CHAPTER 2 WAGER OF AFFECTATIONS #3
“Unless you’d prefer I keep the money?” her father added casually. “I’ve been considering improvements to the estate.”
Darcy’s harsh exhalation was audible even through the wall. “Your daughters would be pawns in this arrangement. Without knowledge or consent.”
A fair objection, Elizabeth thought. And yet, now she had knowledge, wedged as she was between linens.
“My daughters are intelligent women capable of determining whether a gentleman’s attentions are sincere. If you cannot convince them, you do not deserve to win.”
“And if I were to consider this arrangement,” Darcy said stiffly, “what would happen if I should fail?”
No, Elizabeth thought. Don’t consider it.
But even as she mentally urged him to refuse, a part of her she didn’t want to admit to found the prospect fascinating.
Could the proud Mr. Darcy—the man who found her merely tolerable—actually attempt this?
She told herself it was absurd. It was also, she discovered, not entirely unwelcome—not because she harbored any feelings for the man, but because the drama promised to relieve the tedium of another Season spent in Hertfordshire while her friends enjoyed London.
“If you fail, you acknowledge publicly that the original wager was fair and honorable, waive all future claims, and—this is my favorite part—you agree to serve as my acknowledged best friend and constant companion for one full London Season.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. The penalty wasn’t financial.
It was a direct assault on Darcy’s most prized possession: his pride.
The thought of the aloof Mr. Darcy forced to escort her sardonic father around London, laughing at his jokes, attending him at clubs—it was both cruel and brilliant.
For a man like Darcy, such humiliation would be worse than losing twice the money.
“You have no idea what you’re asking.” Darcy’s voice cracked, revealing a raw wound beneath his controlled exterior.
“Is it such a chore to court one or more of my daughters?” Her father’s tone was laced with cruelty. “Unless, of course, you’re concerned you CANNOT win a woman’s genuine affection? Is that the issue?”
This was a direct taunt. A long silence followed, during which she could almost hear Darcy struggling with the challenge.
“How do you define genuine affection?” he finally asked.
“Oh, you’ll know. So will I. So will she.” Her father’s tone turned thoughtful. “No woman accepts a proposal from a man she truly loves in the same way she’d accept a business arrangement. There’s a difference in her eyes, her voice, and her eagerness.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Her father was insane. How could anyone possibly quantify genuine affection? It was subjective, impossible to measure—which, she realized, was precisely the point. The ambiguity gave her father complete control.
“And if I choose to attempt this, which daughter would you suggest?”
Her father laughed outright. “Good Lord, I’m not going to tell you! That’s part of the test, isn’t it? Choose the one you think you can win. Or try them all and see who responds. But you’ve got sixty days, Mr. Darcy. Choose wisely. Some of my daughters are considerably more discerning than others.”
Elizabeth’s face burned. He was talking about her. Had to be.
Would Darcy choose her? The thought sent an unexpected thrill through her body that she immediately tried to suppress.
Ridiculous. She was the last woman he would select—the one he had already deemed merely tolerable.
The one who had overheard his insult and made no secret of her disdain since.
She would be the most difficult choice, the least likely to yield success.
And if he should be foolish enough to try… she could be convinced to put him through a test more brutal than what her father could ever mete.
A part of her she didn’t want to admit to liked this very much. Too much.
“I accept.” Darcy’s voice cut through her speculation. “I’ll sign whatever document you require.”
“Excellent!” Her father sounded positively gleeful. “I’ll have my solicitor draw up the terms. You’ll want your own solicitor to review, naturally.”
“No. I’ll sign it now. Whatever you’ve prepared.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. No solicitor? No legal counsel? What madness had possessed him?
“I haven’t prepared anything yet, dear boy. Though I admire your eagerness to commit without legal counsel. Very trusting. Or very desperate.”
Paper rustled, followed by the scratch of a quill. Her father’s voice resumed, dictating terms with meticulous precision. Each clause elicited a stiff agreement from Darcy, his voice growing more resigned with each stipulation. Finally came the sound of a signature being affixed to paper.
“There we are! Witnessed and binding.” Her father’s satisfaction was almost indecent. “Welcome to your courtship, Mr. Darcy. Do try to be charming—my daughters are quite intelligent, you’ll need to work for it.”
End of Excerpt: To read more, go to Darcy’s Dowry Wager: Court All Five Bennet Sisters Romance