The Marriage Wager Read Free Page A

sorts of colors that her aunt felt befitted an unmarried woman of a certain age.
    There was some pleasure to be taken in watching the glittering people of the Ton, of course, and Constance was engaged in that pastime now. She was gazing at a couple who stood at the top of the stairs looking out over the partygoers like monarchs observing their subjects. It was not an inapt analogy, for the Duke of Rochford and Lady Francesca Haughston were among the reigning members of London society. Constance, of course, had never met either one of them, for they normally moved in more elite circles than did Uncle Roger and Aunt Blanche. It was only at large events such as this rout that she even saw them.
    They moved down the stairs now, and Constance lost sight of them in the crowd. Her aunt turned to her, saying, “Constance, dear, do find Margaret’s fan. She seems to have dropped it.”
    Constance spent the next few minutes looking all around them for the errant fan, so she did not notice the approach of two women until her aunt’s sharp intake of breath alerted her to something unusual and she looked up from her search. Lady Haughston was walking toward them, and beside her was the beaming hostess of the party, Lady Welcombe herself.
    “Lady Woodley. Sir, um…”
    “Roger,” her uncle supplied helpfully.
    “Of course. Sir Roger. How are you? I hope the two of you are enjoying my little party,” Lady Welcombe said, gesturing toward the great hall stuffed with people. Her deprecating smile indicated that she realized the humor in her statement.
    “Oh, yes, my lady. ’Tis a wonderful rout. The finest of the Season, I’ll warrant. I was just remarking to Sir Roger that it was the most splendid thing we had attended yet.”
    “Well, the Season is still young,” Lady Welcombe replied modestly. “One can only hope that it will still be remembered by July.”
    “Oh, indeed, I am sure it will.” Aunt Blanche hurried on to compliment the flowers, the candles, the decorations.
    Even the hostess herself appeared to grow bored with this effusive praise, and at the first opportunity, Lady Welcombe jumped in to say, “Pray, allow me to introduce you to Lady Haughston.” She turned to the woman beside her. “Lady Haughston, this is Sir Roger Woodley and his wife Lady Blanche, and these are…uh, their lovely daughters.”
    “How do you do?” Lady Haughston said, extending one slender white hand.
    “Oh, my lady! This is indeed an honor!” Aunt Blanche’s face was flushed with excitement. “I am so pleased to meet you. Pray, allow me to introduce you to our daughters, Georgiana and Margaret. Girls, say hello to Lady Haughston.”
    Lady Haughston smiled perfunctorily at each of the girls, but her eyes moved on to Constance, standing slightly behind the others. “And you are?”
    “Constance Woodley, my lady,” Constance said with a brief curtsey.
    “I am sorry,” Aunt Blanche said with a twitter. “Miss Woodley is my husband’s niece, living with us since her poor father’s death some years ago.”
    “Please accept my condolences,” Lady Haughston said, adding after a slight pause, “on your father’s death.”
    “Thank you, my lady.” Constance saw the light of amusement in the other woman’s deep blue eyes, and she could not help but wonder if Lady Haughston had not meant to imply something else altogether. She suppressed the smile such a thought brought to her lips and returned Lady Haughston’s gaze politely.
    Lady Welcombe moved away, but to Constance’s surprise, Lady Haughston remained with them for a few moments, making polite small talk. It surprised her even more when Lady Haughston said that she must leave and turned to Constance, adding, “Won’t you take a stroll around the room with me, Miss Woodley?”
    Constance blinked with surprise, too startled for a moment to speak. Then she moved forward with alacrity, saying, “Yes, I would like that very much, thank you.”
    She remembered to cast a