The Wagered Widow Read Online Free Page A

more time in Town.”
    â€œHmmmnn,” said Snowden, maddeningly.
    â€œShe must be very beautiful,” persisted Rebecca.
    Snowden, who had been thinking how delightful it must be to own a country seat, looked up at this and enquired vaguely, “Who must?”
    â€œLady Ward.”
    â€œOh. As to that, I could not say. Never met the lady. Heard she was a beauty, did you? Surprising, at her age.” He added a hasty, “Don’t intend no disrespect, mind. I had Heard the old lady was a real Toast in her day, but—”
    â€œOld lady?” gasped Mrs. Boothe, titillated. “Did he marry for money, then?”
    â€œOh, I doubt that. No, come to think of it, he couldn’t have. Ward Marching has been in the family since the Conquest, I should think.” He chuckled. “They likely brought it over with them.”
    â€œThen—why—” Rebecca broke off, her bewilderment replaced by amusement. “Snowden—impossible creature! Of whom are you speaking?”
    â€œWard’s grandmama, of course. You said ‘Lady Ward,’ did you not?” And shaking his head as his relations dissolved into laughter that was more relieved than he could guess, he asked, “Are you sure you two girls ain’t been at this decanter before me?”
    â€œNo, you wretch. We were referring to Sir Peter’s wife, not his grandmama!”
    â€œThen you were fair and far off from the start,” he said triumphantly. “Ward don’t have a wife. Oh, he was betrothed once. Years ago. I believe the lady went to her reward. Shame. She was a great Fair, so they say. Ward never got over it. I heard he hasn’t looked at a girl since. Silly gudgeon.”
    â€œI think it noble in him to be so loyal,” said Rebecca, shocked by such callousness. “There are not many gentlemen would mourn a lady so steadfastly.”
    He grunted. “I should hope not. Dashed silly thing to do. Now do not fly up into the boughs! I ain’t saying a man shouldn’t go into blacks for a year or so. But— six years? Drivel! If the lady loved him, she’d likely want him to be happy, not wear sackcloth and ashes into his dotage.”
    â€œFrom what I saw of Sir Peter yesterday,” Mrs. Boothe murmured, “he was far removed from sackcloth and ashes.”
    â€œNor anywhere near his dotage,” added Rebecca.
    â€œWell, whatever he is,” said Snowden, preparing to take his leave, “he’s lost to the matchmaking mamas. They’ve all thrown up their hands over him, although he’s quite the best catch in Town. Full of juice, y’know. From what de Villars told me, there was a time when poor Ward could scarce set one foot after t’other without foundering, he was so deep in the handkerchiefs dropped for him.”
    â€œIndeed?” Rebecca walked with her brother to the hallway and said with a faint frown, “De Villars? I thought you purely disliked the gentleman?”
    â€œDid.” Boothe winked at the maid as he accepted the tricorne she offered blushfully. “Misjudged the fella. Had a good chat with him last night at Brooks’. Never dreamed he could be so jolly.” He bent to plant a kiss on Rebecca’s cheek. “Teach me not to go making hasty judgements, eh?”
    â€œHasty judgements, indeed!” said Rebecca disparagingly when she relayed this conversation to her aunt. “If that horrid man was ‘jolly’ to Snow, it was because he has some mischief in mind.”
    â€œYes, and involving you, child! I saw how he looked at you!” Mrs. Boothe shivered. “Like a cat with a mouse. It fairly turned my blood cold.”
    â€œWell, I shall be no mouse for Trevelyan de Villars!” Rebecca declared, the mischievous gleam bright in her dark eyes. “I am after bigger game!”
    â€œI knew it!” Gripping her hands apprehensively, Mrs. Boothe moaned, “You mean Sir