The Wagered Widow by Patricia Veryan

significant, but when he does speak”—Mrs. Boothe hove a mournful sigh—“’tis only to mumble about the weather, or what fine cattle Sir Peter keeps in his stables, or some such commonplace. Alas, I fear is a most bashful gentleman!”
    â€œPoor dear.” Rebecca smiled sympathetically. “We both are hampered, it seems. You by a shy swain, and me by a predatory rake! Well, never mind. We shall come about. Now, tell me what you think of this estate.”
    â€œI think it charming. A shade formal, perhaps. And did ever you see so many servants? Ward must indeed be plump in the pockets.” An arrested expression came into her eyes. “Can that be why Rosemary Monahan is so prodigious syrupy to the man?”
    Dismay seized Rebecca, but then her chin set doggedly. If The Monahan fancied to amuse herself by captivating another victim this weekend, she was going to encounter some stiff opposition!

CHAPTER
4
    Rebecca blinked sleepily as the brocade bedcurtains were drawn and Millie’s phlegmatic countenance looked down at her. The abigail vouchsafed the information that it was a cloudy morning, but the boat party had not as yet been cancelled, and Mrs. Rebecca had best take her breakfast now did she not wish to be tardy. Millie was tolerant of modern ideas; she knew her mistress would never eat in the morning before she had washed and cleaned her teeth, and hot water was already steaming in the washstand bowl. Yawning, Rebecca stretched and threw back the bedclothes.
    Ten minutes later, feeling alert and refreshed, she was seated at the round table in front of the windows, partaking of toasted crumpets and strawberry jam. The crumpets had been created by the sure hands of a master, the jam was rich and full of luscious berries, the coffee hot and of a fine brew. Yet Rebecca’s expression was glum.
    For a while last evening everything had gone beautifully. She had been seated at table between Hilary Broadbent, who had arrived at the mansion with several other dinner guests, and the shy Mr. Melton, who had surprised her with pleasant if not scintillating conversation. The gentleman spoke like a sensible man, wherefore one must assume shyness attacked him only when in the company of the lady he meant to court. Rebecca smiled sympathetically at the fragment of crumpet she held. Her own efforts had been no more successful than those of Mr. Melton. Sir Peter had looked her way often during the meal, and she had managed to appear unaware. Save for the one instance in which he had glanced at her just as a scallop had slipped from her fork and managed in some perverse fashion to plop into her glass, splashing wine over her neighbour. Hilary had teased her for her embarrassment, demanded that none but her own “fair hands” should wipe his cuff, and then created a good deal of amusement by “fishing” for the immersed scallop. Rebecca’s blushes had faded. Vastly diverted, she had entered into the merriment, glancing up at length to find Sir Peter’s grave eyes still upon her, and Aunt Albinia directing an unmistakably warning glance down the table.
    She popped the crumpet into her mouth and wondered pensively why it was that she invariably forgot to be poised and sophisticated just when it was most important that she be so. Nonetheless, her jollity must not have been too hoydenish or given Sir Peter a deep disgust of her, for later, in the drawing room, he had three times wandered to her side, and when musicians began to play soon after ten o’clock, he had solicited her as his partner in a country dance. The Monahan, ravishing in a very décolleté gown of fawn damask embroidered with pink flowers, with hoops rounded in the old style, had been won by Major Broadbent, his narrow tawny eyes triumphant as he led her through the measures. Completely happy, Rebecca had known she herself looked well in her Watteau dress of cream satin trimmed with blue and having