A Wager to Win the Debutante
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Eva Shepherd
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All bets are off in this lively Victorian romance full of spice and wit! May the best gentleman win… A debutante? Wealthy rail baron Thomas Hayward needs a duke's land to expand his empire, but the oaf insists on a ridiculous wager: they'll both woo debutante Miss Grace Lowerby, and if she chooses the duke — which she surely will — Thomas gets the land at a cheaper price. He can't lose… To save her family, Grace must marry the duke. And yet in dashing Thomas she's found a man she can finally be herself with. But focusing on her goal is paramount…until she discovers the wager and — annoyingly! — that it's Thomas she's falling for!
Chapter One
Like most little girls, as a child Grace Lowerby loved fairy tales. When her nanny had read her those enchanting stories, she would disappear into a fantasy world, one where she was swept into the arms of a handsome prince and danced the night away at a magical ball. She would picture him pledging his undying love and taking her away from harsh reality. With him by her side, no one would ever criticise her again and her grandmother would finally find it in her heart to truly love her only grandchild and everything would be right with the world.
Once she was old enough to read for herself, she did not stop indulging in her love of fairy tales, or imagining herself as a princess, loved by all for her beauty and majestic elegance. It was The Princess and the Pea that most captured her imagination. She simply adored the story of the ordinary girl who was revealed to be a princess. One day she, too, would be transformed. The world would no longer see her as the daughter of a woman who had shamed her family by marrying a man beneath her, but as a beautiful princess worthy of admiration.
When she reached the age of eighteen and was presented to Queen Victoria, along with all the other debutantes, she was certain her fairy tale was about to become a reality. She was not a child any more and was no longer so silly as to think she actually was a princess, or that she would marry a prince. Such things did not happen in real life, but she was certain she would have her dream Season and had her heart set on marrying a handsome duke and making her grandmother proud.
And she knew exactly which duke would be her husband: Algernon Huntingdon-Smythe, the Duke of Hardgraves. He was by far the most eligible man available and, despite never having met the Duke, she knew for certain that by the end of the Season they would be man and wife.
In preparation for finding the best possible husband, her grandmother had described every eligible man, their background, their interests, their achievements and admirable features. This was to ensure she could engage in captivating conversation sprinkled with fitting compliments sure to pique their interest.
Of all the men discussed it was the Duke of Hardgraves who had the highest number of achievements and the longest list of admirable features. He was noble, from an illustrious family noted for its chivalry. In other words, he was perfect in every way.
The arrival of an invitation to attend the Duke’s ball, the very first ball of the Season, hosted at his Kensington address was all the proof she needed that she was about to embark on an enchanted Season.
Every time she looked at the crisp white invitation emblazoned in gold with the Duke’s crest, excitement fluttered through her. She saw it as a private message from the Duke to herself, telling her that he, too, was waiting for their romance to begin.
On the night of the ball, as she stood in front of her grandmother dressed in her flowing ivory silk gown embroidered with tiny pink roses, her nervous anticipation grew with each passing minute. She placed her hand on her chest and stomach to try to calm her pounding heart and rolling stomach.
‘Stand up straight, for goodness’ sake,’ her grandmother commanded, eyeing her up and down. ‘And turn around slowly so I can see how you look from every angle.’
Grace moved in a slow circle, loving the feel of the cool, soft fabric draped against her legs and the way it caught the light and appeared to shimmer as she moved. She really did feel every inch like a princess ready to meet her prince, or, to be more accurate, a future duchess ready to meet her handsome duke.
‘Yes, you are certainly pretty enough,’ her grandmother said, more as a statement of fact than a compliment.
The fluttering of her heart increased. Her grandmother had never called her pretty before. She never made idle compliments. In fact, Grace had never received a compliment from her before, so it must be true. She was pretty.
‘Stop that twirling and listen to me.’
Grace did as she was told, delighted by the way the long silky train of her gown continued to elegantly swirl around her feet after she had come to a halt.
‘Tonight, you must remember at all times that you are descended from a noble family. Your grandfather was an earl. I am a countess. You can trace your family back to the time of Queen Anne when she created the first Earl of Ashbridge.’
‘Yes, Grandmama,’ Grace responded in answer to the familiar speech.
‘You must forget all about the shame your mother brought on this family.’
Grace could say it would be easier to forget about it if her grandmother did not keep reminding her, but she would never question anything her grandmother said. To even think of doing such a thing merely showed what an ungrateful child she was, one who should know better.
‘Yes, Grandmama,’ she said instead.
‘Now you have the opportunity to redeem the family name and make a good marriage.’
‘Yes, Grandmama,’ she repeated as the speech continued in its usual vein. ‘That is what I hope to do.’
‘Hmm,’ her grandmother said, which was as close as she ever came to approving anything Grace did or said.
‘I intend to marry the Duke of Hardgraves.’ Grace’s heart seemingly jumped into her mouth. It was the first time she had expressed this ambition out loud and she waited in dread for her grandmother’s response.
Her grandmother’s eyes grew wide in surprise, causing Grace’s heart to thump louder. Then she narrowed them in thought.
‘A duke in the family,’ her grandmother mused, tapping her chin with her forefinger. She lowered her finger and smiled. A rare event, one that caused Grace to smile in response.
‘And why not? Our family is as esteemed as any that will be present tonight, more so than many. You are a pretty little thing and your dowry is certainly generous, very generous indeed.’ She nodded her head, looking Grace up and down as if weighing up her ability to perform this task.
‘You have to marry a titled man, so why not reach for the highest position available? Yes, I believe, if you do everything right, there is no reason why you can’t marry a duke.’
Grace’s heart soared with pleasure at her grandmother’s approval. This had to be a good sign that all her dreams were about to come true.
‘Remember all you have been taught. At all times your focus must be entirely on the Duke as if he is the most fascinating man in the room, which of course he will be. Smile at him, laugh at anything amusing he says, but not too loudly.’ She frowned at Grace in admonition as if she had already broken that rule.
‘No, Grandmama,’ she said, expressing her shock that she would ever do something so gauche.
‘You will have to make a good impression immediately and stand out from the other debutantes, so join his circle as soon as we are introduced. And the moment you do get his attention, all your conversation must be about him. Ask him questions about himself, especially ones that allow him to show himself off in the best light. Compliment him when appropriate and, if he asks you about yourself, keep your answers brief and your eyes lowered, so he can see you will be an obedient and compliant wife.’
‘Yes, Grandmama,’ she said, lowering her eyes in the appropriate manner.
‘Good.’
Her grandmother performed one last inspection, handed Grace her fan and they briskly left the house, climbed into the carriage and set off across London to the Duke’s home.
Grace was rarely allowed out in the evenings, it being inappropriate for a young lady to do so before her coming out, and she so wanted to see all the sights that were unfolding before her. But she saw little of the bustling London streets outside the carriage window. She was too consumed with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.
This was it. Just like Cinderella, she was off to the ball and tonight was the night her life would change for ever.
Their carriage joined the throng lining up to drop off the guests outside the Duke’s elegant, three-storey townhouse, which shone out like a beacon in the tree-lined street. Warm yellow lights glowed at every window, music flowed out through the open doors and already a large crowd of elegantly dressed men and women were making their way up the steps, laid with a deep red carpet to protect the ladies’ evening slippers.
Grace’s hand moved to her heart to calm its jittering, and she smiled at the magical sight.
‘Didn’t you hear a word I just said?’ her grandmother snapped.
Grace immediately focused on her scowling grandmother. She was right. Grace had not been listening. That was so remiss of her.
‘Stop smiling like that. A lady does not show her teeth when she smiles. It makes her look like a horse.’
Grace’s beaming smile disappeared. ‘Sorry, Grandmama,’ she said and adopted the correct demure smile.
‘That’s better,’ she said, eyeing Grace carefully. ‘You won’t disgrace me tonight, will you?’
‘No, Grandmama. Of course not.’
‘I hope you realise that good looks alone are not enough. Your mother was also pretty and could have had the pick of any man. But she was disobedient and stubborn. She threw all her advantages away and ruined everything. You won’t be like that, will you?’
‘No, of course not, Grandmama.’ Grace was shocked her grandmother thought she even needed to ask such a thing.
‘Your mother married beneath her. You won’t do that, will you?’
She shook her head, then smiled slightly. ‘I will make you proud of me, Grandmama, and become a duchess.’
‘Good girl.’ She smiled, and warmth radiated through Grace at the unfamiliar sign of approval.
‘It’s such a shame your dear grandfather won’t be here to see it,’ she said, touching the edge of her eye to wipe away a non-existent tear. ‘Your mother’s disobedience broke the Earl’s heart, but you will be the one to make things right.’
‘Yes, Grandmama,’ Grace repeated.
The slow-moving carriage came to a halt directly outside the Duke’s home and the footman opened the door.
‘Right, chin up, shoulders back,’ her grandmother commanded.
Grace assumed the correct posture, took the footman’s hand, stepped down from the carriage and, keeping her head high, walked up the path and into the Duke’s home.
They made their way to the crowded ballroom and paused at the top of the stairs while they waited to be announced. Grace smiled with genuine joy and, despite her excitement, ensured her smile remained the requisite level of demure.
The ballroom was even more magnificent than she had imagined. The row of silver chandeliers suspended from the high, gilded ceiling were all adorned with countless candles that sent shimmering light over the room. Ferns and enormous bouquets of flowers lined the walls, providing a delightful floral scent, and the music from the orchestra seated on the minstrel gallery above the dance floor filled the air.
Her gaze moved to the fashionably attired guests circulating the room and her smile died. This was something she had chosen not to think about. When she was presented to the Queen at Kensington Palace, there had been many other attractive girls present. She should have realised they, too, would be attending the same balls as her. The room appeared packed with young ladies, many of whom were much prettier than Grace. They were all dressed in beautiful gowns equally as elegant as Grace’s and, she had to admit, they all appeared much more confident than she ever could.
‘Chin up,’ her grandmother snapped out the corner of her mouth, while still smiling politely.
Grace immediately lifted her chin and adopted her own polite smile.
The steward announced them. Controlling her nerves as best she could, Grace walked down the marble stairs, in what she hoped could be described as an elegant and sweeping manner. The Duke was waiting at the bottom, and Grace found it all but impossible to look into the eyes of the man she was to marry.
With as much composure as she could muster, she performed a low curtsy and, summoning up every ounce of courage she possessed, she willed her eyes to rise and meet his, desperate to see how he would react to the sight of his future bride.
His gaze moved slowly up and down her, an assessing expression on his face, one she had often seen on the face of the family’s estate steward when he was considering the purchase of livestock. Then, to Grace’s horror, he looked away at the next young lady lined up.
Something was very wrong. This was not how their first meeting should go.
Why hadn’t there been an immediate spark of recognition between them? Why hadn’t he looked at her with interest, affection and even dawning love? And why hadn’t her heart taken flight at the first sight of the man she was to wed?
Had she been dismissed as unworthy before the night had barely begun? That could not be.
Her grandmother took her arm and led her away.
‘That did not go as well as expected,’ she whispered discreetly so only Grace could hear. ‘But you’ve been introduced now. All you have to do is get his attention so that he asks you to dance.’
Grace’s forced smile quivered. It was wonderful her grandmother still had such faith in her, but after that first meeting Grace suspected it was misplaced.
The attraction between them was supposed to be immediate, just like in the fairy tales. It shouldn’t be something Grace had to orchestrate.
How on earth was she expected to attract the Duke’s attention? How was she to get him to ask her to dance? And how was she to become his fairy-tale bride if she couldn’t hold his attention even during their introduction?
For the first time since she had decided she was going to marry the Duke, she wondered about the wisdom of her plan.
Thomas Hayward avoided society balls like the plague. When he did attend, it was always under sufferance. And attending a ball hosted by Algernon Huntingdon-Smythe, the Duke of Hardgraves, caused him to suffer even more than usual. There was only one thing that would drag Thomas to the Duke’s home and find him standing at the edge of the dance floor, stifling a yawn.
It wasn’t for the debutantes, all lined up in their pastel colours, like pretty unpicked flowers. It certainly wasn’t for the conversation, which made a wet weekend with his maiden aunts seem amusing and scintillating in comparison. And it wasn’t to mix with the aristocracy. He’d experienced enough of his so-called betters at the prestigious and ridiculously expensive school his father had enrolled him in to last him a lifetime.
No, he was here for one reason only, to get the Duke of Hardgraves to sign the documents he’d had in his possession for over a month now and surrender large tracts of his Cornwall estate over to Thomas’s family firm.
He shook his head in disbelief as he watched the Duke, surrounded by those pretty, pastel debutantes and their equally ambitious mamas. They were drawn to the unmarried Duke like proverbial moths to a flame. If they could see the state of his finances, Thomas wondered if they’d still be as enamoured by the imbecile.
Probably, Thomas admitted with despondency. He’d learnt the hard way at school that a title counts for more than intelligence, skill, wit, or any other quality one could name, and was certainly more important than something as uncouth as a healthy bank balance.
He pulled his fob watch out of his jacket pocket and flicked open the cover. It was still only ten o’clock. It was painfully obvious what the Duke was doing. He was hoping to make Thomas suffer, just as he had attempted to do at school. Nothing gave the Duke more pleasure than to put the son of a wealthy industrialist in his place. The Duke had failed to do so at school, again and again, but apparently that did not stop him from continuing to try.
They had been rivals from the moment Thomas had arrived at boarding school, a sad and lonely seven-year-old missing his family dreadfully. On his first day, the Duke had tried to give Thomas, ‘that no-account upstart’, what the Duke called ‘a hiding he would never forget’.
Neither of them did forget that fight, but not for the reasons the Duke had expected. But that resounding defeat had taught the Duke nothing. Throughout their school years, he had continued in his fruitless quest to beat Thomas at games, at lessons, at everything, anything, something. And he never did learn that one simple lesson: being born an aristocrat was not enough. Winning took skill, skills that did not come automatically with a title.
Now he was prevaricating in another futile attempt to put the no-account upstart in his place. And once again the Duke would fail. Thomas knew the Duke’s precarious financial situation. He would have no choice but to sell the land and Thomas was offering more than a fair price.
He looked around the ballroom and wondered if anyone else had noticed the empty sconces missing precious artifacts or the gaps on the walls where paintings had once hung, all sold off to fund the Duke’s gambling and extravagant lifestyle. And if he continued to host lavish events such as tonight’s ball, his finances were going to become ever more perilous, particularly if he followed his usual course of action and retired to the card room as soon as possible, where he would undoubtably lose more of the money he didn’t have.
Thomas shook his head slowly in amazement at the folly of men such as Huntingdon-Smythe. They still thought they lived in a world that no longer existed. They had not adapted to the modern world and believed owning vast amounts of land and a large country home was enough to ensure you remained a wealthy man. Like their ancestors before them, they thought all they had to do was sit back and let the money created by other people’s labour roll in.
He took another look at his watch. This was becoming beyond tedious. He’d wait another half an hour, then the deal would be off. There was other land that would serve his needs, even if it was the Duke’s land he really wanted.
It perhaps did not make good business sense to offer so much more than the rival railway companies for the Duke’s land, but, after all the Duke had put him through at school, taking his land was going to give him so much satisfaction it was worth spending the extra pounds.
He released the yawn he’d been trying to suppress and looked around the room. The group of fluttering debutantes surrounding the Duke continued to grow, the band continued to play and time continued to slowly tick by.
He could, he supposed, pass some time dancing. There were certainly plenty of attractive females in the offing. But really, what would be the point? Despite the elegance of the ornate ballroom, despite the expensive gowns and the murmur of polite conversation, this was little more than an auction room, where everyone was attempting to get the best marriage offer available.
All those young women were in search of husbands and he was most certainly not in need of a wife, and, if he was, he would not find one among this privileged, self-entitled lot.
While several of the attractive young things had sent glances in his direction to express their interest, they had been quickly called to order by their ambitious mamas. They were after a man with a title for their daughters and that excluded him from the ranks of desirable husbands.
Only those whose families were desperate for money would be pushed in his direction and the last thing he wanted in a wife was a vacuous ninny who was prepared to lower herself by marrying a member of the nouveau riche to save an aristocratic family from the horror of having to earn a living.
He watched in sardonic amusement as yet another debutante attempted to join the coterie swirling around the Duke. From across the room an elderly woman was urging her on with the flicking of her hands and angry glares. As pretty as the debutante was, with her artfully styled blonde hair and big blue eyes, she looked far too sweet and uncertain to enter that particular fray.
The huddle of debutantes compacted closer together, like a rugger scrum around the ball, blocking in the Duke and preventing the newcomer access.
The poor thing looked so out of her depth. Despite his disdain for the aristocracy, Thomas couldn’t help but have pity for her. She flicked another look in the older woman’s direction, then lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and smiled coquettishly. It did her no good. She remained on the outskirts of the circle, blocked by an impenetrable row of silk and satin backs.
A small gap opened behind the Duke and the little blonde moved quickly to fill it. Thomas had to give the newcomer points for her fast movement. Like a good tactician she had seen a weakness in the opposing side and had not let that opportunity pass her by.
She was in, for all the good it was doing her. The Duke’s back was to her. She was all but invisible to her quarry. Thomas considered what her next move might be. Whatever she tried, it was not going to be easy. She was either going to have to somehow manoeuvre the entire pack of young ladies so they circled around the Duke, placing her in the front, or get the Duke to turn around. Both were tricky strategies requiring a level of dexterity he suspected was beyond this obvious novice.
Thomas once again glanced down at his watch and saw that the Duke’s time was up. He looked over at the trapped debutante and wished her every success with whatever ploy she chose. He did not particularly care if the Duke noticed her or not, but he was grateful that for a few moments she had provided him with some much-needed entertaining diversion.
The Duke looked up from his harem, but it was not Thomas who had caught his eye. The Earl of Sundervale was summoning the Duke from the other side of the ballroom and pointing towards the card room.
Thomas gritted his teeth. That did it. He would not wait a minute longer, not while the Duke gambled away what little money he still had with his cronies.
Not bothering to say a word of explanation to the twittering debutantes, the Duke turned and pushed his way out of the throng. In doing so, he somehow brushed up against the little debutante. Thomas heard her small squeal as she skittered on the highly polished parquet floor on her satin slippers.
Her hands flew up into the air, circling as if looking for something, anything to hold on to as she fought to steady herself. Thomas winced as she hit the floor with an unseemly thud, landing in a pile of lace and embroidered silk.
Oblivious to the mayhem, or not caring, the Duke strode off, while the throng of debutantes erupted into giggling, their mockery barely disguised by their fluttering fans.
It seemed upstarts such as himself were not the only ones who could be made victims of a pack of aristocrats after blood. When the opportunity arose, they’d also turn on their own.
Ignoring the retreating Duke, Thomas strode across the floor, placed himself between the fallen young lady and the giggling pack and offered his hand to the blushing debutante.
Her head remained lowered as she placed her hand in his.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her face so red he could almost feel the heat radiating off it as she rose to her feet.
Thomas rarely danced at society balls, but for this poor creature he would make an exception. He hated bullying, having experienced such cruelty at school, and it was something he would never countenance. He needed to get this young lady away from those mocking debutantes and try to redeem her dignity or they would make the rest of her Season a living hell.
‘If your dance card is not full, I would be honoured if you would grant me this waltz,’ he said, bowing his head as if her embarrassing fall had never happened.
The giggling halted, but the debutantes continued to stare at them over their fans, their looks gleeful, as if anticipating more entertainment.
She gave a small nod, not meeting his eye, and he led her away from the pack.
‘I thought you said her name was Grace Lowerby,’ he heard one debutante say. ‘More like Graceless Lower-Born,’ she added, causing giggling to erupt again.
‘Ignore them,’ he said. ‘Lift up your head and pretend nothing they are saying can possibly affect you.’
She gave a small gasp that sounded like a suppressed sob. He hoped and prayed she would not start crying. To do so would give those bullies their victory and only have them baying for more.
He placed his hand on her slim waist, lifted her limp hand and placed it on his shoulder, and looked over her still lowered head as he waited for the waltz to begin. From the far side of the room, he caught the eye of Algernon Huntingdon-Smythe, watching them with studied interest.
Thomas knew that look well. The Duke was nothing if not predictable. Like a spoilt child, for whom a toy only became interesting when another was playing with it, the Duke now wanted the young woman in his arms.
He pulled her in slightly tighter, wrapped his arm further around her waist, and smiled down at her as if she was all he desired in a woman. He had no doubt what would happen next. The Duke would pursue her, determined to have what he thought Thomas wanted. She would get her revenge on those merciless debutantes and there was nothing Thomas enjoyed more than getting the better of bullies.
