Free A Wedding Wager by Jane Feather Page A

dreadful moments of her betrayal three years earlier, he thought he must have imagined the Serena he had loved with such passion. What he had said that morning was true: “I don’t know you … I don’t know you at all.” The cold cipher who haddismissed him with such hard, emotionless words was a stranger to him. It was as if some malign spirit had occupied Serena’s loveliness. And judging by these cold instructions on the smooth vellum, nothing had changed.
    He scrunched the paper and threw it into the fire, then poured himself a glass of madeira, staring into the fire, one arm resting along the mantel.
    “In the doldrums, Seb?”
    He looked up as Perry came into the parlor, buckskin breeches and boots dusty with the fine sand of the riding path in Hyde Park. “No, why should you think so?”
    “Because you only ever stare into the fire like that when you’re hipped,” his twin observed, tossing his riding whip onto a table. “What’s amiss?” He poured himself madeira.
    “Nothing of any moment. D’you have plans for the evening?”
    “Nothing that couldn’t be changed.” Perry’s gaze sharpened. “Serena?” he hazarded.
    Sebastian gave a short laugh and left the fireplace. “The very same. I ran into her this afternoon in the strangest circumstances.” He described the events of the afternoon to his brother, who listened attentively from deep in an upholstered armchair to the right of the fire. “I assume she came across the family in Brussels; the little Abigail was full of their travels. Not much impressed by them, either, I gather.” He smiled rather more cheerfully and brought the decanter over to refill their glasses.“A lively little innocent but not much to her. Father was a decent man … good, honest folk, I think would describe the family.”
    “In trade?” Perry sipped madeira.
    “Indubitably. Not quite sure of the details, but in the Potteries, I gather. Wedgwood was mentioned as a neighbor.”
    “Doesn’t sound as if they’ll receive vouchers for Almack’s,” Perry observed. “I’m not sure the Wedgwoods, for all their fine work, are quite acceptable Society.”
    “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t decent people,” his twin retorted.
    Perry held up a hand in disclaimer. “Did I say they weren’t?”
    “No, you didn’t,” Sebastian conceded. “But you’re right, brother dear, as so often. I doubt I’ll be seeing anything more of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton and the sweetly pretty Abigail.” He returned the decanter to the sideboard. “What d’you say to a mutton chop at Whites this evening? Followed by a hand or two of whist. There’s always someone there willing to make up a four.”
    Perry shrugged easily. For all his brother’s careless demeanor, he could tell Seb needed company and distraction, and he was more than willing to provide both. “If that’s what you have in mind, it’ll suit me. I have no firm engagements this evening.” He stood up and stretched before going to the door. “I’ll go and change.”

    In the house on Bruton Street, Mrs. Sutton was having one of her earnest conversations with her husband, who, in her opinion, did not fully grasp the vital importance of the right kind of social contacts. “I wonder if we could invite Mr. Sullivan to a small gathering, nothing as formal as a dinner—”
    “Good God, woman, is there anything wrong with our table? I’ll lay odds that Mr. Sullivan, whatever his breeding, has not eaten any better at any of the noblest tables in the land,” her husband expostulated. “My cellars are as good as any, and a great deal better than most, and you, my dear, are a first-rate housekeeper.”
    “Yes … yes, William, of course.” His lady made haste to soothe him before the issue became too much of an irritant. “Of course, we can put on as fine a dinner as can be found outside the royal palaces … but I wonder only whether we can summon the kind of company the Honorable Sebastian would find