A Michaelmas Wager Read online

“You mean there are not more?” Nicholas looked genuinely shocked, and grabbed rudely at a glass from a silver platter that was being carried past them by a servant. “Dear boy, you disappoint me. Didn’t your brother teach you any more skits?”

  Rufus winced though he tried to hide it from his friends, the most fashionable and talked about men in the tonne. He did not speak of his brother Hubert.

  Anthony nodded, champagne dripping from the corners of his mouth and dribbling into his cravat, staining the white linen yellow. “Yes, surely a few years in prison would have taught your brother a fine caper or two!”

  An elderly couple who had been standing close to the men now took definite strides away, and Rufus flushed.

  Five months ago, he had not known them, except Percival Quinn to look at. Everyone knew the Daventry family, their five sons – Isaac and Percival especially, the two most likely to break a girl’s heart – but Rufus Lovell was just a second son of a tradesman who saw such people at the Assemblies and never even got within hearing distance.

  That had all changed five months ago.

  “What did your brother do, anyway?” asked Anthony lazily, staring indolently at a trio of young ladies, unchaperoned save for each other, strolling with flirtatiously lowered lashes – lashes that flashed upwards to gaze quickly at the group of young men as they went on their way to the punch bowl that stood in the middle of the party. “Arson? Treason?”

  “I do know another joke,” said Rufus hastily, pushing back his dark hair from his eyes as the heat of the sun really started to play down on him. He would give anything to be able to remove his hat. “There were three men, an Englishman – ”

  “No, we want to hear about Huey!” Nicholas was now slurring, and it was becoming more and more difficult to ascertain exactly what he was saying. “I can’t believe he rotted there for five years before he died of barrel fever!”

  Rufus winced again. Drinking himself to death – the barrel fever – was not the way that he had expected his older brother to die, and certainly not before he had reached his thirtieth year. But then Hubert had not taken the course expected of him by his family, and after joining a rather illicit group he quickly became the scapegoat for their crimes. Estrangement from his family had taught him nothing, gossip and slander had not brought him to his knees, and even a prison sentence had not darkened the perpetual smile that seemed to rest on Hubert Lovell’s face.

  After going missing for so long it had come as quite a shock to the Lovell family to find their first born up before a judge. He had been lucky to escape the ships to Australia, but it had not helped him in the end. And so the Lovell fortune, built in trade and covertly spent in London in fashion, now belonged to Rufus.

  And what a life he now had. New friends, new clothes, new parties now open to him. He could not have dreamed of this: but with new found money came new found expectations.

  “Let us leave off jokes,” Rufus said in a bored tone, “I weary of them faster than I weary of this gathering – apologies to the host!”

  Percival shrugged. “No offence to be lodged with me, Rufus, it’s not my party. It’s hardly a crush, is it? I see hardly one pretty face amongst these girls, and I know that Father had a good deal of trouble with people being out of Town at this time in the season.”

  “Oh tosh Percival, what nonsense you do talk!” Anthony scoffed, his eyes still watching the trio of ladies who had been so alluring five minutes before. A gaggle of ladies now stood around the punch bowl, gossiping and sharing news. The tinkle of their laughter caught on the breeze. “I could number two that I would not be averse to taking home with me.”

  The men laughed, and Nicholas slapped Anthony on the back. “Only two?”

  “At least two!” Anthony repeated, a sly grin creeping over his face. “And I’m sure that old Father Quinn is just keeping some of the best in reserve so as to tempt us to stay longer – just like he does with his wine!”

  Percival punched Anthony jovially on the arm. “The less said about my Father’s hosting skills the better, I thank you sir! Anyway, I’m up for a wager if one of you are. How about it, Nick?”

  Nicholas, Rufus quickly saw, was a little worse for wear. Unlike the others, he was unable to hold his drink – and unwilling to pass it up when offered – and so was gazing a little off focus when he heard his name called, and turned to face his friends.

  “Me?” He said blankly. “What do you want with me?”

  “A wager,” said Percival smoothly. Rufus stared at him in admiration; there really was no situation that the Quinn family could not find themselves in that they could not master immediately. He had met Isaac, one of the younger Quinn sons at a card table a few days previously, and he was exactly the same – perhaps even better able to merge seamlessly into any background you placed him in.

  Nicholas nodded, his face slightly blotchy thanks to the medley of heat and wine. “A wager it is! I accept your bargain.”

  The friends laughed as Rufus tried to explain to the inebriated gentleman. “No, Nick, there has been no wager set yet – do you not wish to know what it is that you have agreed to?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Nicholas calmly, as he hiccoughed. “Bound to lose anyway, Percival Quinn always wins.”

  Their laughter drew even more attention, and this time Rufus could see that two of the ladies who were standing near the punch bowl threw startling looks: daggers of disdain thrown in their direction.

  “Now, let’s try to keep it down, lads.” Rufus said quietly. “I think we’re starting to draw a crowd.”

  “Oh nonsense Rufus, you do worry so.” There was no hint of concern in Anthony’s voice, and it was matched by Percival’s face. “We’re the toast of the tonne! We’re the most eligible bachelors in London, perhaps the whole of England, and a few glasses of champagne – ”

  “Eleleven.” Nicolas interrupted, barely able to get his tongue around the two syllables. “I am almost sure you know that it was eleven.”

  “A few glasses of champagne,” Anthony continued, clasping Nicholas to him in a bear hug, “will do us no harm. Except Nicholas. He’s smashed.”

  Rufus could not help but laugh with them – with his friends. Was this not what being young was about? Was this not what it meant to feel alive?

  “And being smashed does not preclude you from our wager!” Percival interrupted smoothly. “Nicholas Wingrave: I wager you a guinea that you will not ask for that lady’s name in the next . . . oh, I don’t know. Five minutes?”

  Rufus could not help but laugh. The lady in question, indicated by a pointed finger of Percival Quinn’s, looked old enough to be any of their grandmothers. She was dressed in the fashions of the 1790s, at least twenty years out of date, and was looking sternly at them with an expression of deep disgust.

  This, however, did not appear to dampened Nicholas’ spirits. “You had better be good for the money, Percival, for you are about to become poorer.”

  Rufus watched his friend, slightly in horror, slightly impressed, as he wandered over to the lady in question. True, his walking was a little wobbly, and it took him two attempts to find her as he started to drift off to the left slightly, but eventually he found himself before her.

  They were just too far away to be able to hear the words that he used exactly, but they could all see the slap in the face that Nicholas received for his troubles. The woops of celebration and mirth rang out across the whole of Hyde Park, and several heads turned to see what the rumpus was all about.

  Rufus cheered along with his friends as Nicholas tottered back to the group.

  “And that,” he said proudly, “is how it is done.”

  Chuckling, Rufus shook his head wonderingly and placed an arm on his friend’s shoulder. “Nicholas, how can you consider that a victory – we all saw you, the whole party saw you – receive a resounding response!”

  “Aha!” And now Nicholas straightened up, his eyes finding their focus suddenly, his voice sounding stronger, and his smile becoming sharper. “Because the wager that my friend here made with a man whom he assumed was a drunkard was merely to ask for the name of the lady in question – not to receive it.”

  Percival stared in shock as he realised that he had been duped, and Anthony roared with laughter.

  “You mean you’ve played at drunkard?” Rufus stared at him in amazement, unable to take the veneration from his words. “Nicholas Wingrave, you old dog!”

  “An old dog who taught this pup a lesson,” said Nicholas grinning, holding out his hand to Percival who placed his own in his waistcoat for his pocket book in very bad grace. “Do not feel bad, Percival old thing, I’m at least two years older than you with two years more experience. You’ll get me next time.”

  Percival shook his head wryly. “You know, I’m not sure if I will. Well done, Nicholas, you deserve this guinea.”

  “Does your face hurt much?” Anthony asked with a chuckle, still staring at the two of them and finding the situation hilarious.

  Nicholas replied coolly, “Not as much as Percival’s pride.”

  Rufus could not help but laugh, and the two ladies who had glared at him before repeated the gesture.

  Percival Quinn however did not laugh. “You think it’s funny, Rufus? Well then, it looks like it’s your turn to receive a wager! Nicholas, as our reigning champion, would you like to do the honours?”

  “You know, I would.” Nicholas mimicked the mock seriousness of Percival’s tone, and turned with an expressive face towards Rufus. “Now, what to bet with young Rufus here, what shall we do?”

  “You could always ask him to pocket some silver,” suggested Anthony as another servant went by carrying a platter of what looked like delicious fruit tartlets. “Unless Percival here isn’t using the real th
ing with his cutlery?”

  Rufus shook his head with a lazy grin. “No actual crimes, thank you gentlemen.”

  “Yes,” giggled Nicholas, “The Lovell name has plenty of that already!”

  A flush threatened at his cravat but Rufus managed to keep himself steady. Thankfully the men seemed far more interested in exactly what Nicholas was going to gamble on. What wager was about to be made?

  Another tinkle of feminine laughter drifted across the air, and the men turned instinctively towards the punch bowl, and the gaggle of ladies that had accumulated there. So much beauty in such a small place, it seemed almost impossible and yet there they were, ready to be watched. Rufus could see that the pair who had been so disapproving earlier were still unhappy with them. One of them, dressed in a white gown, seemed far more interested in them however, despite her disapprobation. Her friend, attired in a cream gown that showed off the delicate white of her skin, spoke and claimed her attention.

  “I have it.” Nicholas spoke with great finality, but with a hint of cheek in his voice. “Are you ready for your wager?”

  “I do not think I have ever been more ready,” Rufus shot back excitedly. What was he to do then, what could possibly have caught Nicholas’ eye? Overturn the punch bowl, perhaps? Introduce himself as a Viscount to some chit? Perhaps strip off and dash through the party without his clothes, as he had once seen Anthony do at a similar gathering in March?

  Nicholas’ eyes twinkled, and Rufus felt a flurry of anticipation. “Rufus Lovell: I wager you twenty guineas that you will not marry the next lady who takes a drink from the punch bowl – by Michaelmas.”

  Rufus’ mouth fell open, but he moved with the others to stare at the punch bowl. Once, twice it seemed as though someone was about to pick up the ladle, and once, twice they were either distracted or seemed to think better of it. And then a delicate hand, the one attached to the young lady in white who seemed so unimpressed with Rufus and his lot, reached down and poured a small glass of May Day punch.

  “Michaelmas . . . that’s the 29th of September . . .” Breathed Rufus, almost in shock.

  Percival Quinn clapped him on the back. “A Michaelmas wager,” he said with a grin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Juliana Honeyfield was not having a good day.

  “And what I want to know,” she said angrily, “is why you have dragged me here in the first place Audrey!”

  “I thought that you would want to go to a party!” Audrey said, her opal eyes flashing blue and green. “A pleasant diversion from the staidness of home, I had thought – and is it not a beautiful day?”

  Gesturing one pale arm upwards towards the sun, Audrey smiled. Her cousin was not amused.

  “A beautiful day it may be, but a wonderful party, it is not!” Due to their close proximity to many other young ladies all situated around the punch bowl, Juliana was forced to keep her tone light and happy, but it was the last thing she felt. “Audrey, there are some very questionable characters here!”

  They both turned to look at the group of young gentlemen.

  “I mean, look at them.” Juliana said quietly. “All of them have managed to lose their cravats or suit coats, and one looks particularly . . . well, drunk.”

  But despite this very proof of unsocial behaviour, Audrey just seemed to shrug.

  “This is what happens at parties given by the rich,” she said gently, placing a hand on her cousin’s arm. “I had not realised that you would be so shocked at such churlish behaviour.”

  Juliana flushed slightly at the inference that she was a prude. “This is not someone’s parlour, where an individual may embarrass themselves to no great harm: this is Hyde Park! I may just be a Reverend’s daughter, but even I know that propriety itself still matters, and surely in a place so open to the public as this – ”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” said Audrey calmly. “Men, Juliana. Men are so different from you and I that they may as well be completely different species, set on God’s green earth to try us beyond our wits. Do you not think that this is precisely the reason why they are behaving so?”

  “Good afternoon Lady Audrey.” An elderly gentleman interrupted them, bowing deeply before them but ignoring Juliana as the unknown at the party. “And I hope your father, the Viscount of Marchwood, is well?”

  Audrey returned the bow with a courtesy. “Very well, my lord, and your dear wife?”

  Juliana watched, unrequired in this conversation as she saw her cousin deftly move into the delicate questioning required of polite society, and then almost immediately extricate herself without giving offence, and turning back to her.

  “Apologies old thing.”

  Juliana smiled weakly. “None needed. I just don’t understand how at the same party one can have perfectly civil conversations, and then just over there with the son of the host himself . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked over to the men once again. One of them was meandering towards the Right Honourable Mrs Jemima Evesham, and the friends he left behind were laughing openly.

  “How do they benefit from such a display?” she whispered to her friend. “Or am I such a green goose that I have lost all sense of what society dictates?”

  It was bad enough, Juliana told herself, that she was the poor relation; now it seemed as though Audrey had a much greater handle on what society expected than she did. Hopefully the blush of embarrassment that was already creeping up her throat towards her cheeks could be blamed on the heat of the day.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and you are wrong,” Audrey said perceptively. “The laws of the tonne are not changed because you are not titled, but because we are female.”

  Juliana blanched. “And what has that got to do with anything?”

  “You cannot be serious!” Audrey laughed, and the hand that she had reached out to help herself to more punch retracted as she turned back to Juliana. “My darling, you know what treatment society metes out to us and to the less fair sex is different, you cannot be ignorant as all that. Men may have lovers, but a woman left alone with a man in a library for more than five minutes? Scandal! A man may have debts, debts of honour, even debts of finance without being termed a brigand but for a woman to play cards with strangers? Whore! And ladies must wear corsets and stays and petticoats and layer after layer to protect one’s modesty – and a man may throw off all sense of dress and decency and he is just seen as a flamboyant youth!”

  Juliana shook her head slightly as she looked back over to the men wistfully. “It must be liberating, being so free.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” said Audrey decisively. “They’ve never known any different, how can they value the freedom that is given to them?”

  Audrey reached out her hand once more to help herself to punch, when Juliana whispered, “Who are they, anyway?”

  Laughing, Audrey replied, hand back at her side, “Why, are you interested?”

  The two of them collapsed into giggles.

  “Oh yes, I cannot wait to be wed!” Juliana retorted smiling sarcastically, her good humour finally restored. “I’m just curious, that’s all. It’s easy for you, you know everyone here already!”

  “Not everyone!” Audrey’s eyes raked over the crowd, and then she sighed. “Well, perhaps everyone.” Turning to view the young men again, she said quietly. “The one who approached Mrs Evesham, that’s Nicholas Wingrave. About thirty, I think, and fabulously rich of course. The friend beside him is Percival Quinn who you know, second son to the Duke of Daventry, and beside him is Anthony Griffiths. He’s a lawyer, but he married well and young, and when the poor girl died he inherited everything. That shorter one, with champagne all in his cravat? And the last one . . . you know, I don’t think I know him? No, wait: that’s a Lovell. Can’t remember his name, but he’s definitely a Lovell.”

  “A Lovell – not a relation of Hubert Lovell?” Juliana stared at the man in amazement. She had read about the trial of Hubert Lovell last year, and again about his death in squalor and prison not six months ago. And he had a brother?

  Audrey nodded. “You can tell, there’s something about the eyes – something devious, I think, or tricksy. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “So all fine men, by the sound of it,” said Juliana with a bite of sarcasm – a trait that she attempted to keep hidden from all save her closest friends. “Goodness, it’s hot, and no shade to speak of where we are situated. Why did you bring me to this hot place, Audrey?”