A Wager for Love by Caroline Courtney

breakfast when Lady Elizabeth’s butler announced a caller. Richard, Lord Arnedale, had not as yet made so many acquaintances in London that a caller was an occasion of small or no import. Taking a hasty swallow of his coffee, he gestured to the man, but the Honourable Charles Ffoilliot, Lord Ware’s amiable younger brother, was already bounding up the stairs two at a time, the note he had picked up from the tray in the hall in his hand.
    “Charles, it’s gvood to see you,” greeted Richard warmly.
    Charles, although only some six months older than Richard, was far better versed in the Ton and its ways, due in the main to the endeavours of his older brother, and was consequently the ideal companion for a young man desirous of entering into all the pleasurable pursuits of the Upper Ten Thousand.
    “Lord, Richard, you look devilish fine. I swear if I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t recognise you for the same person.” He stood back admiringly.
    Richard grinned a little bashfully as Charles took in the splendour of his cream small clothes and maroon velvet coat, lavishly embroidered with silver peacocks. He waited anxiously as Charles surveyed him first from this angle and then from the other.
    “Perhaps it is a little …?” he ventured at last.
    “No … No …” Charles looked up consideringly. “No, Richard, it is very well. Perhaps a touch more lace at the cuffs,” he added thoughtfully, “and you must have a snuff box of course, but we shall attend to that this morning.”
    Richard could find nothing to cavil at in this excellent plan. Feeling that he had passed an extremely difficult test with flying colours, he turned to instruct the footman to tell Lady Elizabeth of his plans.
    “Oh by the way, Richard, I nearly forgot. I have a note here for you. It was in the hall so I carried it up with me.” Charles turned it over, looking at the inscription in startled surprise. “Why, ‘tis from the Earl, I didn’t know you were on writing terms with Saltaire, Richard?”
    Richard flushed, took the note and slowly opened it feeling puzzled. Charles had made many mentions of the Earl’s exploits to his cronies at University, and Richard had conceived something akin to hero worship of the older man, although he had never actually met him. He could hardly believe his eyes; the letter dropped from his fingers, to be hastily rescued by Charles, who scanned the lines, giving a soundless whistle. “So that is the way of it is it …”
    Richard swallowed, stuttering, “There must be some mistake … why, Lavinia doesn’t even know him.”
    Charles glanced at him. “Saltaire wouldn’t let a little thing like that stand in his way, especially with what he had at stake.”
    “What?” Richard was too bemused to pay very much heed to his friend’s words, so great was his shock.
    “Well, ‘tis obvious he has married her to win his bet,” pointed out Charles, helping himself to a generous portion of beef, and thus missing Richard’s bewildered expression.
    “What bet?”
    “Oh didn’t you know?” Charles was surprised. “Ah, no, now I remember, it was after you had left White’s the other night. Ordley bet the Earl that he could not marry within the week a girl of good family and possessed of a fortune. Apparently he had to marry anyway, something about his grandfather’s Will. He left Saltaire his money only on condition that he married within a certain period.” He chewed reflectively for a second and then frowningly remarked, “But I didn’t know your sister had a fortune.”
    Richard, his mind still trying to assimilate the information that his sister. Lavinia. was married to the Earl of Saltaire, murmured, “What? Oh yes.” He bit his lip, pale but resolute … “Charles. you don’t think Saltaire has forced Lavinia to marry him against her will?”
    “Must have done. I suppose,” said Charles reasonably, instantly regretting his words when he saw Richard’s face, and hastily tried to make