A Gamble on Love (2 page)

Yet because the thought of Harry as a
suitor had never once occurred to her, Miss Trevor was considerably
surprised when, after solemnly greeting Aurelia’s companion, Miss
Augustina Aldershot, he hitched his satin-upholstered chair across
the Axminister carpet and leaned close to whisper to Aurelia,
“Father sent me. He—
we
—well,
’tis plain to see what’s happening here, Relia. We know you’re in
deep mourning, but we—
I
—want
you to know you have friends. You can count on us.”

He glanced down at his large hands, which had
fallen between his knees, bit his lip, picked an invisible speck of
lint off his biscuit-colored jersey trousers. “What I mean is,
father thinks—” Blankly, he gazed over her shoulder, regrouping.
His cravat bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. “I mean, I’d be
glad to marry you, Relia. Always friends, don’t y’know. Good basis
for a marriage, my mother sa— I mean, I think we would suit, and
then you’d be rid of your uncle and your cousin.”

Harry sat back in his chair, breathing a sigh
of relief that he’d finally done as he was told. “Know it ain’t
proper—mourning and all that—but everyone knows that old sour puss,
your uncle, is throwing Twyford at you, giving you no peace—”

“
And no money.”

“
And no money.” Expectantly, hopefully,
her long-time friend regarded Miss Trevor from deep brown eyes that
revealed only a modicum of apprehension.

For a moment she was almost tempted. Harry
was a vast improvement over her cousin Twyford. But what she felt
for him was the love for a brother, not a husband. And, worse yet,
she knew quite well he felt the same. Harry had no more wish to be
married than she did, though their reasons for succumbing to the
necessity for a leg-shackle were the same. Control of Pevensey
Park. Her acres would increase the squire’s holdings ten times
over.

Very carefully, Aurelia said, “It would seem
that we could be of use to each other, Harry, but we are, I think,
too good friends to settle for cupboard love. We would both be
miserable. Do you not agree?”

He stared at her a long moment, manfully
controlling his relief, Miss Trevor suspected. Then Harry stood,
bowed, and strode out of the room.

Miss Trevor did not, however, discount him as
a husband. As a last resort Harry Stanton would do. But could she
bring herself to use her old friend in such a dastardly manner to
keep herself out of the clutches of Twyford Trevor?

Oh, yes. She very much feared she could. For
she would be saving Pevensey Park and its people, as well as
herself.

That same evening, after dinner, Aurelia
attempted to put off the inevitable. Curling into a
tapestry-upholstered wingchair set before a toasty fire, she buried
her nose in a particularly lurid novel. Her efforts, however, were
futile.

Miss Aldershot raised her head from her
needlework and said in her customary forthright manner, “It is time
to act, child. There is no escape from your uncle, from Mr. Tubbs,
nor that twiddlepoop, Twyford, except marriage.”

“
Twyford is merely an annoyance.”
Aurelia did not raise her eyes from her book. “I will not have him.
I’ve made that clear.”

“
You are far too intelligent, child, to
be so naive,” declared Miss Aldershot with considerable severity.
“Twyford will not accept your rejection. Your papa, dear soul, is
scarce five months departed, and already ’tis plain as the nose on
your face the family means to haunt you until the deed is done.”
Miss Aurelia Trevor hunched her shoulders and bent her head closer
to her book.

Miss Augustina Aldershot had come to Pevensey
Park as governess when Aurelia was five, staying on, with glad
heart, to support Miss Trevor through her mother’s long illness and
her father’s decline. Though not much above forty, she was an
angular female, who had long since acknowledged that lack of
beauty, lack of fortune, and a sharp tongue had forever relegated
her to spinsterhood. And since the sole moment of love in her life
had ended in bitter disappointment, her opinion of men tended to be
dour. Known to her few intimates as Gussie, she was fiercely loyal
to her long-time charge and felt it her duty to protect Relia
Trevor in any way she could.

At the moment, Miss Aldershot decided a
change of tactics was in order. “It is most unfortunate,” she
ruminated quietly, “that the cream of the younger sons—all much in
need of a wife with a fine estate—are off to war. Most thoughtless
of that horrid Bonaparte to wish to conquer the world at just this
moment. If only . . . ah, yes, what a fine prospect young Alan
Fortescue would have been. Now there’s a man after my own heart.”
Casting a speculative glance at the stubborn Relia, Gussie
Aldershot heaved an elaborate sigh.

Miss Trevor scowled at her book, a
vision of Lieutenant Alan Fortescue in his scarlet regimentals
completely obliterating Mrs. Radcliffe’s rather dreary hero. Gussie
was right. Alan, younger son of the Earl of Gravenham, had looked
quite splendid even
before
donning his imposing shako and scarlet coat with gold lace.
With the earl’s country house not ten miles from Pevensey Park, she
had encountered Alan at irregular intervals for as long as she
could remember. And, though memories of childhood frequently faded,
Relia was quite certain she was only four when she had tumbled into
love with the tousle-headed twelve-year-old who had accompanied his
parents to a picnic at Pevensey Park.. But that was sixteen years
ago, and the earl’s younger son was far, far away, somewhere in
Portugal or Spain.

“
Lieutenant Fortescue followed General
Wellesley off to war without a backward glance,” Aurelia told her
companion. “And if he
had
looked back, it certainly would not have been at me. We have
partnered each other at assemblies, nothing more. And at the rate
the war is going, I will have reached my twenty-fifth birthday
before he ever comes home.”

“
Yes, dear, but I do believe mention of
his name has captured your attention,” Miss Aldershot declared with
bland innocence.

“
Gussie!”

“
In the natural course of things,” Miss
Aldershot continued inexorably on, “you would be granted a decent
period of mourning. But this is not the case. The wolves are
gathering—mark my words, your cousin Twyford will find a way to
have you, no matter what nastiness it takes.” Gussie allowed this
statement to hang in the air between them, like some poisonous
cloud.

Face forlorn, Miss Trevor laid her book onto
the small round table beside her chair. “You know I do not wish to
marry at all unless I can find someone who will let me manage
Pevensey as I choose. Papa raised me for it, Gussie. Trained me.
Unlike other girls who must leave home when they marry, Pevensey is
mine, all mine. I will not hand it over to some man who plans to do
with it as he pleases.”

“
Nonetheless, young Harry has shown us
the way. You must marry the moment you reach your majority. We are
already into September, so the second of November is not that far
off, my dear. We must embark upon a search
immediately
.”

“
Immediately? You cannot think that
Twyford would . . . would—”

“
Ravish you? Indeed, I do. Since the
beginning of time men have done such things to gain land. It is
simply accomplished more discreetly in this day and
age.”

Silence reigned. A cozy fire crackled in the
fireplace, sparks drifting down from the raised grate. “We must
face the truth, Relia,” Gussie said at last. “No matter you are
still in your blacks, we must go husband-hunting. Except for
Stanton and Fortescue, this area has always been sparse of suitable
young men. Nor can you go to the local assemblies or up to London
for the fall season without encountering grave censure—”

“
Nor would I care to!” Aurelia
interjected. “For I
am
in
mourning, Gussie. I miss papa and mama quite
dreadfully.”

“
As do I, child,” Miss Aldershot
murmured. “But we cannot let our grief overwhelm us. We must act. I
believe . . . yes, I will write to two or three friends, asking
their assistance.”

“
I do not want them to think I am
begging!” Aurelia protested.

“
No, no, child. I will merely indicate
there is a reason why you must marry so soon after your papa’s
death. Heiresses in distress are too common for anyone to doubt the
truth of it.”

As the ladies stared at each other, eyes wide
with anxiety compounded by resignation to the inevitable, Biddeford
entered, bringing the evening tea tray. By the time Aurelia had
poured out, she was becoming slightly more reconciled to the awful
necessity of marriage. A young woman of no little intelligence, she
had not failed to recognize the import of Harry Stanton’s visit.
Even her closest friends and neighbors considered her fair
game.

“
I will write to my godmother,” Aurelia
conceded. “Lady Morville is well situated in town, a pillar of
the
ton
. Surely she will know
of someone.”

“
An admirable plan,” Miss Aldershot
approved. “If we can but stave off the twiddlepoop’s advances until
we find a savior.” Even as Gussie said the words, horrid
possibilities filled her mind. “You must not ride out alone any
more, child. And tell Biddeford to check the locks on every door
each night without fail.”

“
Truly, Gussie, I cannot believe
Twyford would go to such an extreme.”

“
Twyford is worse than a beast,
Aurelia. He is a sly beast. He will do as he pleases, leaving his
parents none the wiser. And if they
should
suspect, after the fact it will not
matter. You will have no choice.”

After the fact
.
In spite of the warmth of the fireplace, Aurelia
shuddered.

~ * ~

The next morning found the ladies frowning
over their letters, quills in hand, appropriate words refusing to
separate themselves from the jumble in their minds. Was there any
subtle, pride-assuaging way to state that an heiress in mourning
was in immediate need of a husband? And, even if it were possible
for the young lady to swallow her pride, how did one go about
stating her preferences? For, of course, not just anyone would
do.

“
My dear,” Gussie declared as she
looked up to discover Aurelia nibbling the feathered end of her
quill, “I fear we have not thought this problem through. What are
your requirements for a husband?”

Requirements
.
Aurelia jabbed her quill back into its stand, clasped her hands
tightly in her lap, and glared at the offending piece of blank
parchment lying on her marquetry escritoire. She supposed that
sometime in the not-so-distant past—when she sat, creating air
castles on the white marble bench in the rotunda—she had indulged
in girlish dreams of love and happily ever after. But her knight
errant, her pirate captain, her prince, had all remained faceless.
Nothing more than a glow in her heart, a naive promise that someday
she, like the heroines in novels, would find the one great love of
her life. They would live together, raise children together . . .
and never, ever, leave Pevensey Park, as long as they both should
live.

In a voice so cold and uncompromising Aurelia
surprised even herself, she pronounced, “He must be willing to let
me live at Pevensey Park.”

Miss Aldershot, taking a fresh sheet of
paper, dutifully recorded:
Must have no
estate of his own.

“
He must have enough money that I know
he is not marrying me solely for my wealth.”

“
Aurelia dear, almost all marriages in
the
ton
are made for reasons
of acquisition. Land, dowries, prestige—it is the way of the world.
You cannot expect—”

“
Write it down.”

Must have respectable
fortune
was added to the list. “Do you not care about
his age, dear? His looks?” Gussie inquired.

“
Naturally, I would prefer a man not
more than ten years older than myself,” Relia responded with what
sounded suspiciously like bitter resignation, “and one pleasing to
the eye. But I am not a fool, Gussie. I will not sacrifice Pevensey
Park to a pretty face. My first two requirements are the important
ones.”

Miss Aldershot did not add age or physical
characteristics to the list. “Anything else?” she asked.

Aurelia toyed with her quill, rearranged the
inkstand, heaved a sigh that was closer to a groan. Her chin went
up. “I want a husband who will support my authority, but not usurp
it. One who has other interests and will allow me to control
Pevensey, as I was brought up to do.”

“
Oh, my dear,” Gussie breathed, “I do
not believe I can put that in a letter. My friends would think you
quite mad. And not a man in England would agree to such a
condition.”

Aurelia hung her head. “I know. But record
it, if you will. Until this moment, I had not fully recognized how
much it matters to me. If you write it down, no matter what
compromises I must make, I will at least have a record of how I
felt before this horrid business of husband-hunting began.”

“
Relia . . . almost every female in the
land must leave the home of her birth, cling to her
husband—”

“
Whither thou
goest
,” Miss Trevor quoted with considerable
scorn.