Lady Allerton's Wager. Nicola Cornick
‘You’re a cunning devil, Marcus! But what is your interest in the lady herself?’
Marcus’s grin deepened. ‘That depends—on the lady and who she turns out to be!’
‘And you would recognise her again?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Marcus said slowly. ‘I would recognise her anywhere, Justin.’
‘Pull your chair up a little closer, my love,’ Lady Fanshawe instructed her goddaughter, gesturing her to move to the front of the theatre box. ‘Why, you will not be able to see anything at all from back there! But do not lean out too far! It is not good to lean excessively, for the gentlemen will stare so! Oh, pray do look, Beth!’ Lady Fanshawe leant as far out of the box as she could without falling. ‘It is Mr Rollinson and Lord Saye! I do believe they will call upon us in the interval!’
Beth edged her chair forward an inch and leant backwards at the same time. She had every intention of effacing herself until she was practically invisible. The invitation to the theatre was a longstanding one and could not be avoided, for Lady Fanshawe had been her mother’s closest friend. That was the only reason why Beth had come to Drury Lane that evening, although the play, Sheridan’s The Rivals, would normally have been sufficient to tempt her out. Normally, but not now. The matter of Marcus Trevithick and her ill-conceived wager with him had suddenly become so very difficult that she had no desire to risk meeting him again.
Beth chanced a glance over the edge of the box at the crowded auditorium below. Fortunately it would be easy to be inconspicuous in such a crush. People were milling around and chattering nineteen to the dozen: dandies, ladies, courtesans…Beth drew back sharply as a passing buck raised his quizzing glass at her in a manner she considered to be odiously familiar. Lady Fanshawe did not notice for she was waving excitedly to an acquaintance in the crowd.
It was already very hot. Beth fanned herself and looked around idly. Kit had escorted her again that evening but as soon as they had arrived he had left her in Lady Fanshawe’s company and could now be seen in a box to the left, chatting to a very dashing lady in green silk with nodding ostrich feathers. Lady Fanshawe had taken one look and remarked disapprovingly that one met with any old riff-raff at the theatre and that Kit need not think to foist his chère amie on their attention! Beth had been a little curious, but had tried not to stare. She thought that the dashing lady looked rather fast but, given her own performance at the Cyprians’ Ball, she was scarcely in a position to comment.
As time wore on without mishap, Beth started to relax a little. She felt comfortably nondescript in her rose muslin dress. She had chosen it deliberately because it was so unremarkable and she had tried to disguise herself further with a matching rose-pink turban, but Charlotte had positively forbidden her to leave the house looking such a dowd. Beth sighed. It was a terrible shame that Charlotte could never accompany them, but her cousin had had a fear of crowds ever since she was a girl and the glittering hordes that thronged the ton’s balls and parties terrified her. It was odd, for Charlotte was perfectly comfortable in society she knew, and could travel and visit amongst friends quite happily, but she was never at ease with strangers.
Beth watched as Kit took a fond farewell of his companion and turned to rejoin them for the start of the play. He was just making his way back to their box when Beth saw that his attention had been firmly caught by a slender young lady, very much the debutante, who was just taking her seat opposite. Intrigued, Beth watched as the young lady saw Kit and faltered in her conversation. For a long moment the two of them simply gazed at each other, then the girl gave Kit a half-smile and turned hesitantly away. Beth smiled to herself. Kit seemed smitten and she must remember to quiz him on the identity of the young lady…
She froze, all thought of Kit and his romantic entanglements flying from her mind as she saw the gentleman who had entered the box behind the girl. She recognised his height, the arrogant tilt of his head. She could even imagine those smooth, faintly mocking tones that she had last heard at the Cyprians’ Ball, but which had positively leapt from the page of the letter he had sent her via Gough earlier in the week:
‘My dear lady adventuress…’
Beth’s fan slipped from her shaking fingers and she leant down to retrieve it, trying to shrink into the shadows. Bent almost double, she groped around on the floor and tried to think quickly at the same time. How was she to avoid Marcus Trevithick seeing her when their boxes were almost opposite each other? If she tried to leave now, would she be able to slip away or would she only draw more attention to herself? She cursed the pale pink dress, which had seemed such a good idea earlier but in the dim light seemed to glow like a beacon.
‘What are you doing down there on the floor, Beth, my love? Are you feeling unwell? Do you wish to return home?’
Beth straightened up hastily as Lady Fanshawe’s carrying tones threatened to attract the notice of the whole theatre.
‘I am very well, I thank you, dear ma’am. I had only dropped my fan…’ Her words trailed away as, under some strange compulsion, she looked across the theatre and directly into the dark eyes of Marcus Trevithick. There could not be the slightest doubt that he had recognised her. He held her gaze for a long moment, a smile starting to curl the corners of his mouth, then he inclined his head in ironic salutation.
The play started at last and Beth forced herself to look at the stage and nowhere else. This proved difficult as a wayward part of her seemed to want to look across at the Earl of Trevithick all the time and she had to fix her gaze firmly on the actors instead. She soon discovered that she was one of the few people in the whole theatre who was giving their undivided attention to the stage. The chatter about her scarcely faltered and it seemed that most of the fashionable crowd viewed the play as a diversion from the main business of the evening. Eventually the noise began to grate on Beth, who inevitably found her concentration interrupted. After that it was easy for her thoughts to wander back to the tangle in which she found herself.
When Gough had come to her five days before and told her that the Earl was refusing to honour his bet and give Fairhaven to her, she had been annoyed but not particularly surprised. She had sent the lawyer back to offer a price that she felt was more than fair and had waited, confident that Trevithick would agree this time. It had come as a nasty shock when Gough returned the next day, out of countenance, to relate that he had seen the Earl in person and that her offer had been spurned. Further, the Earl was demanding in no uncertain terms that his client identify herself and discuss the matter with him face to face. This Beth declined to do, but she sweetened her refusal with a far more tempting sum of money. She could afford it and he…Well, she had thought that he would seize the chance to make such a profit. Instead, Gough had delivered the letter.
My dear lady adventuress,
Your offers intrigue me but you should know that I will only do business with you directly. If you choose not to identify yourself it makes no odds; I shall soon know your name and your direction. Then, even if you do not choose it, I shall seek you out…
After that, Beth had not set foot outside the house for two days. Glancing across at Marcus Trevithick now, she acknowledged that she had not felt afraid, precisely, more angry and outmanoeuvred. She had won the wager, but he held all the cards. He was not only refusing to give her Fairhaven, but he was also refusing to sell it to her, and if he discovered her identity he could ruin her by having it whispered abroad that she, a respectable lady, had attended the Cyprians’ Ball. She knew that the wisest thing was to withdraw her offer and retire from the lists, but it seemed that Marcus Trevithick was not prepared to let her do so. She was angry with him, but she was furious with herself for giving him the advantage.
‘Do you care to take a walk during the interval, Beth?’ Kit enquired, from beside her. ‘It might be pleasant to stretch our legs…’
Beth came back to the present, looked around and realised that the curtain had come down at the end of the first act. She glanced across at Marcus Trevithick and saw that he was already moving purposefully towards their box. So much for her half-formed hope that he would not dare accost her there! She took a quick breath.
‘A walk? Yes! No…I am not sure…Yes!’