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  Charlotte Stuart is an heiress dedicated to charitable causes who's been betrayed by the false love of a fortune hunter before. Ridiculed by Paris society for her mistake, she vows never to fall victim to the weakness of love again. Driven back to England by the collapse of the Peace of Amiens, she enters London society and meets Lord Edward Woodcliff, a handsome Viscount in straightened circumstances. Falling for Edward means risking being humiliated again.

  Edward has come to London to find a wife. Made leery of marriage by his father’s disastrous second marriage, Edward feigns poverty in order to find a woman who loves him and not his wealth. He loses his heart to the independent and spirited Charlotte, but her fear of being betrayed, and his hesitation to make a matrimonial mistake, prove difficult to overcome.

  All seems hopeless until Edward challenges Charlotte to a wager. If he wins, he gains her hand in marriage. If he loses, then Charlotte is free of him. Charlotte accepts the wager only to lose her hand and her heart to Edward. Now Charlotte must put aside her fears of being betrayed by love long enough to let Edward into her life and admit he is the man of her dreams.

  Lady’s Wager

  by

  Georgie Lee

  Please visit www.georgie-lee.com to learn more about Georgie and her books.

  COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Georgie Lee

  Lady’s Wager is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Published in the United States

  Cover Design by Melody Simmons from eBookindiecovers

  Publishing History – Ellora’s Cave, 2008

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter One

  London, 1803

  “Have the portraits been hung and the extra seating arranged?” Charlotte Stuart called to her aunt as she bounded into the drawing room. With her terrier Minnie tucked under one arm, Charlotte inspected the newly rearranged furniture and art. Everything had to be perfect, each piece displayed to its best advantage, for the improvements to St. Dunstan’s Charitable Hospital depended on tonight’s success. The large, rectangular room, normally an eclectic blend of Queen Anne and neoclassic, had been carefully rearranged to resemble a salon. Charlotte’s collection of paintings from abroad hung two high on the red walls, while a selection of her Grecian urns and Italian marble statues graced the small tables scattered about the room.

  Charlotte placed Minnie on the floor and the small dog dashed over to greet Aunt Mary, who perched on the edge of the settee.

  “Charlotte, I don’t know if I approve of this,” Aunt Mary replied in a high voice as she absentmindedly patted Minnie’s head. “What will your uncle say?”

  “Uncle Charles will say very little, as usual.” Charlotte hoped this would put a quick end to her aunt’s concerns, but the thin, tight line of Aunt Mary’s lips told her otherwise.

  “Had I known you intended to entertain apothecaries, I never would’ve sent the invitations. You tricked me.”

  “I did no such thing.” She struggled not to roll her eyes as a long morning of calming her aunt’s frayed nerves stretched out before her.

  “You did. You said you wished to host a small soirée. I was so happy to see you finally showing an interest in proper society, but this is not what I had in mind.” She shook her handkerchief at the mahogany table in the center of the room which supported a fine collection of evaporator glasses, vials and burners.

  “Don’t fret Aunt Mary, it’s all very proper,” Charlotte tossed over her shoulder as she moved a delicate Grecian urn to a sturdier table in the corner.

  “But what if it isn’t? What will people say?”Aunt Mary followed Charlotte as she moved about the room straightening and adjusting paintings. Minnie trotted behind Charlotte, jumping at the folds of her light green walking dress as Charlotte continued her inspection.

  “It doesn’t matter what they say, so long as they donate to the hospital.” She picked Minnie up and handed her to Aunt Mary, who tucked the squirming dog under her arm.

  “Then think of what the gentlemen might say?”Aunt Mary insisted, her voice growing increasingly higher. “This is your first Season in London, you don’t want to turn off all the men at once.”

  “Which men? The lord who wants my fortune? The handsome barrister who’ll gamble it away? A merchant’s son who’ll spend his nights at the club while I mind the children? I’d be better off if they did stay away.”

  “Charlotte!” Aunt Mary collapsed onto a nearby settee, rapidly fanning herself with her handkerchief.

  “Bring madam a cordial,” Charlotte called to a nearby maid who hurried out of the room.

  “I wouldn’t need a cordial if you’d only listen to reason,” Aunt Mary spat through short gasps, her face turning a deep shade of red as she struggled to breathe.

  How Aunt Mary survives her stays, I’ll never know, Charlotte mused as the maid handed her a crystal glass filled with a dark red liquid. She held the glass out to her aunt.

  “Drink this or you’re sure to have quite a fit of the vapors and then you’ll miss tonight when Dr. Walter dazzles us with his new theory.”

  “I’m not a child. Don’t treat me like one,” Aunt Mary snapped, taking the cordial and sipping it delicately. Her composure appeared to have recovered.

  “I see you’ve informed your aunt of tonight’s entertainment.” Uncle Charles strolled into the room with The Gazette tucked under his arm. Charles Stuart was a gentleman of five and fifty, ten years older than Aunt Mary, of medium height with a slender build and a full head of silver hair. The youngest son of an old Salisbury family, Charles had never expected to inherit and had made his fortune in shipping, transporting tobacco from the Colonies and spices from India. When Charlotte’s father had passed away, Uncle Charles had inherited, and his status as one of the landed gentry afforded him a measure of privilege usually denied to those in commerce.

  “You must reason with her,” Aunt Mary demanded as Uncle Charles settled himself into a large armchair near the fireplace.

  “My dear, I gave up reasoning with her years ago.” He snapped open the newspaper, placing the pages between himself and the ladies.

  “You both make me sound like a hoyden when all I want to do is display my art and raise money for St. Dunstan’s. When people hear Dr. Walter’s theory, I know they’ll be generous.”

  “Proper young ladies should confine themselves to the pianoforte and painting screens,” Aunt Mary sniffed, eliciting a small chuckle from behind the paper.

  Charlotte stared at her aunt, aghast. “How can you say such a thing when I’ve never played the pianoforte or painted a screen in my entire life?”

  Aunt Mary sighed as her nervousness dissolved into resignation. “I know. I can’t believe I said it. But London is different from Paris and I feel I haven’t done my duty preparing you for society. It’ll only make the Season more difficult for you.”

  “I see Mrs. Knight has called again,” Uncle Charles muttered from behind his paper, and Aunt Mary shot The Gazette a disapproving look. She turned to Charlotte, her large blue eyes filled with genuine concern.

  “We’re only looking out for your future.
” Aunt Mary tucked her handkerchief in the ample bodice of her dress. “Your uncle and I won’t always be here and we want to see you well settled.”

  “I have my inheritance, how much more settled must I be?”

  “My dear, there’s great benefit in having a good partner in life.”

  Charlotte went to the table to straighten the glass vials, eager to avoid this topic. In Paris, she’d seen too many young ladies with large fortunes marry men who professed love but only wanted money. By saying their wedding vows, the women had relinquished control of their fortunes to husbands who did nothing but waste them while ignoring their wives. Charlotte had come close to making the same mistake with the Comte de Vimeur and wasn’t about to risk her heart or her independence on such an uncertain contract as marriage. “Science is perfectly acceptable, even in London during the Season.”

  Aunt Mary sniffed. “In the London of my day, a young lady didn’t concern herself with science, or so my mother said.”

  “Your mother said a great many things and like Charlotte you listened to none of them,” Uncle Charles reminded, the newspaper pages rustling as he turned them.

  A mischievous smile played at the corners of Aunt Mary’s lips. “And my life is the better for it. But never you mind.”

  “See, can I really be so bad?” Charlotte laughed.

  “My dear, I’m only trying to do my best for you,” Aunt Mary sighed, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress. “But I suppose I’m too old to be of any real use to you.”

  Charlotte threw her arms around the plump older woman. “How can you say such a thing when you’ve done so much for me? Who nursed me in Rome through the fever? Who helped me collect all the blankets for the foundling hospital in Venice, and who always instructs Cook to distribute the kitchen scraps to the poor?”

  “I suppose you do need me. But I wish you’d listen. I’m only trying to help.”

  “I know.” Charlotte pressed a kiss to her aunt’s cheek then rose. “Now I must go. Lady Treadwell and Elizabeth will be here at any moment. We’re visiting Hookham’s this morning.”

  She hurried out of the room, Minnie following obediently behind her, relieved to have something to attend to besides soothing her aunt’s nerves.

  *****

  “I fear for her, Charles,” Mary sighed once Charlotte was gone.

  Charles peered over the top of the paper at his diminutive wife. She’d been a beauty in her time, with blonde hair and blue eyes and a nature as vivacious as Charlotte’s. Now she was older, her eyes a touch dimmer, her face and figure rounder, her manner a little more reserved. They had no children of their own, but eleven years ago they’d become Charlotte’s guardians after Charles’ older brother and sister-in-law had died of the fever. Charlotte was like a daughter to them both but unlike Mary, he worried less about their niece’s future.

  “Charlotte has a good head and more sense than most young ladies. She has her mother’s fortune and where it could’ve made her selfish and silly, she spends her time helping others. I trust her to make the right decisions. Besides, I believe life and all its mishaps will do more to temper her high spirits than any of our lectures.”

  “But she’s stubborn and proud—too proud for her own good. She doesn’t defer when it would be more prudent to do so.”

  Charles nodded, folding his paper. “I agree, she’s stubborn and a little proud but she’s also practical. Were she not, I’d share your concern. But, my dear, you must also see the opportunity in this.”

  Mary gaped at him. “What opportunity?”

  “She’ll be near young gentlemen. Eventually one will catch her fancy and solve the matter.”

  “Not if she creates a scandal.”

  The small clock on the mantle chimed nine times. Charles rose, tucked the newspaper under his arm and approached his wife, placing his hands lovingly on her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes met his and his heart fluttered just as it had twenty years ago, on the day they’d first met.

  “Charlotte is a pretty young woman with a large fortune. She’ll always be attractive to gentlemen.” He kissed her gently on the forehead, inhaling the soft scent of rosewater before retiring to the quiet of his office and the beginning of another business day.

  *****

  Charlotte entered the library, placed Minnie on the floor and set to collecting the books due back to Hookham’s. She suspected, as her uncle did, Aunt Mary’s sudden change of opinion was the direct result of Mrs. Knight’s visit the evening before. Mrs. Knight, being an old acquaintance of Aunt Mary’s mother, often reminded Aunt Mary of how proper young ladies should behave by pointing out where Charlotte fell short. Charlotte knew Mrs. Knight was only trying to help, but the matron’s meddling created a great deal of anxiety with Aunt Mary and therefore Charlotte.

  She looked down at Minnie who watched her with eager eyes. “Be glad you don’t have old ladies telling you how to behave.”

  Minnie cocked her head as though to contradict Charlotte, who knelt to pet the little dog. “But I order you around, so of course you know how tiresome it is.”

  With an exasperated sigh she returned to her books, examining the cover of a medical treatise from Germany. Aunt Mary had never worried like this in Paris. In fact she’d said very little on the subject of Charlotte’s intellectual pursuits. Everything had changed when they’d been forced to return to London. While her uncle and aunt enjoyed the company of their old friends, Charlotte found the Season’s parties and balls a poor substitute for the witty discussions of the Paris salons. At three and twenty years of age, she possessed little desire to parade herself through the ballrooms and drawing rooms of London as though she were a green girl of sixteen. She’d rather stay on the shelf than subject herself to the ridiculous hopes and disappointments of much younger girls.

  She stacked the books on the corner of the desk, counting to make sure she had them all. As frustrating as she found London, the city was not entirely devoid of interests. Charlotte enjoyed the friendship of Mrs. Knight’s granddaughter, Elizabeth, and there was Aunt Mary’s childhood friend, Lady Redding, whose salons provided Charlotte with the intellectual company she craved. Her most engrossing pursuit was her charity work. In every city in which the Stuarts had lived, Charlotte had chosen a hospital to help. Immediately upon arriving in London, she’d taken St. Dunstan’s under her wing. Her work there was a welcome distraction from the trials of London society.

  At the sound of the front door knocker, Charlotte gathered up the books and made for the entryway to meet the dowager Lady Treadwell and Miss Elizabeth Knight.

  Lady Treadwell was short, her figure full but not fat. She wore a pelisse and walking dress in the dark purples and grays favored by most widows. They highlighted her faded blonde hair with faint streaks of silver and did nothing to detract from her jovial nature. Despite the dowager countess’s interest in fashion and society, Charlotte enjoyed her company for she and her late husband had been friends of Charlotte’s parents.

  “Good morning Elizabeth, good morning Lady Treadwell. How is your nephew?” Charlotte asked. The young man had lost his wife in childbirth the previous year and had since retired completely from society.

  “He’s doing much better. My niece is hopeful they’ll both come to London for the Season next year, though I’d wish he’d come this year. It would do him good to be among people again,” she replied wearily before Aunt Mary’s appearance drew her from her deep concern. “Speaking of people, Mary, I have the most delightful on-dit to share with you.”

  Charlotte didn’t hear the gossip as Elizabeth approached her with news of her own.

  “Did you hear? Lord Ashford made a generous donation to St. Dunstan’s. He’s sure to set the example for the ton and soon Dr. Walter will have enough money for the improvements!”

  “I knew you’d inspire him,” Charlotte congratulated. She’d introduced Elizabeth to Lord Henry Ashford the week before during their outing to view the new paintings on exhibit at the Royal Academy. She’d
sensed her friend’s sweet, shy nature would complement the Earl’s outgoing, friendly personality, and she’d been right.

  “I’m sure it was your and your uncle’s influence which induced his generosity.” Elizabeth’s delicate cheeks reddened as she focused her attention on Minnie, who jumped at the folds of her yellow walking dress. The color emphasized Elizabeth’s blonde hair and the paleness of her skin.

  “All we did was provide the invitation. The rest was left in your careful hands.”

  Charlotte stepped up to the mirror, accepting her bonnet from the maid and arranging it over her black curls. Elizabeth watched her, mischief playing in her light blue eyes.

  “It’s a pity you don’t find Lord Woodcliff more agreeable. Wouldn’t it be grand? I and Lord Ashford, you and Lord Woodcliff, two friends marrying two friends?”

  “Heaven forbid.” Charlotte straightened the loops of the bow beneath her chin. “I could never care for a man as arrogant as him.”

  “I don’t think he’s arrogant.”

  “You didn’t have to endure his company at the Royal Academy.”

  While Elizabeth and Lord Ashford had admired the paintings and each other, Aunt Mary and Charlotte had been left to accompany Lord Edward Woodcliff around the gallery. She'd attempted to engage him in a discussion of art but he’d proved taciturn, only finding his tongue to correct her knowledge of Mr. Reynolds’ work. She’d quickly abandoned her attempts at conversation but Aunt Mary, with an eye to a match, had asked about his travels abroad. His answers had been brief with more references to his reduced circumstances than his month in Rome. The coup de grâce had come when he’d described his time at Eton and Cambridge and how little they’d done to truly educate him. When Charlotte had informed him only a gentleman could find education droll when ladies were denied it as a condition of their sex, he’d laughed. Then he’d assured her Eton and Cambridge possessed little to recommend them to any lady. Only a censorious look from Aunt Mary had stopped Charlotte from offering a curt reply to his view of female education and the rest of the exhibit had been enjoyed in terse silence.