The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp

Blanche could do nothing but agree to the expedition if she hoped for Lady Haughston’s favor, and Constance was banking on it that she would realize that fact. Otherwise, her aunt would probably have refused out of irritation.

      But Lady Woodley was wise enough to nod and say, “Of course, my dear. You deserve a treat.” She turned to their guest. “I scarcely know what we would do without dear Constance’s help. It is so good of her to come to London to help me chaperone the girls.” Aunt Blanche cast a fond glance at Constance’s cousins. “It is difficult to keep up with two lively girls—and so many parties!”

      “I am sure it must be. Are you planning to attend Lady Simmington’s ball tomorrow? I hope that I will see you there.”

      Aunt Blanche’s smile remained fixed on her face, though at Francesca’s words she looked as though she had perhaps swallowed a bug. Finally, she said, “I, ah, I fear that I have lost our invitation.”

      “Oh, no, do not say so. Well, if you care to go, you may have mine,” Francesca replied carelessly. “I should hate not to see all of you there. “

      “My lady!” Aunt Blanche’s face turned pink with happiness. Lady Simmington was a hostess of importance, and Aunt Blanche had spent much of the week bemoaning the fact that she had not received an invitation to her ball. “That is generous of you indeed. Oh, my, yes, of course, we shall be there.”

      Her joy was such that she beamed at her husband’s niece with actual good will as she bade them goodbye. Constance quickly put on her hat and gloves and followed Lady Haughston out of the house before her aunt could think of some way to try to foist her two cousins on them.

      However, glad as she was to make her escape, Constance could not help but wonder what Lady Haughston was doing. Francesca’s generous gift of an invitation to one of the most exclusive balls of the Season would, of course, result in no great loss on her part. No one, Constance was sure, would deny Lady Haughston entrance to a party without her invitation. But why, Constance wondered, had she done it? She seemed a friendly and kind person—she had, after all, pretended to believe her aunt’s face-saving fabrication about a lost invitation. But a friendly nature could not explain the odd interest she had taken in Constance’s family.

      It seemed beyond belief she would have been so intrigued by the look of Constance, Aunt Blanche or her daughters that she arranged to be introduced to them. And Constance had barely spoken two words to her when the woman had asked her to stroll about the party with her, as if they were bosom friends, capping this extraordinary action with an invitation to take her on a shopping expedition. Even more bizarrely, she had actually followed through on her invitation, then had expertly put Aunt Blanche in her pocket by giving her an entrée to Lady Simmington’s ball.

      What sort of game was Lady Haughston playing? And even more perplexing, really, was the question of why?

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE TWO WOMEN CLIMBED into Lady Haughston’s waiting carriage, a shiny black barouche. Constance knew, from listening to her aunt’s chatter yesterday evening that this barouche, a slightly outdated equipage for someone usually so slap up to the mark as Lady Haughston, was one of the woman’s well-known and charming eccentricities. The barouche had been given her by her late husband when they were first married, and since his untimely death six years ago, she had refused to buy a new carriage, preferring his gift.

      “I have been, in truth, looking at two hats at the milliner’s,” Lady Haughston said. “But we have ample time to stop elsewhere. Shall we go to Oxford Street? What would you like to shop for?”

      Constance smiled at her. “I am quite happy to go wherever you wish, my lady. I have nothing particular I wish to buy.”

      “Oh, but we cannot neglect you,” her companion said gaily. “You must at least need ribbons or gloves or some such thing.” She looked consideringly at Constance. “A bit of lace for the neckline of that dress, for instance.”

      A little surprised, Constance glanced down at her chocolate brown dress. It would be prettier, it was true, with a ruffle of lace around the neckline and the small puffed sleeves—champagne-colored lace, for instance.

      She shook her head, unaware of letting out a tiny sigh. “I fear it would not be plain enough then.”

      “Plain enough?” A faint look of consternation marred Francesca’s pretty features. “You are not a Quaker, are you?”

      Constance let out a chuckle. “No, my lady, I am not a Quaker. It is just that it is not appropriate, is it, for a chaperone to call attention to herself?”

      “Chaperone!” The other woman exclaimed. “My dear, whatever are you talking about? You are far too young and pretty to be a chaperone.”

      “My aunt needs my help. She has two daughters out.”

      “Help? To watch them talk or dance? I think you are far too serious about the matter. I am sure she would not expect you to sit out every dance. You must dance at Lady Simmington’s ball. Her musicians are always excellent. I will speak to your aunt about it.”

      Constance felt a blush begin in her cheeks. “I doubt I would be asked, my lady.”

      “Nonsense. Of course you will. Especially when we brighten up your wardrobe a trifle. I have a deep blue satin gown—I have worn it far too many times already, and I fear I must give it up, but it would look wonderful on you. My maid can change something here and there, spruce it up a bit so no one will recognize it. You must come to my house before the party and let her make it over for you.”

      “My lady! That is much too kind of you. I cannot accept such a generous gift.”

      “Then do not consider it a gift. ’Twill be a loan, and you may give it back to me when the Season is over. And, please, that is quite enough of ‘my lady.’ I am Francesca.”

      Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

      “Why, what should you said but ‘Thank you for the dress, Francesca?’” the other woman retorted, smiling.

      “I do thank you. But I—”

      “What? You do not wish to be friends with me?”

      “No!” Constance hastened to assure her. “I would like that very much. Indeed, I should very much like to have a friend. But you are too generous.”

      “I am sure that you would be able to find a number of people who would tell you that I am not generous at all,” Francesca retorted.

      “You make it very difficult to say no,” Constance told her.

      Francesca’s white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. “I know. I have worked at it for many years. Ah, here is the millinery. Now, stop all these protestations and come help me decide between these hats.”

      Constance put away her doubts and followed Lady Haughston into the store. They were greeted with a smile and pleasant words from the girl behind the counter, and a moment later, an older woman who was obviously the proprietress of the store, swept out from the curtained rear of the shop to help them herself.

      Francesca modeled both of the hats in which she was interested. One was a soft, dark blue velvet with a jockey brim, a delicate lace veil hanging down to cover her eyes. The other, a straw cottage bonnet, was lined with blue silk and tied fetchingly under the chin with a matching blue ribbon, Gypsy style. Both did wonderful things for her blue eyes, and Constance declared herself as unable to decide as Francesca was.

      “You try them on,” Francesca suggested. “Let me see how they look.”

      Constance made a token protest, but, in fact, she had been itching to see how the blue-lined straw would look on her. When she tried it on, she could not help but smile at her reflection.

      “Oh!” Lady Haughston cried, clapping her hands together. “It looks perfect on you! You must get it, not I. I will take the velvet.”