Page 6 of Rules for a Wicked Wager

All those thoughts flashed through her mind in a moment of longing. She tucked them away quickly, then sat down, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “Such a delight to see you this afternoon,” she said, praying it would be true.

“You’re looking lovely today,” Mr. Camden said, “if a bit windswept. The spring wind is terribly chafing. Did your bonnet suffer a mishap?”

By which he meant she was flushed and untidy. Fortunately, she was saved from making an apology by Lady Eleanor.

“We heard about the wager.”

“Already?” The word was out before Mari could stop it.

“Of course,” Mr. Camden snapped. “Not even lightning runs faster than gossip.”

Something not literally true, obviously, but she was feeling too guilty to quibble. “The Ladies Jersey and Castlereigh, and even Lady Cowper, have declared it proper.”

“Proper!” Mr. Camden said as he shoved to his feet. “I heard about it from Mama, who heard it from her maid. Her servants are all aghast.”

It had only taken an hour and a half to get from Hyde Park to the servants. That must be some sort of record.

“I tried to stop it,” she said. “I truly did.”

“But it got away from you,” Lady Eleanor said sympathetically. “These things take on a life of their own.”

Mr. Camden’s voice was disapproving. “But these things don’t happen on their own. Something started it.”

“Lord Whitly started it,” Mari grumped, though she knew that wasn’t precisely correct. He’d started it six years ago. Today’s event, however, was created by her own unruly tongue. “It won’t be anything more than a two-day wonder.” It was a false hope, and everyone knew it.

“It is the wonder of the Season,” Mr. Camden said. “Betting on a bird. I thought you had more sense.”

“So did I, truth be told,” she said wearily.

Mr. Camden sighed as he returned to his seat, his expression doleful. “I thought we were coming to an understanding, you and I. I had hoped to make our connection stronger in due course.”

“Yes,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone modestly sweet. “That is my hope as well.”

“But this kind of behavior makes a man wonder if he will be the butt of gossip for the rest of his life.”

Mari felt her hands clench, and since she couldn’t very well grab her skirts and make telltale wrinkles, she untangled her fingers and allowed her hands to fall to her sides, where she clutched the seat of her chair. The hard wood cut painfully into her palms, as she silently repeated the mantra she’d begun six years ago. All Whitly’s fault. All Whitly’s fault.

Thankfully, Lady Eleanor came to her rescue. Thank God, because Mari wasn’t sure what the proper response was to a situation like this. Did she collapse into vapors? Start crying like an imbecile? Or sit there while everyone chastised her?

“Well, Mr. Camden,” Eleanor said, “I certainly see that you are in a difficult position.”

“Too right—”

“But it’s not irredeemable. Any attention can be turned to the good with a skillful hand.”

Thank God Eleanor was on her side. “But how?”

“That is not something to discuss in mixed company.” Lady Eleanor rose to her feet, forcing Mr. Camden to stand as well. “Pray give it some time, Mr. Camden. You’ll be surprised what a little notoriety can do for a woman.”

Mari feared that he would argue the point. It was clear he wanted to. But eventually his intelligence won out. He exhaled in resignation and then nodded.

“People say the Exchange is difficult to understand, and yet it follows understandable rules. I find Society much more confusing.”

“As do we all, Mr. Camden,” Lady Eleanor said. Then she waited with her hands folded as he took his leave.

Mari waited until she heard the front door close before turning to Lady Eleanor. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say at times like these. He’s furious, and rightly so.”

Eleanor settled back onto her seat, her skirt perfectly smooth, her expression serene. “That is what your father paid me to do. I am here to smooth the way for you this Season—”