The Marriage Wager. Candace Camp

it would not hurt to spend a little of her money.

      Finally, with a sigh, she shook her head. “No, I fear it must be too dear.”

      “Oh, no, I am sure it is not. I believe it is on sale, is it not, Mrs. Downing?” Francesca turned and looked significantly at the store owner.

      Mrs. Downing, who was well aware of the benefits of Lady Haughston’s patronage, smiled and agreed. “Indeed, it is. You are right, my lady. It is, um…” She shot another glance at Francesca. “…one-third off the price on the tag.” At Francesca’s smile, she nodded. “Yes, that’s right. One-third off. A true bargain.”

      Constance looked at the price, quickly calculating. She had never spent even as much as two-thirds of this price for a hat at home. But, then, none had been as becoming or carried quite the elegant panache as this one.

      “All right,” she agreed, saying goodbye to her pin money for the month. “I will take it.”

      Francesca was delighted with Constance’s purchase and took the velvet hat for herself. Then she insisted on purchasing a spray of tiny silk buds as an ornament for Constance’s hair.

      “Nonsense,” she said when Constance protested. “It will look perfect with the blue gown you are borrowing. It is a gift. You cannot refuse it.”

      Their hats in boxes, they went back out to their waiting carriage. When they had gotten in and settled into their seats, Constance turned to Francesca.

      “My lady—Francesca. I do not understand. Why are you doing this?”

      Lady Haughston turned a look of supreme innocence upon her. “Doing what, my dear?”

      “All of this.” Constance made a vague gesture around her. “Inviting me out with you this afternoon. Offering me a dress. Inviting us to Lady Simmington’s party.”

      “Why, it is because I like you,” Francesca answered. “Why would I have any ulterior motive?”

      “I cannot imagine,” Constance retorted candidly. “But neither can I believe that you spotted me or my aunt and cousins across the great hall at Lady Welcombe’s and were so enchanted with us that you had Lady Welcombe introduce us to you.”

      Francesca looked consideringly at Constance, then sighed. “Very well. You are right. I had a reason for meeting you. I do like you—you are a very pleasant young woman, and you have a certain laughing look to your eyes that I know means you see the humor in the world. I would like to be your friend. But that is not why I came over to meet you. The fact is…I made a wager with someone.”

      “A wager?” Constance stared at her, dumbfounded. “About me? But what? Why?”

      “I was boasting. I should learn to mind my tongue,” Francesca admitted in a vexed tone. “Rochford had the gall to challenge me. And, well, the fact is that I bet that I could find you a husband before the end of the Season.”

      Constance’s jaw dropped. For a moment she could think of nothing to say.

      “I am sorry,” Francesca said earnestly, leaning forward to lay a placating hand on Constance’s arm. “I know I should not have, and I regretted it as soon as it was done. And you have every right to be angry with me. But I beg you will not. I did not mean you any harm. I still do not.”

      “Not mean me any harm!” A variety of emotions rushed through Constance, hurt followed almost immediately by anger and resentment. “No, of course not. Why should I mind that I am held up to ridicule by the leaders of the Ton?”

      “Ridicule!” Lady Haughston looked at her with alarm and concern. “No, how can you think that?”

      “What else am I to think when I have been made the object of a public wager?”

      “Oh, no, no. It was not public at all. It was between Rochford and me alone. No one else was privy to it, I assure you. Well, except Lucien,” she added honestly. “But he is my closest friend, and I can assure you that he would never tell a soul. He knows the secrets of half the Ton. I promise you that I shall not spread it about, and I can assure you that Rochford will not tell anyone. A tighter-lipped man I have never met.” She looked rather exasperated at the fact.

      “And is that supposed to make it all right?” Constance asked. She had liked Francesca, and now she felt betrayed. Though she had had her reasonable doubts, she found it was a lowering thought indeed that Lady Haughston had not sought out her friendship but was only using her as a test of her matchmaking skills. “Why was I chosen? Was I the most unmarriageable of all the women at the ball? Too plain and old for any man ever to wish to marry me?”

      “No, please, you must not think that!” Francesca exclaimed, her lovely features tightening in distress. “Oh, I have made such a muddle of this. The truth is, we made the wager, and then Rochford chose the woman. When he picked you, I was greatly relieved, for I had thought he was going to give me one of your cousins, and that would have been a formidable task, indeed. I am not sure why he chose you, other than that you were so clearly relegated to the background by your aunt and cousins that he must have been sure that I would get no help from them in bringing you out.”

      “That is certainly true.” Constance could not keep the bitterness from her voice.

      “My dearest Constance—I hope you will not mind if I call you that.” Francesca slipped her gloved hand into Constance’s and squeezed it gently. “I knew at once that he had foolishly chosen the easiest of you to turn into a belle. It is very difficult to give a person wit or beauty when they have none. But a want of fortune is not the hardest thing to overcome, at least when it is accompanied by style, intelligence, and a lovely face and figure.”

      “I will not let you get around me with flattery,” Constance warned her, but in truth she found it difficult to dislike Lady Haughston. The woman was disarmingly candid, and her smile was hard to resist.

      “I am not trying to get around you,” Francesca assured her.

      “Then what do you want?” Constance asked bluntly.

      “I am suggesting that you and I join forces. We shall work together to find you a husband.”

      “You want me to help you win the bet?” Constance’s voice was incredulous.

      “No. Well, I mean, yes, I do, but that is not why you would wish to help me.”

      “I don’t wish to help you,” Constance pointed out.

      “Ah, but you should. I might win a bet, but the advantages for you are far greater.”

      Constance looked at her skeptically. “You don’t honestly expect me to believe that I will get a husband out of this.”

      “Why not?” Francesca replied calmly.

      Constance wrinkled her nose. “I have little liking for listing my liabilities, but surely they must be obvious. I have no fortune. I am past the age of marrying and I am no beauty. I am here only to help my cousins achieve marriages. I am a chaperone, not a young girl on the marriage mart.”

      “A lack of fortune is an obstacle,” the other woman agreed. “But it is certainly not impossible to overcome. As for your looks, well, if you took off that silly cap and dressed your hair attractively and wore something to show off your looks instead of hiding them, you would be a very attractive woman. You would also look scarcely older than your cousins. Tell me something, who decided that you should wear drab browns and grays and such?”

      “My aunt felt it would be more appropriate for a spinster. She did not make me dress so.”

      “But you, of course, are under obligation to her, as you live with them.”

      “Yes, but…it is not only that. I do not wish to appear foolish, either.”

      “Foolish? Why?”

      Constance shrugged. “I am used to living in the country. I have no town bronze. Indeed, I have never even been to London before.