The Courtesan's Wager Read Free Page A

gift from either King George of England or King Louis of France, the rumors being rather more lurid than substantial. In fact, there was an exquisite vase of green Chinese porcelain prominently displayed in the white room, which added to the confusion more than cleared it as Amelia was almost completely certain that the porcelain was supposed to have been white, hence the name of the salon.
    Where Sophia was concerned, rumor ruled the day more than Amelia found convenient. If she had not seen with her own eyes what Sophia had managed for Louisa in attaining a completely proper husband in a matter of days, she would discount everything, the vase included.
    But there was the vase, and Louisa was most definitely married.
    Amelia and Sophia made their curtseys to each other, took seats facing each other on matching sofas upholstered in milk blue damask, and Amelia was left with trying to determine how to communicate politely what she wanted of Sophia. It was not going to be simple.
    “How lovely of you to come and see me today, Lady Amelia. You have brightened my day considerably. But, where is your chaperone, Lady Jordan?” Sophia said.
    The first lapse in what she was certain was a perfect record of proper behavior. She was here, out, without her chaperone. Of all the places to be without a chaperone, Sophia’s white salon was almost certainly the worst.
    “I,” she said slowly, “I am not quite certain, Lady Dalby. She was out and I suppose, in my eagerness, I left before she returned.”
    “Eagerness? How flattering,” Sophia said. “I was the source of your eagerness?”
    “Lady Dalby,” Amelia said, determined to say what she had come to say without dithering about, “please excuse me for being forward, but I . . . I was most impressed, that is to say, actually I found myself astonished by the chain of events surrounding Louisa’s marriage to Lord Henry Blakesley. She is, even more astonishing, quite completely content in the marriage, and I . . . I, well, you may not know it, but we had our come out together and attended most functions together, with Lady Jordan, of course.”
    “Of course,” Sophia said politely, her lips poised over her cup.
    She was dithering. She could hear herself dithering and she couldn’t determine how best to stop it while still appearing as innocent and virtuous as possible. Because she must appear so. She absolutely must. It was, she had determined, the best way of attaining Sophia’s aid. If she were innocent, hopelessly so, Sophia might take some sort of interest in her situation and find it amusing to arrange a duke for her. Surely, Sophia Dalby was capable of procuring a duke. She had to be. It was almost certainly true that Amelia was not. After two years, certainly some duke or other should have stumbled into her arms by now .
    “And now, now,” Amelia continued, not at all reassured by the speculative gleam in Sophia’s dark eyes, “I suppose that I don’t know what’s to become of me now. I am at a loss, Lady Dalby, and I could not but wonder if you would be so kind as to . . . help me.”
    There. She had said it. What more was there to say? Now, certainly, all that was left was for Sophia, if she agreed, to work her seductive will upon the currently available dukes of the ton and deliver a proper husband into Amelia’s arms.
    “Help you do what, Lady Amelia?” Sophia asked. “I am afraid I do not quite comprehend you.”
    Of course, Amelia did not believe that for a moment, but she had gone this far and there was little point in getting squeamish about it now. She was here for a purpose and she was determined to achieve her purpose. Surely, of all women, Sophia would appreciate that.
    “Lady Dalby,” Amelia said, feeling her cheeks flush with mortification at what she was about to say and ruthlessly ignoring it. “Lady Dalby,” she repeated with slightly more force, “I would very much like to marry . . . to marry . . .”
    Oh, this was most, most