The Marriage Wager by Candace Camp Page A

brilliant marriage,” Francesca retorted. “Only an acceptable one.”
    “Ah, well, then.” Sir Lucien favored her with a smirk.
    “All right, I will admit that it may prove something of a difficulty. But that is precisely why it was so important that you showed her favor tonight,” Francesca went on, smiling at him. “It will take at least two weeks off the time to establish her since you have approved of her.”
    Her friend looked at her suspiciously. “What do you want from me?”
    “Lucien! As if I must want something from you to pay you a compliment.”
    He said nothing, merely waited, one brow raised.
    “Oh, very well. I thought you might accompany me to Redfields next week.”
    He looked pained. “To the country? Francesca, dear, you are the love of my heart, but to travel into the country?”
    “It’s in Kent, Lucien. It isn’t as if I am asking you to trek off to the wilds.”
    “No, but a house party? It’s bound to be dreadfully dull.”
    “No doubt it will be, since my parents are giving it. But that is why I particularly need you to go—so it will be more interesting.”
    “But why?”
    “Because I decided that this house party would be the perfect thing to introduce Constance to a number of eligible men. Because she has no fortune, I must make sure that several men have a chance to spend a goodly amount of time with her, and fall in love with her wit and her smile.”
    “I don’t know why you would need me for that. I would just be taking up space that could go to one of your bachelors.”
    “Because I need to get the bachelors to come. How many young gentlemen are going to want to attend if they think that they will be sitting around with Father and Lord Basingstoke and Admiral Thornton, drinking port and decrying the state of today’s youth? Or playing whist with the Dowager Duchess of Chudleigh?”
    “Good Gad, is she going to be there?”
    “She is my mother’s godmother, and I have never known her to miss it. So I need to reassure them that there will be someone livelier there. I think Dominic may attend. He seemed somewhat more amenable to it tonight.”
    “Then you don’t need me.”
    “I daren’t count on him. Even if he comes, there is nothing to say he and Father won’t have a row the first night, and Dom will ride back to London. Besides, it would be better to have more than one man who is interesting. Dom will provide good sport, and you will provide entertaining conversation.”
    “My dear Francesca, I suspect that your fair face and form will be more than enough to ensure that an adequate number of bachelors will be happy to attend,” Sir Lucien told her. “However, I will come, as well. It will provide some amusement, after all, to watch your machinations.”
    “I knew I could count on you.”
    “And what about your—I scarce know what to call him—your nemesis? Your friend?”
    Francesca looked puzzled.
    “The deliverer of your challenge,” Sir Lucien clarified. “Rochford.”
    “Oh.” Her expression cleared. “Him.” She shrugged. “I suppose he will drop by at least for the ball, if he is at home at Dancy Park,” she said, naming the Duke’s country house, one of many, which lay not far from the house in which she had grown up.
    “And do you expect him to try to thwart your efforts?”
    “Sinclair?” Francesca laughed. “I cannot imagine him bothering to attempt to influence events. He prefers to observe in a godlike manner as we petty mortals scurry around trying to direct our lives.”
    Sir Lucien raised his brows at the touch of bitterness in her tone. “Well, it appears as though he has descended from Mount Olympus for the moment, at least.”
    He nodded, and Francesca turned to look in the direction of his nod. The Duke of Rochford was moving toward them, his passage winding and desultory as he paused to speak to this person or that. But he looked up, and his eyes met Francesca’s, and she felt certain that she was his ultimate