No, it was something about her actual person—her essence. It was as though she repelled them.
“May I ask you a hypothetical question?” Delia broke the long silence that had fallen between them.
“Those are the very best kinds,” Bethany responded, happy that Delia hadn’t commented on her dismal attempt at flirtation. “Because there is no wrong answer.”
“Let’s say you know a young lady… hypothetically, of course.”
Bethany lifted her gaze to Delia’s. “Of course.”
“Imagine that this young lady has become rather desperate to marry a wealthy gentleman, due to an unfortunate turn of her family’s financial circumstances.”
“I know we’re being hypothetical and all, but, Delia, you are describing half the ladies in the ton.”
“Oh, but this particular young lady is exceedingly desperate.” She lowered her voice. “Her dowry has been squandered away but no one must know!”
Again, nearly half the ladies on the marriage mart. Bethany raised her brows. “Hypothetically.”
“Well, yes,” Delia agreed. “And in her desperation, this young lady has decided—hypothetically, of course—to trap a certain gentleman.” Delia’s brown eyes clouded in concern. She was obviously very troubled for whoever this hypothetical young woman might be.
“She is not you,” Bethany stated.
“Oh, no!”
Bethany tapped the fan against her lips. Trapping bachelors into marriage, unfortunately, was not uncommon. And while it was frowned upon by most, a few applauded those who succeeded.
Silently, of course, all the while publicly tsking and bemoaning that a young woman would lower herself to such a drastic course of action.
“I suppose,” Bethany considered the dilemma carefully, “it depends on the details. Is she trapping him because he’s taken advantage of her already? That would make it somewhat justifiable, although why she would wish to be tied to such a blackguard is beyond me.” As the younger sister to a, until recently, highly sought-after and marriageable earl, Bethany had long ago formed a strong opinion on this unseemly practice. “I can’t abide by the notion otherwise.”
Delia moaned. “What if he is a rake but also a charming and kindhearted one?”
The description fit Chase rather aptly. “I would not wish to have marriage thrust upon me, just as I’ve no doubt you wouldn’t want it thrust upon you. Don’t we all deserve the opportunity to make such a life-altering choice independent of societal expectations?” Bethany knew this was a romantic ideal but she believed in it just the same.
“I agree with you. It’s partly why I’m vexed with her.”
“We are not speaking hypothetically, are we?”
“No. But… She refuses to listen to me.”
Bethany inhaled. The hypothetical young lady undoubtedly was Delia’s older sister, Miss Rachel Sommerville. Rachel had exhibited such manipulative and conniving tendencies on multiple occasions since she and Bethany had become acquainted.
Bethany had not been aware, however, of the loss of her dowry. Rachel might as well have lost her reputation than something so critical to reeling in a husband. Bethany almost felt sorry for her.
But not if she was preying on Chase!
“How is she planning to accomplish this?” Bethany asked. “And who is her victim?”
Another moan. “I told her it was a despicable thing to do to any man. It doesn’t matter that he’s wealthy and titled and so very good looking. Father’s debts are no excuse for her to trap him.”
Bethany felt like something large was pressing down on her chest. Chase was very wealthy, and titled, and so, oh so very good looking and kindhearted. “Who, Delia? Who is she planning to trap?”
“Why, Lord Chaswick, of course.”
Chapter 2
A Vice
“If you hate these affairs so much, why do you bother?” Stone asked, reviving the resentment Chase had managed to numb with drink.
Chase threw his ante into the pot and stared at his cards. He must truly be dead inside, because the sight of three queens and two aces did nothing to excite him.
“My mother.”
Two words. Two very simple words, and yet, they explained so much. His frail, delicate mother didn’t ask much of him, nor of anyone for that matter. Attending a few ton affairs at her request was the least he could do. Not that she attended with him, but so that he might regale her with anything interesting that failed to make it into the papers.
“I’ll raise you.” Lord Manningham-Tissinton, or Mantis, a giant of a man, scowled as he tossed in two more coins.
“Who pissed in your whisky?” Chase taunted, but Mantis only answered with a growl. Even before the viscount had gotten the right side of his face slashed, he’d been the least expressive of their bunch.
“I fold.” Stone turned to the Marquess of Greystone. “I take it Blackheart is proving to be capable in his new… position?”
Chase shook his head. The Duke of Blackheart, having lost a meaningless wager earlier that year now had to act the part of Greystone’s butler, performing all requisite duties, until the Season was over. If Blackheart failed to complete the terms, the wager mandated that Blackheart be compelled to marry a woman of Greystone’s choice.
Chase would hate to see that happen.
A number of other wagers, of course, had sprouted up out of the scenario. One of which had Chase watching closely for Blackheart to show he was weakening. If Blackheart failed, Chase would find himself in a most embarrassing situation come June.
He, Stone and Mantis had wagered with Greys and Westerley that Blackheart would succeed. The losers would be compelled to make a mad dash through the park wearing nothing but their dignity.
One side of Greys’ lips twitched. “Unfortunately, he’s currently managing my entire staff like he was born to it.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Keep quiet about it, though. If any of us blow his cover, I’ll have to forfeit. What would be the fun in that?”
“What do you take us for, Greys? A bunch of gossiping old hens?” Stone growled.
“Touchy, aren’t we tonight?” Greys murmured. “And I’m in, Chaswick. What have you got?”
Chase displayed his cards face up.
“Impressive,” Mantis observed. “But not impressive enough.” Braggart had four tens.
“I’ll make a generous donation to the foundling home on behalf of both of you,” Greys smirked and then laid his cards down one by one. Clubs—a two, three, four, five, and six.
“I hate it when you win.” Chase lifted his glass and downed what remained of his drink with a grimace. He’d become spoiled by the magnificent whiskey Westerley had provided them at his mother’s house party a few weeks before. “At least Westerley has the bollocks to give us a chance to win back our losses.”
“Had,” Stone intervened. “Now that he’s taken a wife, I foresee him spending future winnings on her. That distillery he’s having built is no doubt costing a pretty penny.”
“A whiskey making countess.” Mantis actually grinned as the four of them contemplated the brilliant luck Westerley had in landing a wife whose hobby was making scotch whiskey. “I’ll drink to that.” He lifted his glass.