Page 36 of The Marriage Wager

“Of course, one could hardly expect him to equal Terence. Terence was head and shoulders above most men—an excellent rider, a sportsman and handsome as a Greek god. He did well at whatever he undertook.”

“He sounds like a paragon,” Constance commented dryly, the other woman’s excessive praise making her feel a certain perverse dislike of the man.

“Yes, he was,” Lady Rutherford agreed earnestly. “Dominic could not hope to measure up. Still, one would have hoped for better from him. Gambling, drinking, fisticuffs—Leighton is given to all sorts of vices in London. It is said that he is a rake.” Again she turned to look levelly at Constance. “He woos girls whom he would not consider marrying, making them believe that his intentions are serious, but of course they are not, and the girls are then abandoned.”

Constance curled her fingers into her palms, the nails biting into her flesh. Lady Rutherford’s words, she knew, were directed at her, a warning of what Lord Leighton would do to her, for she would naturally, be one of those young women whom Lady Rutherford had labeled as the sort Lord Leighton would never consider marrying. She refused to show any reaction to Muriel’s mother, neither the anger nor the disbelief she felt. She refused to accept the portrait that Lady Rutherford had painted of Dominic. It was all spite on her part, Constance was certain.

Aunt Blanche, though, was all the audience that Lady Rutherford could ask for. She drew in a long breath of astonishment and disapproval. “No! And he seems such a nice young man.”

Lady Rutherford shrugged and said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “Drink has always been his downfall. Even before he became the heir. He was drunk at his own sister’s funeral.”

“No!” Aunt Blanche gasped again, her hand flying up to her breast.

“Oh, yes.” Lady Rutherford nodded. “I was there. I saw him. He was drunk and loud. It was utterly disgraceful. He even came to blows with Terence when Terence tried to get him to leave the gravesite. Lord and Lady Selbrooke were humiliated.”

“I can imagine!” Aunt Blanche’s eyes glistened with horrified enjoyment of the tale. “It must have been awful.”

“It was. He left shortly after that and bought a commission in the Hussars. I rather think Lord Selbrooke must have banished him from Redfields.”

Aunt Blanche tsk-tsked, shaking her head. Constance glanced at the Norton sisters, who were gazing at Lady Rutherford, wide-eyed, taking in her story. Constance wished she had some actual knowledge of what had happened, so that she could refute the other woman. It galled her that the woman was spreading such tales about Dominic, wantonly damaging his reputation, and she could not keep from thinking that Lady Rutherford was telling these stories primarily for Constance’s own benefit.

“And yet,” Constance said in a level voice, meeting the older woman’s gaze, “Lady Muriel is friends with Lord Leighton, I believe. I would not think a woman of her spotless reputation would want to be seen in the company of a roué.”

Lady Rutherford’s eyes widened, and spots of color flamed suddenly on her cheeks. Her hands tightened on the embroidery hoop that she held in her lap. “That is entirely different,” she snapped, giving Constance a searing look.

“Indeed? But I believe you just were saying that a young woman was not safe in his company….”

“I was not speaking of a young woman such as my daughter, of course. Her reputation is unassailable. And he would not prey upon a young woman from a good family.”

“Oh. I see.” Constance did not drop her gaze before the older woman’s angry glare, even though her aunt had now turned to glower at her, as well. “Still, appearances…”

“There can be no appearance of anything wrong,” Lady Rutherford shot back, her temper flaring. “Muriel is engaged to Lord Leighton!”

An icy blast swept through Constance. Leighton engaged to Muriel Rutherford? It was all she could do to keep her face blandly unconcerned when everything inside her was screaming that it could not be true. She sensed more than saw her aunt turn her avid gaze on her, hoping for some reaction on her part.

Constance was determined not to let either of them guess how the woman’s words had pierced her. “Indeed?” she responded coolly. “One can only wonder that you have pledged your daughter to such a man as you have described.”

Lady Rutherford’s pale eyes were like a cold blue flame. “Among our kind, Miss Woodley, marriages are an alliance between families, not some foolish love-struck joining. The FitzAlans are an important family. Dominic will be the Earl of Selbrooke one day. Those are the important things to consider, not the young man’s personal foibles.”

“Ah, yes,” Constance replied. “I realize that many people consider it more important to marry to improve one’s position than to marry a person of character.”

Lady Rutherford’s eyes bulged, and for an instant Constance thought she might throw her embroidery hoop at her. She rather thought she would have welcomed such a display on Lady Rutherford’s part, for it would have shown just how frustrated her own retort had left the woman. Constance had, she thought, rather neatly pointed out that Lady Rutherford’s daughter would be marrying up in the social order of things. The Rutherfords were only minor nobility, Lord Rutherford a baron of no ancient title, whereas the FitzAlans’ titles stretched back for centuries. The Rutherford name was no more aristocratic than the Woodleys’. Such a reminder would gall Lady Rutherford, yet there was no way she could wiggle out of the betrothal being for position only, given what she had already told them.

“Constance!” her aunt said at last. “Really, such impertinence!”

“Impertinence?” Constance repeated blandly. “Why, I did not mean to be impertinent, Aunt. I am sorry, Lady Rutherford, I thought that was what you were saying.”

Lady Rutherford glared at her. “I would not expect you to understand such things.”

“Yes, I rather think you are right,” Constance agreed. “Now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I think that I shall take a turn around the gardens.”

She bade them all goodbye by name, nodding to each, then moving unhurriedly out the door. She would not let it appear that she desperately wanted to sprint out of the room, to run as far away as she could from Lady Rutherford’s sharp gaze and painful words.

Dominic was engaged!

She walked down the hall and through the conservatory, finding the door that led out into the garden in the rear of the house. She struck off down the path, not knowing or caring where she was going, only seized by a desire to get away. Once she heard the sound of voices and quickly turned down a side path to avoid whoever might be approaching. She followed that path, taking any narrower walkway that branched off from it, moving ever deeper into the garden.

She sat down at last on a bench that snuggled up against the curving wall of a hedge. The branches of a large tree on the other side of the hedge spread out above, casting dappled shade all around her. It was a peaceful spot, quiet except for the occasional chirp of a bird, and sweet with the mingled scent of flowers. But the thoughts that gripped Constance were anything but peaceful.