A Reckless Wager by Christine Donovan
London
Lady Pandora Osborne, Pansy to her friends, sat in her sky-blue drawing room, enjoying her morning tea tray when she heard the ruckus outside the door.
“I don’t need to be introduced. I’m family and here almost every day.”
Her butler, Walter, opened the double doors, looking exasperated. “Lady O…”
“Pansy,” huffed her cousin, Lady Octavia Sewell, “it’s exhausting waiting to be introduced every time I step foot inside your townhome. I’m family. Please call off your man.”
Smirking into her hand, Pansy waved off Walter. “Octavia, please sit and join me for tea. Cook made the most delicious biscuits this morning.”
“As she always does.” Octavia huffed as she sat in a pretty blue velvet chair that matched the blue silk on the walls and helped herself to a decadent biscuit off the silver tray. “No matter how much I offer to pay your cook to work for me, she refuses. I’m so tired of my husband complaining about my cook’s food. It’s so hard to hire good help these days.”
“Perhaps if you offer more pay…”
“Yes, well, you know how my husband is. Cheap as they come.”
“Yes. I do,” Pansy said, taking a sip of her tepid tea, sweetened with two sugars and extra cream. “I tried to tell you not to marry him, but you were smitten the first time you set your eyes on him.”
“I’m not here today to talk about my marriage. You just accomplished the match of the Season and have many more to go to win our bet before the Season culminates with the Westfield Ball in December. You do remember our bet: Twelve months. Twelve matches. Shocking matches for women most likely to be spinsters to men who have been deemed uncatchable.”
“Yes, how can I forget when you keep reminding me.” Pansy took a nibble from her biscuit. “And when I complete this endeavor, which I will, you will never again attempt to lay claim to Grandmother’s tiara. Furthermore, you must announce to everyone far and wide that I am a matchmaker extraordinaire!”
Octavia waved her hand. “Yes, we’ve agreed upon this. But you must win first. Tell me, Cousin, who is next on your unmarriable young lady’s list?”
Who? Pansy had a young lady in mind. The poor girl had spent the Season as a wallflower. A most delightful wallflower, but a wallflower nonetheless. Lady Georgiana Knightly. Daughter of the Earl of Southport. A rather severe fellow, who doted upon his only child. His poor wife died in childbirth and the man, heartbroken, never remarried. “Lady Georgiana Knightly.”
Octavia laughed, then snorted in a most unladylike manner. “I must say I’m shocked. The chit walks, talks, and acts like a man.”
“She does not!” Pansy said, feeling obligated to stand up for the girl. Even if what her cousin said was partly true. She didn’t walk, talk, or act like a man—a little stiff when she walked, perhaps, as though she wasn’t comfortable in formal clothing or shoes. Or maybe she’d never worn a corset before. Her voice? Honestly, Pansy didn’t know if she’d ever heard the girl speak beyond a whisper. As for acting like a man? Well, Octavia did have her there. The earl let her run wild in the country. But indeed, there must be a man amongst the ton who would appreciate her attributes. Not all gentlemen preferred empty-headed, simpering-silly debutantes. As for beauty? Georgiana possessed a rare quality. Ebony hair. Eyes the color of pale emeralds. Skin creamy and soft but not pale. She didn’t always employ a hat or parasol when out of doors. Pansy knew she would make an aristocratic gentleman a good wife. To love, honor, and obey remained to be seen.
“Tonight, I will use my all-seeing eyes and match-making intuition to find the perfect match for Lady Georgiana.”
“Must we attend Almack’s?”
“Pish-posh. We go through this every week. I’m a patroness and must attend. If you choose to skip, well, go right ahead.”