Page 2 of To Wager with Love

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Ruth Stone to her father, Mr George Stone.

The previous night. The St Clairs’ summer ball. 30th August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Harriet watched as Jasper swept Kitty around the lavishly decorated ballroom. They made a striking pair, Jasper’s golden good looks set against Kitty’s lush, dark beauty. Harriet sighed inwardly. It must be nice to be beautiful. Not that she cared for such frivolous things. Beauty was nothing more than pretty wrapping paper: tear it off and what lay beneath was exposed for all to see. Sometimes the paper matched the loveliness of the gift within, but more often than not it was a disappointment.

Not in Kitty’s case, she had to admit. Kitty had become a dear friend to her and was just as lovely inside as out. Vivacious and good natured and full of fun she was the kind of girl who was always laughing, always looking for the best in life, and something of a handful. Harriet smiled as she saw Kitty’s husband Luke watching her dance, the soft shine of adoration in his eyes. She would lead him a merry dance that was for sure, and he’d love every moment.

Though she tried to resist the urge, Harriet looked back at Jasper and felt her heart twist in her chest. Why did he have to be so handsome? She’d told herself time and again that her stupidity was at an end and she no longer cared a damn about him, but she knew it was a lie. Unfortunately, Kitty had figured it out too, and the way she was talking to Jasper—not to mention the intent look on his face— sent an unpleasant prickling chasing up and down Harriet’s spine.

Surely Kitty would not talk about her, would not betray a confidence? Except it hadn’t been a confidence. Harriet had not admitted or denied anything. Kitty had simply guessed that Harriet’s animosity towards Jasper did not stem from mere dislike.

“I think he hurt you,” Kitty had said, and Harriet hadn’t been able to find an adequate reply.

It had been tempting to tell her, to blurt out that Jasper Cadogan had stolen her heart and then crushed it and tossed it aside. She hadn’t, of course. Harriet never shared her feelings with anyone. She never had, until the time she’d forced herself to be brave and trust in Jasper, and she never would again. If you gave people the chance, they hurt you. Far better to trust in science and reason, and things that were quantifiable, things that could be measured and weighed, their qualities dissected and discussed, spread out before you with nowhere to hide. These things were tangible and solid, proven… unlike love, which seemed to Harriet to be a mythical beast she could not bring herself to believe in. Not anymore, at any rate. Not for her.

Yet still, after all these years, her gaze was drawn back to him and a dull ache filled her chest, longing and loneliness and sorrow making her feel brittle and hollow and damned bloody angry. He’d done this to her, she reminded herself, and then she remembered what else Kitty had said.

I think he hurt you badly, but I don’t think he has the slightest idea how or what he did. You owe him an explanation, Harriet. It’s not fair to keep punishing someone for years and years without giving them a chance to redeem themselves.

It was true she’d seen the hurt and confusion in Jasper’s eyes often enough when she’d insulted or cut him, yet the wounded puppy expression was one at which he excelled. She’d seen him use it to his advantage. Just because that look made her heart soften and her insides quiver didn’t mean it was real. He could wrap women around his finger, and he did. Everyone knew his reputation, knew he’d bedded some of the most glamourous women of the ton. He certainly never missed an opportunity to mock her for being a bluestocking, making her feel every bit the awkward creature they both knew she was. So what on earth could he want with plain, bookish Harriet Stanhope?

His last paramour had been a Mrs Tate. She was here tonight and had been sending Jasper covetous looks from across the dance floor. Dressed in red satin with her gleaming mahogany locks in an effortlessly simple style that had no doubt taken hours, she was a breathtaking sight. Mrs Tate was gorgeous, sophisticated, witty, and utterly at ease with herself. She radiated the confidence of a woman who knew her own worth, knew a thing or two about the world, and knew how to make a man want her without lifting a finger. In comparison, Harriet felt like exactly what she was: a wallflower, a bespectacled bluestocking who never knew the right thing to say and would rather sit in a corner with a good book than attend a ball. Why would a man like Jasper ever want Harriet when he could have the likes of Mrs Tate? It was a simple enough equation, yet one that Harriet had forgotten to calculate for a brief moment all those years ago, too full of hope that everything she’d ever dreamt of could be hers.

What a fool she was.

Past tense, however. She’d been a fool, and she would not be again. From now on she would use her head, not her heart, to guide her… but perhaps Kitty was right. Perhaps her bitterness had become cruelty. Jasper could not help who he was any more than she could. She knew and understood that animals were born with instincts to act in a certain way. It appeared some men had evolved less than others, their physical urges too close to the surface, their wants and desires overriding morality or decency. He’d not known his actions would hurt her so deeply. He couldn’t, or his bewilderment at her treatment of him wouldn’t be so marked.

It was time to let go of the hurt and the anger. Time to forgive him and move on, for her own sake as much as his. She had a new life ahead of her, one in which Jasper would have no part. She’d not even told her brother, Henry, yet—she’d been waiting for the right time—but she would.

Soon.

***

Jasper looked down at Kitty with gratitude.

“Mrs Baxter,” he said, smiling at her. “Your husband is a very lucky man, and I am very grateful to you.”

Though she had no way of knowing if her words had given Harriet reason to reconsider, Kitty had spoken to her on his behalf, and Harry had promised to consider her words. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was something and Jasper would hold on to it. If Harry would only drop the wall she’d erected between them, perhaps he had a chance. A frail and slender one, but it was better than nothing.

“Perhaps you could dance with her tonight? It’s such a magical evening,” Kitty said, before adding in a theatrical whisper, “why, anything could happen!”

Jasper snorted, his hopes not daring to go to those lengths. “Yes, she might not throw her drink in my face, if I’m lucky.”

“Oh!” Kitty said, her dark eyes brimming with mischief. “I almost forgot the dare!”

“The what?” Jasper asked, intrigued.

“The dare,” Kitty repeated, squealing with excitement. The dance drew to a close, and she took Jasper’s arm, gesturing for him to lean in so she could speak privately. “It’s The Peculiar Ladies,” she said, bouncing with impatience.

Jasper returned a blank look. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. The Peculiar what now?”

“Oh, our book group. We’re The Peculiar Ladies,” Kitty said in a rush, ignoring his expression of bemusement. “And we all have to take a dare from the hat. Mine was to dress your bear in evening clothes.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Jasper said with a bark of laughter. “But I thought Harriet did that?”

“She helped me,” Kitty admitted. “In fact, she was marvellous. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

Jasper smiled, pleased at this evidence of Harriet’s sense of humour. He’d seen it often when they were children, but it seemed to have vanished ever since, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that it might be his fault.