Chapter 31
Lottie Tolliver went through the whole of Sunday without uttering so much as a syllable.
Her mother was gratified beyond measure, and the Duke of Morleigh scarcely marked it, being too busy glowering at everyone equally, but her father—dear, fussy, eccentric Papa—fidgeted with his spectacles, peered at her over his newspaper, and at last ventured to ask whether she was feverish.
“I am not ill,” she said crisply.
“Then why this vow of silence?” he pressed, lowering his paper. “It is unnatural, my girl. Your mama may rejoice in it, but I find it positively sinister, A Tolliver girl quiet is a Tolliver girl plotting.”
“Plotting?”
“Oh yes—something is afoot! What is it, my dear? Cards? Dice? An elopement plan involving a hot-air balloon? If so, you must let me know at once. I should like to place a wager on the wind direction.”
“Do stop being ridiculous, Papa.”
“Ridiculous?” He widened his eyes. “My dear girl, it is my singular talent. But—ah!—I spy the truth. It is about that fellow, is it not? Deverell.”
At his name, her jaw clenched. “I should sooner swallow the billiard balls than endure his company again.”
Lord Tolliver’s blinked, then chuckled into his cravat. “Have you quarrelled with him, my dear?”
“Quarrelling would imply I care for the man. I do not.”
Her father looked at her gravely, then steepled his fingers in a manner so absurdly solemn that Lottie might have laughed had she been in a laughing humour. “Charlotte Anne,” he said, “I hope you know that men are fools.”
“I have gathered as much.”
“If this Deverell has done something to vex you, it is almost certain he believes he was being admirable. We rather excel at that, blundering with confidence. I myself proposed to your mother thinking only of her dimples. Thank Heaven she accepted. Imagine where I should be if she had not. Alone. Entirely without dimples. Forced to dine with my sister Belinda for eternity.”
Lottie arched her brows. “Pray, who spoke of proposals, Papa?”
“Did you not? No? Ah. Well, perhaps not aloud. But it is writ upon your brow, my girl, as plain as the morning sun.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Consider Deverell’s dimples, and you may change your mind.”
“Dimples are no substitute for sense, Papa. A man may smile like a cherub and behave like a complete donkey.”
“Undoubtedly true,” Lord Tolliver agreed cheerfully, “but donkeys make very steady companions. What more could a young lady desire?”
“A musket,” Lottie said, rising with sudden energy. “So that I might put him out of his misery and be done with it.”
Her father only chuckled. “Nonsense. My dear Charlotte, it is not death you want for the fellow, but only to best him at his own game! That is what galls you! Not that he presumes to chain you, but that he imagines himself strong enough to do so.”
“He shall find the chain snaps quite easily, Papa.”
“Precisely!” cried Lord Tolliver, thumping his armchair with satisfaction.
“A true Tolliver woman does not submit tamely to the halter, nor even the matrimonial knot if she chooses otherwise! Your mother made me chase her round half of London before she would agree to marry me, and I count myself the luckier man for it.”
“You are determined to turn every misfortune into a compliment to Mama.”
“Of course. It is the first rule of survival in matrimony.” His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.
“But you, my girl, are not your mother, and I should never wish you to be. If you will not be led, then you must lead. Outwit him. Confound him. Make him bow to your terms. In that way, you remain mistress of yourself, and if the fellow has wit enough to admire it, so much the better.”
Lottie gave a scornful laugh. “If he admires me any more, I shall expire of irritation.”
“Then turn that admiration into defeat,” her father advised. “There is nothing so wholesome for a man as to be made to look a fool by the woman he esteems. I speak with considerable experience.”
So it was that Charlotte Tolliver determined that very evening to challenge Jasper Deverell to billiards, for the express purpose of making him appear a simpleton.
Lady Malverne’s billiards room was already lively when Lottie entered, a knot of gentlemen gathered about the table while a few ladies observed from the sidelines.
Once the domain of brandy, smoke, and self-congratulation, the billiards room now admitted ladies—in fashionable houses at least—provided they played prettily and did not strike the balls with undue violence.
Lottie, naturally, intended to strike with all the violence she possessed.
Her fury had only risen throughout the day. That Mr Deverell should suppose—merely because she had ridden him with gusto—that she must therefore belong to him, was intolerable! As though her person were a field he had tilled and now claimed by right of labour.
Jasper Deverell was within the billiards room, as he had been each night, his cue angled carelessly across his shoulders in the very picture of masculine smugness.
His smile dimmed the instant he saw her. Perfect.
“Gentlemen,” Lottie declared, stepping within, “what a solemn company you make. Must billiards always be such a serious affair?”
There was laughter, and heads turned. A few of the ladies hid their smiles behind their fans; the gentlemen looked amused to have the entertainment improved by so flirtatious an arrival.
Jasper, however, straightened at once. “Miss Tolliver, you have descended upon us like a thunderbolt. Should I fear for my cue?”
Beside him, the duke’s cousin, Lord Gainsford gave a hearty laugh. “Fear for your pride, rather! Miss Tolliver has the look of a conqueror about her.”
Lottie smiled. “A conqueror indeed. I propose a wager.”
A hum of interest ran round the room.
“A wager? And who is your victim, Miss Tolliver?” Gainsford teased.
She let her gaze travel lazily over the gentlemen, then alight on Jasper. “Why, who better than the house’s reigning champion?”
Jasper’s fingers tightened upon the cue, though his expression betrayed nothing but amusement. “Reigning champion? I was not aware I bore so lofty a title. But if Miss Tolliver insists upon it, I shall be obliged to defend it.”
“Excellent. Then hear my terms. If I win, Mr Deverell must confess before this company that ladies are not creatures to be commanded or claimed, but may do precisely as we please. He shall never take a wife – for clearly no lady in her senses would submit to him.
She smiled brightly at Jasper. Oh, he knew now what game she played—their true wager was already struck, and the loser must forfeit to the others will—yet how exquisitely humiliating it would be to set a second wager before an audience, one that mocked his absurd presumption of the night before.
The room stirred, delighted.
“And if I win?” Jasper asked softly.
Lottie turned to face the guests. “And if Mr Deverell should win—why, then I grant him leave to boast until his voice gives out, and to take as many wives as he fancies, provided they can endure him.”
The room burst into murmurs and laughter; several gentlemen cried hear, hear!
Gainsford laughed. “Cruel terms, Deverell. She means to deprive you of marriage and leave you only vanity.”
“Never take a wife?” Jasper said, dimples deepening for the benefit of the room. “Miss Tolliver, you would doom me to bachelorhood for the crime of daring to play against you? I had thought you more merciful.”
“Mercy is not my style.”
The room tittered with laughter, and even the duke, chalking his cue, gave a faint smile. “Perhaps Miss Tolliver is only sparing some unfortunate lady the burden of being yoked to you, Deverell.”
Lottie’s smile flashed brighter. “Precisely so, Your Grace. You see, I am doing England a service.”
Jasper’s gaze remained steady on hers, dimples deepening. “Then I can only hope Miss Tolliver does not play too precisely—else all of England will mourn the wives denied me.”
The company roared, quite delighted by the exchange, and though Jasper smiled, his eyes told a different story: You may jest, but I asked in earnest. Do you truly mean to refuse me before them all?
Lottie tilted her chin, her cue tapping lightly against the floor. “Play well, sir,” she said sweetly. “For I do not intend to let you win.”