughtfully out the window where the sun pierced through the
clouds, teasing the cool spring day. "I am marrying for you, too, Milli.
If Papa marries me to some lord, he might do the same to you. But you must see
that you have a choice. Papa means well, but sometimes he becomes misguided. He
does things
for our own good
, as he says."

"Oh,
I won't mind if he tries that on me."

Elizabeth
spun about. "You won't?"

"No.
I am going to run off to the theater. But don't worry. I will write every day.
Papa will eventually see that I will not cave into his plans. No more
governesses either, and I am certainly not going back to that stupid Seminary
for Young Ladies. Many of the girls are all nasty, like Lady Odette."

Elizabeth
frowned. Lady Odette, a noted schoolmate from Elizabeth's time at Miss
Horatio's Seminary in Bath, would be staying as one of the guests of Lord
Harmstead, too. Her father had mentioned that fact in passing.

Odette
may have been the most beautiful female at school, and at the balls for that
matter, but she was also a spiteful, selfish girl who had contrived to make
Elizabeth's life, and that of many of the other girls at the school, terrible.

Elizabeth
quickly switched her thoughts away from the memories of Odette's cruelty and
back to Milli. "If you run away, dearest, what will you do for
money?"

Her
sister chewed her lip. "Well, I will have to lie, cheat, and steal to make
my way." The girl's eyes glowed with adventure. "Would it not be
famous, Lizzie? Me, an actress? Just imagine. Princes from other countries
would come to see me."

Something
in Milli's words worried Elizabeth. "One day your stories will go too
far."

Milli
slipped off the bed and marched toward the door. "I daresay you think I
have forgotten your stories?"

"What
stories?"

"Oh,
the ones you told me when I was young. The stories about the knight coming to
save you, vowing his love, and sweeping you into his arms." Milli glanced
over her shoulder, her cool gray gaze daring her sister to deny it. "Those
stories."

Elizabeth
remembered all too well the stories she told Milli when her sister had awakened
in the middle of the night from a bad dream.

Years of
warm memories tugged at Elizabeth's heart.

She had
been like a mother to Milli. When Milli had been ill with the measles,
Elizabeth had come home from the seminary to nurse her. When Milli had fallen
off her horse and broken her leg, it was Elizabeth who had sat by her side and
kept her company. Elizabeth loved the girl and wanted only the best for her,
not foolish dreams that would never come true.

"Being
an actress is well and good for some people, but not for you, dearest. My
stories were only dreams, Milli." Dead and gone.

Milli's
face paled. "Dreams? Ah, yes, I understand now. You can live with the
stories in your head, but when I want to act them out, I am scolded for it. I
daresay I would rather have dreams than wait for fate to bite me in the—"

"Millicent
Harriet!"

Milli's
eyes flashed with defiance. "Well, I am still going to dream, Lizzie, and
no one is going to stop me, not even you!"

The door
slammed closed, the sound of its echo hammering in Elizabeth's ears as she sank
into her dressing chair and frowned. Dreams of knights and white horses were
fairy tales for little girls, not grown women.

She
spread her fingers over her letter and heaved a tired sigh, wishing she could
ask her mother what to do. At this point, she was not about to ask her
godmother, for Aunt Polly might very well tell her to marry the lord if the man
were from a good family. One never knew with Aunt Polly.

For a
moment Elizabeth wavered before she folded the letter and sealed it. Mr.
Fennington was not a knight in shining armor, but he loved her, and that was
all that she needed, was it not?

Stephen's
head ached like the very devil. He had been rash and foolish, but a mere loan
of twenty thousand pounds should be nothing to his brother, the Duke of
Elbourne. Nothing at all.

As he
strolled past the library doors of Elbourne Hall, the duke's country estate,
Stephen took in the mingled scent of leather and books that reminded him of his
youth ... and his father. His stomach went taut at the thought.

It was
here where Stephen had seen the last of the man that sired him, here where they
had the argument that killed him.

Forcing
away his frown, he managed a smile as he crossed the Aubusson carpet and
greeted his eldest brother. "Roderick, my dear duke, where is that lovely
wife of yours?"

The duke
lifted his dark head from the papers on his desk, his mouth splitting into a
full-fledged grin. Roderick instantly stood and shook Stephen's hand. "Where
the devil have you been? It's been ages since we've seen you! Come. Have a drink.
Didn't hear you come in."

Stephen
raised a discerning brow. Roderick had always been a bit pompous, even at a
score and eight, but it seemed marriage had changed him. His heart lifted
considerably as Roderick stepped to the sideboard to pour the brandy. Perhaps
this meeting would be fruitful after all.

"Married
life becomes you," Stephen said, taking the drink offered him.

"Never
thought I would say it. But, yes, it does indeed."

The duke
moved back to the desk with a decided spring in his step. Stephen's eyes
widened. Jane's doing, no doubt.

"You
are staying, then?" the duke asked, taking his seat. "Jane would love
to cater to you, for a few days at least. And Mother is visiting as well.
Depend upon it, little brother. It will be hard for you not to stay here."

"I
would love to stay, but I have a slight problem." Stephen shoved a hand
through his brown locks and fell into a chair near the hearth where an orange
glow rose from the coals.

For a
moment the air sizzled with unanswered questions.

Roderick
dropped his tall form into his chair and steepled his fingers near his chin. All
the Clearbrook brothers were athletically built, with broad shoulders and long,
muscled legs, but Roderick had always been the largest of them all.

"A
problem?" the duke asked, concern lacing his tone.

Stephen
had never liked asking Roderick for money, and blast it, he didn't like it now.
"It's like this, Roderick. Had a bit of bad luck in Town. Nothing to worry
about though."

Roderick's
face darkened. Now this was the old Roderick. "Bad luck? The only bad luck
you have is your stupid head."

The
clock in the hall chimed three, and Stephen's head began to throb again.

"What
was it this time—piquet?" Roderick's tone hardened.

Stephen
groaned. "Yes, but dash it all, I have the funds, only they are tied up in
a business venture with Lord Brule."

"Business
venture?" Roderick snorted as he sipped his brandy, his piercing gaze
never leaving Stephen. "Lord Brule is out of the country. Never mind. How
much do you need?"

"About
twenty thousand."

The hard
lines around the duke's mouth froze as his snifter clanked hard against the
table. "Only twenty? My, why not make it an even thirty? What did you do,
lose Creighton Hall, too?"