“My wager is on the last page,” Justin pointed out. “Likely the last one made.”
“And mine a few pages before that.” Justin had not seen his cousin enter. But of course. Justin nearly burst out laughing. His cousin knew him all too well.
“How do we know he isn’t lying?” the card player asked. “The debt requires proof.”
“Witness testimony from a local magistrate ought to be sufficient. I myself would testify but as one who stands to benefit, humbly defer to Mr. Bradley’s statements.” This from Dev.
“Send for this Mr. Bradley!” someone yelled out and a few of the younger bucks donned hats and made for the door. “And someone pour Lord Carlisle a drink!”
Cheers and groans of disappointment rang through the large parlor as glasses clinked and toasts were made. Likely, they had all anticipated having to wait until the next Season for any outcome.
A few studious-looking gentlemen sat down with pencils and began tallying the totals. Soon enough, they’d discover the bet Justin had placed in the wee hours of the morning.
“To love.” Dev lifted his glass. Laughter rang out, but Justin raised his own tumbler along with Mr. Nottingham, Lord Blakely, and a few others nearby. Before he could echo his cousin’s toast, murmurs went up around him, and the clinking of glasses echoed off the walls.
“To love,” Justin agreed before sending the spirits burning down his gullet.
Love.
His heart raced at the thought. From here, he would go to Prescott House, clean up, and then return to Mrs. Mossant’s home to make his official offer.
He’d taken a risk. He’d exposed her to ridicule and dishonored her immeasurably.
He hoped that was enough.
“Where is he?” Rhoda peered out her window to the street below for the ten thousandth time that afternoon. She’d long since bathed, donned one of her favorite gowns, and had Lucy fix her hair into an attractive style.
Three times.
At first, it had seemed too austere, pulled tightly at her nape. The second time, Lucy had added too many curls. Rhoda had insisted she brush it out and now it was casually piled atop her head with a few loose curls falling to her shoulders.
Likely, the curls would straighten by the time he arrived.
Rhoda wrung her hands in front of her.
The sun was already setting. She wished Prescott was still here. Then she could inquire as to whether he was certain Justin had said he’d be, in fact, returning today and not some other day later this week.
Where was he?
She turned away from the window to stare at herself in the mirror again.
If he didn’t come, she would be devastated. Her heart would be broken. Yes, all of that.
But she would go on living. She was no longer afraid of the woman that she was.
A smile crept across her lips as she stared at her own image. He would return though. They would marry.
She would thrive.
“Lord Carlisle is here to see you.” Her mother had peered inside the door without knocking. “Do you wish to make him wait?”
Of course, her mother would ask her that.
“He’s waited long enough, I think.” She pinched her cheeks and then inspected her hair once again. “I shall be right down.”
The door had been left open, allowing Rhoda to stare at him unobserved before entering.
He was pacing the floor, dressed differently than he had been earlier in the day. Occasionally, he ran a hand through his thick blond hair.
