Page 39 of An Unusual Wager

“Did your husband abandon his excesses once he married you?” The question was out of her mouth before she realized how inappropriate it was. Really, she’d only wanted a hint at whether Jonnie would do so, not a confession from his mother as to what his father had been like as a husband. Although, children learn from their parents, so Jonnie might well have become a rake because his father had.

However, her mother-in-law appeared unfazed by this question. She made a moue. “At first he was a devoted husband, of course. I think he found it hard to believe I’d chosen him. I was a most popular young lady in Paris, at the Bourbon court and at Versailles, you must understand. Of course, there was a king and queen in France back then, and Queen Marie-Antoinette was young and beautiful, so the court was full of joy and fun and handsome young men. Chevaliers, comtes, ducs. I could have had my pick of any of them and probably would have lost my pretty head in the Terror for my troubles.” Her French accent returned. “But it didn’t last. I find nothing does. Life will teach you that, child. But I forgave my Edward his peccadilloes. He always returned to me, so what did I care.” She gave a shake of her head. “I am French, after all, and we French ladies are used to our husband’s amors. I’m sure you’ll do the same with Jonnie’s.”

Emboldened by the Dowager’s openness, Verity tried another question. “Is that why you don’t like Kitty? Because she’s the result of one of his peccadilloes?”

The old lady’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you I don’t like her?”

“She did.”

The old lady shook her head. “It isn’t that I don’t like her, you understand. But she was the cause of my husband’s death, and I couldn’t bear that. He may have had his faults, as we all have, but he was the man I loved above all else. I would have died in his place, if I could have. And without Kitty, and her mother, that would never have happened.” She shook her head. “My beloved Edward might still be alive now were it not for that child.”

What a strange thing to say. How could Kitty, who hadn’t been born until after the old earl had died, have had anything to do with his death? Hadn’t he fallen down the stairs and broken his neck? Verity would have liked to ask more, but something held her back. Instinct told her that to do so would be to pry into this sick old lady’s grief, which she could see was as real to her now as it had been sixteen years ago. However, nothing was going to stop her from asking other people.

Sylvester Wintringham and Thomas Teesdale had chosen Hyde Park for their next rendezvous and were strolling around the serpentine pretending to be interested in the frivolous young people out on the water in their rowing boats. The cloudiness of the day had not prevented what appeared to be a veritable fleet of young people whose loud voices could be heard from a distance. Nobody was looking in Sylvester and Thomas’s direction so this was an excellent spot for a clandestine meeting. They could mingle with the crowds of people just like them so easily.

“You have at last arranged it?” Sylvester asked, as they passed beneath a stand of leafy trees. “I have heard that my nephew has dispatched his new wife down to Luxborough, so now would be an efficacious time to strike. While he is alone and before he has time to join her and put some effort into producing an heir and bringing my plans to nothing.”

Thomas glanced over his shoulder as though afraid the trees might be listening.

Sylvester gave an impatient huff. Could the man look any more suspicious if he tried? He was beginning to regret he’d ever drawn Thomas into his plans, but it was too late now. And if he spurned his protégé and chose someone else to carry out his plans, then he would expose himself to Thomas’s blackmail. He had no doubt at all that Thomas was capable of such underhand and ungrateful behavior.

Having satisfied himself the birds were not listening, Thomas edged closer to his mentor. “I have arranged it for tomorrow night. He goes regularly to White’s with his friend Farrington.” His lip curled in a sneer. “Anyone would think he doesn’t want to be at his own house. They never leave before three in the morning. It will happen then. I have men lined up to carry this out.”

Sylvester nodded. “I trust you haven’t skimped. Farrington is a noted swordsman and that walking stick he carries is not just for show. It’s a sword stick, as is Dunster’s. And my nephew boxed at Eton. You should be certain to send enough men. Strong men. Men who don’t fight by any recognized rules.”

Thomas’s turn to huff. “Of course I haven’t skimped. I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. Am I likely to let it fail for want of a few coins in a ruffian’s pocket? I’ve chosen six of the best, or one might say the worst, and I’ll be with them to make is seven. One of them’s a giant of a man. They’re to disable Farrington first so he can be of no help to Dunster. Then it’ll be seven against one. You’ll be reading of his demise in Friday’s morning papers, and hearing it spoken of with sadness all over Town. By the ladies, that is. Have no worries. We will succeed in this.”

Sylvester smiled, a slow and decidedly satisfied smile. Seven men to remove the only obstacle between himself and the earldom he’d long yearned for. At last. And then Teesdale could be silently removed by the same method, and he and his son, who was in his final year at Eton, would be safe from any blackmail. Perfect.