The Vengeful Bridegroom. Kit DonnerЧитать онлайн книгу.
The older man stared at Duckins in consternation. “What say you? Are you suggesting a wager that you can find a man to marry Miss Colgate? I’d like to see the day.”
“In three days,” Duckins told him succinctly.
“Three days until what?”
“I’ll find a husband for Miss Colgate within three days, and she’ll go to the altar happily.” Duckins smiled and waited to see if his lordship would nibble at the trap. The older man had plenty of money to lose, even with his impending divorce. Indeed, given his lordship’s penchant for gambling on lost causes and his considerable wealth, Vincennes had been an easy choice for this venture.
His lordship heaved himself out of a cozy chair. “Impossible,” he uttered, probably thinking the conversation at an end.
“Then you have everything to gain,” Duckins replied lightly. He hoped Vincennes wouldn’t notice he held his breath.
His prey appeared to study his options and Duckins, and then shook his head. “Bah, you probably are not even acquainted with the lady. How could you convince Miss Colgate to marry in such a short period of time? And who,” he smirked, “would be the lucky bridegroom?” He waved his hand in dismissal, but narrowed his eyes on Duckins.
Duckins lifted his chin confidently. “I like a right challenge. I’ll find the bridegroom, don’t worry. One thousand guineas?”
Scratching the back of his head, Vincennes seemed to consider the offer. “A thousand guineas? Quite a sizeable amount.” He hesitated, then nodded. “Done. I hope you have plenty of blunt to back up your claim. You’ll need it.”
Duckins stood and together they walked to the betting book and entered their wager, figures, and date.
After Vincennes shook Duckins’s hand, his lordship sauntered down the stairs, whistling.
While Duckins lingered by the stairs waiting for Vincennes to leave the club and its vicinity, he noticed another gentleman rise from his chair and head toward the betting book. Wonder what he’ll be wagering on, he thought.
Dismissing the stranger, Duckins trotted down the stairs to the club door. A quick glance up and down the street assured Duckins his movements would go unnoticed.
Sir Matthew Colgate grabbed Duckins by the arm as he strolled past and pulled his accomplice deeper into the narrow alley. It would not do to be found together. If his plan had gone accordingly, anyone seeing him and Duckins together might be suspicious of the wager just placed. It must appear to be an honorable and fair bet. If it were to be discovered that he’d arranged this elaborate scheme to dupe Lord Vincennes and any other gentlemen of the ton, he would either land in prison or have to flee the country.
“What is the news? Did he agree? Did you place the bet?” Matthew asked, snatching a look at first one end, then the other of Water Lane.
Duckins rubbed his hands together. “The wager is in the book, sir. Now it’s up to you to convince your sister. As you say, I’m sure the old beard will spread the word to his associates. This wager should put a pretty penny in our pocket.”
“Yes, thanks to your excellent work. You’ll get your share when all is done. Remember, not one soul can learn of what has transpired here.” Matthew’s tone implied what would happen should he not keep their bargain.
Duckins nodded several times. “Of course, of course! Not a word to anyone.”
Colgate watched his short companion hurry down the alley and back to the street, where he resumed a casual walk. Smiling broadly, the young baronet turned in the opposite direction, pleased with the events of the day. His plan was set in motion. He knew Madelene would agree. What choice did she have?
Crash. There went the cup and saucer.
Crash. A crystal vase.
“Mad, please listen to me!” her brother, Matthew, called, dodging the teapot she threw at him. “Not the teapot! It was our—”
The heavy china teapot missed her target and smashed against the parlor wall. Crash. The looking glass didn’t survive the meeting with the teapot.
“—our grandmother’s,” he ended lamely.
Madelene breathed heavily, her shoulders heaving, as she looked for something more to throw at her imbecilic brother. “Impossible! I refuse! Find another solution! Marry a stranger? In three days or three years? Never! It will not do!”
Normally her favorite room in their town house, the front parlor, in lemon colors, had become a battleground where in all likelihood, no one would claim victory.
Her brother hovered by the door, his face downcast, his shoulders hunched. His silence indicated he didn’t have another solution.
Madelene shook her head in disbelief. How had it come to this? She found it hard to credit this marriage wager was Matthew’s only solution. If only Father hadn’t—or if only her fashion designs had made progress, but it was still too early for the kind of success and funds she needed in haste, particularly to save her brother.
Her brother finally found his tongue. “Mad, I know this plan must sound insupportable, but trust me. I have thought it all out carefully, and I am assured it will work.” He still remained near the door, correctly assuming she wasn’t nearly finished with him yet.
Madelene needed to sit down, her temper cooling slightly. If her anger continued unabated, she’d have to begin throwing larger objects, which would be difficult to lift. Instead, she pulled a white handkerchief from her pocket and began twisting it, imagining it was her brother’s neck.
He must have sensed he was safe when she sat down because he joined her on the settee, albeit at the other end. “If you will simply listen for a moment, I can explain everything to you.”
Staring wide-eyed at Matthew, she couldn’t keep her voice from rising. “What is there to explain? How did you end in such a fix that the only solution to your problem is my marrying a complete stranger? Do you understand what you are asking of me?”
“Yes, I do know. Would that I could think of some other scheme, but time is critical. You see, since Father has been gone, I’ve been a bit extravagant with my gaming, believing my luck due to change. I have delayed my creditors for as long as I can. But the time has come, and I can put them off no longer.”
Large brown eyes filled a pale youthful face, older than he appeared. Madelene heard pity, contriteness, and desperation in his words.
She closed her eyes to deny this scene, this moment. Their situation, indeed, did seem dire. Restless, she rose to pace the length of the room, stopping to view herself in the lone remaining looking glass and patting her curls. She had read recently in the London’s Lady’s Companion how strain could conceivably cause widow lines. She pursed her lips and took a seat at the window.
“Matthew, please explain how this wager at White’s can possibly save our apparently soon-to-be penury existence? And however did you get this maggot in your head?” As the younger sister, she could still inject reason into the situation, although it often fell on deaf ears. Usually they got on well, but their relationship had been strained since the death of their father, and Madelene’s pleas for caution had not halted her brother’s path to apparent ruin.
She watched as Matthew leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs, favoring his weakened left arm. The movement reminded her of the duel and how he had almost died, over a year ago.
“I’m not really sure how this idea came to me, but when I latched on to it, I immediately saw its possibilities.”
She shook her head, tapping on the windowsill. “Oh, how many times I have regretted we lost Father too soon. He would never have allowed this to happen.”
Matthew rubbed his brow. “Yes, yes, I realize that is the way of it. However, it does not change matters, Mad. You are the only one who can make things right.” Her brother, always