It hurt his heart to think he might have said nothing to Ailis, never admitted his love, and allowed her to slip away. He might have been that stupid to deny his beautiful wife the happiness she deserved, a happiness they both deserved.
That betting book had set it all in motion, although he did not think anyone could have predicted the snowfall that trapped Ailis in his home after she was injured. Would the outcome have been different if she had not fallen in the snow?
Shaking off the thought, he strode toward his friends and was met with their baboon grins. “Do not say a word,” he warned, decidedly loath to receive an “I told you so” from any of them.
“Married life suits you, Ramsdale,” Bromleigh said, motioning him to the fourth chair that was empty and awaiting him.
“I was certain you would marry,” Lynton added, giving Jonas a pat on the back.
Camborne laughed. “We all bet on yer falling in love and marrying. I knew that if I could reform and become a faithful, satisfied husband, then anyone could. Yer brother claims Ailis is a treasure, and that ye were fated to love her the moment ye set eyes on her…even if it took ye years to acknowledge the obvious truth. She must be something extraordinary to pierce that thick wall around yer heart. We cannot wait to meet her.”
But they first settled into the fine leather seats and shared a bottle of scotch.
“Here’s to the women who put up with us,” Camborne said, “and make us better men.”
They all toasted to that.
“Is it true you all wagered I would marry?” Jonas asked, gazing into the amber liquid in his glass as he nursed his scotch.
“Yes,” Lynton said. “But only your brother managed to guess the name of the young lady you would choose. He raked in a fortune with that bet. The odds were on Lady Viola Carstairs. But Pomeroy’s got her now.”
“Poor fellow,” Camborne muttered.
“And Whitcomb is betrothed to Lady Willa Montroy,” Bromleigh added. “Another poor chap to be mourned, for I don’t think the wealth she brings to the marriage is worth giving up one’s soul.”
Lynton shrugged. “Easy enough for us to opine. We weren’t facing ruined estates, and had the luxury of marrying for love.”
“Speaking of marriage,” Jonas muttered, addressing Bromleigh, “I understand your cousin, Lady Fiona Shoreham, has decided to remarry.”
Bromleigh groaned. “Yes, and the gossip rags have splashed the news all over their front pages. This is a disaster in the making.”
Jonas took a sip of his scotch. “How so?”
“Now that her best friend has married me,” Bromleigh said, referring to his wife, Cherish, “Fiona is determined to find her own happiness.”
“Well,” Lynton said, clearing his throat, “she is a widow and has duly mourned her husband. No one can fault her for her loyalty and devotion to Shoreham. You do not seem pleased by her decision, Bromleigh.”
“I am pleased, but I’m not sure she is going to make the right choice. My nephew and I intend to keep close watch on her, for Fiona can be a keg of gunpowder. There’s no telling what might happen now that she has declared herself back on the Marriage Mart. Lord Durham has also assured me he will keep close watch over her.”
“Durham?” Jonas arched an eyebrow. “Why is he offering? Is he interested in Lady Shoreham?”
Bromleigh nodded. “But she won’t have him. He’s too young for her, she claims.”
“Fiona needs a younger man to keep up with her,” Camborne said with a laugh. “She’ll put an older man in his grave. Durham has a steady hand and even temperament. But he isn’t one to be pushed around, even though he appears to be an easygoing fellow.”
“Are you placing your wagers on Durham, then?” Jonas asked.
Lynton grinned. “We all know that whelp wants Fiona, but will she have him? That’s the big question. What do you say, Ramsdale? Are you in?”
“You are bringing me into your schemes?” Jonas asked.
“No schemes, just a wager,” Lynton remarked, as though stating the obvious. “I say we open a betting book on Durham. Does he marry or not? More to the point, does he capture the heart of the fair Fiona or will she crush him to sand?”
Jonas sighed. “Is this the same conversation you had when setting up the betting book on me?”
“Any complaints?” Camborne asked.
“I suppose not, but you are having far too much enjoyment playing this game.”
