An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) Eliza Lloyd (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📖

Carlow had tolerated her trickery. He’d excused her lack of ton manners. He’d patiently listened while she’d explained her unprovable—yet!—accusations. He’d expressed a desire for her, and no man had ever done that before. If they had, she hadn’t noticed. Or Lady Fortenay had frightened them off.

“You must wear this tonight. Carlow’s eyes will burst from his head,” Molly said.

“No, I don’t think so.” He’d been very much the gentleman, and very little the husband. He hadn’t knocked on her door yet, hadn’t requested to fulfill his husbandly rights, hadn’t made her feel less of a woman because of it.

She had no instinct to pursue a man, but somehow she had captured his complete attention at the Weatherby Ball. Would a proper temptress knock on his door wearing such revealing clothes?

“Have you not seen the way he looks at you?” Molly asked.

“Tosh. Don’t say anything so ridiculous.”

“What husband, in his right mind, would not want you in his bed?”

Nora’s face burst with heat. “How would you know? You’ve never been married either.”

“I know a few things.” Molly picked up the night rail and twirled about the room before stopping in front of Nora. “I know a lot of things,” she teased, swishing the nightgown’s skirt in a seductive manner.

“About men? Or about what you’ve heard from the scullery maids at your last position?” Nora asked.

“I hear things. I see things. And I’ve enjoyed the attentions of a few men before.”

“If Lady Fortenay heard you speak in such a manner, she would dismiss you without a reference.”

“A lady’s maid should speak freely, or she would be no help at all. Your plan was to seduce him. Your plan worked, but you need to complete the seduction. It’s what he wants. Did you not wonder why he decided against attending the Radcliff Ball this evening? And that the dowager countess is going?”

“He’s not going because I cannot dance with any sophistication and he doesn’t want to be bored.”

“My lady,” Molly scolded, “men will be where there are women they want. And Lord Carlow has something he wants, right here in his house.”

“You overestimate my appeal. We’ve been married less than a week and I tricked him into that. I just want Henbury and all that belongs to the estate, and I want to never hear from any of them again.”

“How will you get the mines and the horse stock rightly returned to you?”

“Maybe I will have to settle for what I can get. I think Timothy would be happy with Henbury Hall. At least he would have a home where he could start a family.”

“Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“You seduce Lord Carlow into helping get the rest of the Henbury properties too! They are his friends, aren’t they? They are the sons of those wicked ones who took advantage of your father.”

“I’m not sure how I would do that. The Weatherby Ball was a gambit, a ploy that worked because Carlow was—”

Carlow was and had been decent to her. He’d found humor in her plans. He’d been solicitous, generous and curious. Nothing like the scandalous ne’er-do-well she’d believed him.

“He’s a man. You got what you wanted from him once. You can do it again.”

Except Nora didn’t want to. She’d done what she had to do, but deep down, she wasn’t that woman on a normal day. She could imagine a time in the future where she would regret that lengths to which she had gone to get Henbury Hall. More importantly, she would regret treating Carlow with less respect than he deserved. Could she do it again? Could she use deceit to get the other properties when she found she had no taste for such deception?

“Molly, let’s put these away. I need to finish my letter to Lady Fortenay and then send a note to Timothy. I want to invite him for a meal before he returns to Dorset.”

“Think about it. There must be a way.”

“I think of nothing else, but at some point, I must admit I was lucky once, and a second time seems impossible.” She was lucky it was Carlow. She was lucky he was the sort of man who made other men look mediocre.

The room grew quiet as she wrote. Once complete, she sanded the paper and sealed it up.

Another knock sounded, but this time it was Carlow, stepping into the room and waving a piece of paper. “I found it! I found the proof we acquired Henbury Hall legally.”

* * * * *

Gabriel thought he, his solicitor and his man of affairs had all the earldom’s papers in order, except the one piece of paper he desperately wanted to find. Not only would it prove Nora wrong—that wasn’t his main goal—but it would also clear away the fresh doubts about his father’s involvement in a possible scheme to defraud George Blasington.

For years, Father had kept a certain type of account ledger and he had always kept several as spares, he liked them that much—one for the house, one for the estate in Wiltshire. Even one for Henbury Hall. Any reason at all to use one. Already dated in his precise handwriting.

The title deed was placed inside one of those ledgers, one that would be started next year.

Frustration had caused Gabriel to begin the arduous task of opening books and shaking them in the hope something would fall out. He had a good reason to do this: Father was also notorious for placing notes inside the pages of books.

On a cold winter evening, one could settle in with the famed Scottish tale of Rob Roy and find a white fiver between the pages. A note that, as a young boy, he got to keep. It was a pleasant reward, a sort of treasure. Maybe his father’s way to reward him for learning.

So, it was