Once Upon a Wager

By Cari Hislop

For Lord Finley, the London season is supposed to be about pleasure, but every season without fail, his pleasure is disturbed by the harpy, Miss Theodora Sheffield. For nine years the woman with moss-green eyes has turned every season into a battle of wits. This year, Finley is determined to avoid the woman, except he can’t seem to evict her from his thoughts, which makes him loathe her even more. He’s not tempted by perfect breasts or magical reddish-brown hair. He has no desire to wed a pleasant chit let alone one that makes his blood boil. Finley has no fear of the future until the rat-faced Lord Mulgrave wagers Finley one thousand pounds that before the end of the season Finley will wed Theodora. Accepting the wager in contempt, Finley underestimates Mulgrave’s desperation to win the wager. Lord Cupid doesn’t need a quiver of arrows; he has schemes aplenty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cari Hislop
• Release date: Aug 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370258536

Cari Hislop

I’m an American married to an adorable English Goblin who makes me laugh every day. I’m an artist with a degree in fashion design, but I’ve always been a story teller. Stories are everywhere; in every scent, every glimpse out of the corner of the eye. The most magical moments of my life have been born of ‘what if?’.I’ve been making up stories as long as I can remember, but I was ten before I 'wrote' my first story. It was a romance - the young girl’s parents are killed by a plane falling on their house so of course she moves to England. Don’t ask me where she got the money or the passport!I knew I wanted to grow up to be an author. All my artistic talents converge on my favorite subject: people. I find both individuals and general humanity endlessly fascinating.My genre: Regency romances (historical romances set in late Georgian England)Rated: PG13 (PG13 as in 1985)Style: Each of my stories tend to have their own humor depending on the character's personalities, but they always make me laugh. My plots are character driven and my stories evolve with the characters. Other than the hero and heroine somehow ending up together at the end, I never know what will really happen in the story until it happens.Note: After much deliberation I decided to use English spelling rather than American English spelling in my stories. This will sadly irritate some people, but the USA is the only country to use American spelling while the rest of the English speaking world uses English spelling.I don't think of my books as a series, but all my characters inhabit the same Regency Universe. Most of the main characters are either related or know of each other so my stories often intertwine.If you ever have any questions about my stories or would like to receive an e-mail to let you know I've finished a book please e-mail me at... [e-mail] Reading!Cari Hislop

Book preview

Chapter 1

Spring 1814, London.

A cool spring breeze, tainted with the stench of the Thames, swirled up Birdcage Walk and in through the lowered sash window of the sitting room of Jack Vaughn, third Viscount Finley. The foul-smelling breeze animated the moss-green curtains, caressing the ivory and moss-green striped wallpaper as it circled the two men seated in matching green leather armchairs and then disappeared up the chimney.

Lord Finley snapped his newspaper taut in irritation and glared at his brother, Robin, only ten months his junior.

‘You and your health fads! Why can’t we sit here with the windows closed?’

‘We’ve been sleeping in a closed box,’ said Robin, without looking up from his book. ‘We need air.’

‘No living creature needs to breathe air that stinks like a corpse swimming in a midden,’ said Finley. ‘Bloody stench! Why did I lease a house so close to the river?’

‘You wanted to be near St James’s Park so you could accidentally meet that opera singer…’

‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Finley. ‘I’m trying to forget I was once young and stupid.’

‘And now you’re old and wise at thirty?’ asked Robin, his lips twitching in amusement.

‘I’d suffer a blow to the head if it guaranteed I’d forget her vile breath,’ said Finley. ‘Ugh! Are you free this afternoon? I need a long gallop out of London.’

‘I promised to call on Lady Carolyn this afternoon,’ said Robin. ‘I need to show my face at least once a week to be considered husband material.’

‘I know you need to marry money, Robin, but she’s had more men than the Army. She’s a slut with a vile taste in wallpaper.’

Finley grimaced as he recalled his last visit to the wealthy widow’s home.

‘I once had the misfortune of viewing her bedchamber. The walls are covered with a sickly-yellow silk painted with images of deranged-looking cats killing butterflies and songbirds. It’s straight out of a nightmare!’

‘When did she invite you to her chamber?’ asked Robin, without envy.

‘Do you remember the night her yearly rout was invaded by a troupe of drunken dwarfs who insisted on performing a shortened version of Mozart’s Magic Flute?’

‘How could I forget?’ said Robin. ‘The Queen of the Night had a moustache.’

‘That night,’ said Finley, ‘Lady Carolyn spilled wine down my breeches and then dragged me off to her chamber, hoping I’d test her mattress. She was sorely disappointed to learn that I never borrow impediments to procreation, especially when they’ve been used previously.’

‘I thought you kept two in your shoes?’ asked Robin.

‘She was thankfully unaware of that fact.’

‘I’ve never seen her bed,’ said Robin with a shrug.

‘As I said, she has no taste.’

‘But she’s rich.’

‘So is the King,’ said Finley. ‘What good does it do him? You should be kissing up to Great Aunt Vesper. You deserve a wife whom you can trust to order wallpaper.’

Not that any sane man deserved to suffer the act of kissing their wrinkled relation. Her lust for gossip was almost as legendary as the three long hairs on her chin. He’d pointed them out once in the hope they’d disappear, but they remained to give him nightmares.

‘The last time I called on Aunt Vesper,’ said Robin, ‘she pronounced me a bore and told me to join the Navy. I offered to cause some gossip, but she waved me out as though I was a pedlar offering inferior goods.’

‘If you were a bore, I’d have bought you a commission in the Army,’ said Finley. ‘Heartless witch! If she leaves me her money, I’ll give it to you just to spite her.’

‘Not if she stipulates in her will that you must first marry Miss Theodora Sheffield,’ said Robin. ‘Aunt Vesper enjoys reading how Miss Sheffield carves you up at every opportunity.’

‘Sheffield,’ said Finley, his lips twisting into a grimace. ‘An appropriate family name for a woman born with a silver-plated knife in her mouth.’

He could only feel sympathy for the city famous for its knives and silver-plated household articles. Poor Sheffield, at least the city wasn’t forced to claim the family who were from the southeast of England.

‘Theodora is not without charms or fortune,’ said Robin. ‘I’d be haunting her drawing room if she wasn’t already in love.’

‘In love?’ snarled Finley. ‘With whom?’

‘I thought that was obvious,’ said Robin, raising a single eyebrow.

‘Obvious?’ said Finley, glaring at his brother. ‘The only obvious thing about Miss Theodora Sheffield is that she’s a harpy. Pity the man who wakes up next to her…’

The room faded as Finley drifted into a daydream. He was lying in the arms of the harpy; her heart-shaped face and perfect breasts framed by thick reddish-brown hair that fell to her thighs. He held his breath as he was momentarily held captive by her smiling moss-green eyes that dared him to resist. He forcefully suppressed the vile longing and cleared his throat.

‘She’s considered amusing in certain quarters,’ said Robin, his eyes gleaming with mischief,

‘Who?’ asked Finley, whose mind had moved on.

‘Miss Sheffield.’

Finley snorted in contempt.

‘Certain quarters also enjoy self-flagellation. I prefer simple pleasures devoid of suffering. You should marry Cousin Lottie; she’s rich, lovely, and almost sane. She wants you. Why aren’t you haunting her drawing room? Is it that she’s a widow? Is it her obsession with Greece? Is it her collection of Grecian sculpture? I wouldn’t want to take off my trousers knowing that I’d be compared to some idealised Greek God, but she’s rich.’

‘Her dog hates me,’ said Robin. ‘Why do wealthy young ladies need furry companions with sharp teeth?’

‘Someone has to chew on the furniture,’ said Finley, ‘or Chippendale would go out of business. The unlucky man who marries Miss Sheffield won’t need a dog.’

Finley smiled at the mental image of Theodora Sheffield chewing on a chair.

‘Jack,’ said Robin, ‘she’s in love with you.’

‘Cousin Lottie’s eyes only light up when you come into view,’ said Finley. ‘What does the woman have to do to get your attention; lift her skirt and reveal a tattoo on her backside that says property of Robin Vaughn? Spare yourself the horror of bedding Lady Carolyn. Buy the dog a bone, drag Lottie to the altar, and take possession of her fortune.’

‘It seems too good to be true,’ said Robin. ‘Every time I assume a wealthy woman is in love with me I end up with my face slapped. The last one really hurt – vicious woman. I had a fan-shaped welt on my face for days. How was I to know that without her spectacles she kept thinking I was you?’

‘Cousin Lottie has perfect vision, and she doesn’t want me. She’s in love with you. Marry her. Keep her money in the family. With luck you’ll outlive the dog.’

‘You’d miss me,’ said Robin.

‘That’s no reason to limit your prospects,’ said Finley, with the tone of an elder brother laying down the law.

The room fell silent, allowing the sounds of life passing in the street outside to intrude. The brothers called it the library, but it was really just a comfortable sitting room. Stacks of devoured books defied Newton’s law of gravity, waiting for invisible hands to pack them up and cart them off to Finley’s country estate, where more invisible hands would catalogue them and put them in the real library. Even with the outside world intruding, the London town house was deathly quiet. All the servants played cards or dozed in their appointed rooms, waiting for the master to leave so they could begin their afternoon work without being seen. Finley was trying to imagine daily life without his brother when his thoughts were interrupted again.

‘Jack…’ said Robin hesitantly, ‘I think Miss Sheffield is in love with you.’

Biting back a retort, Finley snapped his newspaper wide to hide the sudden heat in his face.

‘I ran into Miss Sheffield this morning at your favourite bookshop,’ continued Robin. ‘She asked if we were attending Aunt Fanny’s ball tonight. I said we were. She asked me to warn you that she’d be in attendance.’

Finley’s handsome features contorted with scorn.

‘Warn me?’

‘She was concerned that the shock of running into her without warning might upset you.’

Finley’s newspaper dropped into his lap as he glared at his brother.

‘That harpy couldn’t shock me unless she applied an electric current to my manhood and threw a bucket of water over my head. The lady is in for a shock if she thinks I care one whit whether she attends or not.’

The newspaper rustled with suppressed violence as it was raised back up in front of Finley’s nose. His chest tightened as he held his breath; he was alone with Miss Sheffield, she was leaning towards him, her lips pursed with smug satisfaction at his discomposure. He could see it in her eyes; she was going to open him like a book and crack his spine with the heel of her hand. Swallowing hard, he battled to banish the mental image of himself lying in the harpy’s arms. Taking a deep breath, he kicked the pleasurable daydream over a mental cliff, but the harpy merely unfolded her eagles’ wings and flew away laughing. He was saved from his thoughts by the sound of his brother folding a letter.

‘Miss Sheffield in love with me?’ snorted Finley in contempt. ‘That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.’

‘I’d wager my annuity on it.’

‘Don’t be daft! The woman’s heartless.’

‘Refusing to believe the truth does not make it untrue,’ said Robin. ‘I’m going out…’

‘Then close the windows!’

Robin Vaughn stood up to leave, then paused.

‘Are there any instructions you need me to give the housekeeper?’

‘Remind the woman that my fire is to be lit by six,’ said Finley, his eyes flaring with irritation. ‘I woke at my usual time to find a cursed maid in my room. If it happens again, someone will get the sack.’

‘Two of the maids are ill.’

‘That’s not my problem.’

‘Mrs H had to send for the apothecary,’ said Robin. ‘They’re human. You could pretend some sympathy.’

Finley looked up with a scowl.

‘Do my servants show me sympathy when I’m burning with fever? No, they’re indifferent to my suffering, why should I care about theirs?’

‘It would make you the more decent human being.’

‘How decent do I have to be?’ asked Finley. ‘I support fourteen family dependents, nine of them old witches who call me Lord Cheaply to my face because I insist they all live in my dower-house on a budget of under half my income. During my last visit, the fat ones accused me of starving them because I refuse to slaughter a bullock and two sheep every month for their consumption. The thin ones joined in and accused me of being a miser because I wouldn’t provide two carriages to take them all up to London. Why do they need new bonnets every three months to wear to church? After politely explaining that I needed a portion of my income for my personal expenses, I was accused of being heartless. I then pretended not to hear their rude curses that I be saddled with an ugly wife addicted to gaming, who’ll give me an heir fathered by the coachman. Do you think they’d be so decent to me if the tables were turned? If they were rich, and I was a penniless relation, do you think they’d house me and pay for me to have cake and imported tea every afternoon?’

‘I doubt they’d let you sleep on a pile of hay in the stables.’

Finley sighed in irritation.

‘If you insist, tell Mrs H to hire temporary help if necessary. Have her inform the ill that I wish them well. Tell her to make sure the sick are fed well and given a daily orange. Is that decent enough for you?’

‘It’s more than I would have done,’ said Robin. ‘I’ll tell Mrs H.’

Once alone, Finley crumpled his newspaper and threw it aside, where it dropped unnoticed to the floor. Servants and ungrateful dependents forgotten, his thoughts returned to the harpy. The only thing that Miss Theodora Sheffield upset was his digestion. The sensible course would be to ignore her taunts and politely avoid her company, but when Miss Sheffield stepped into view sensibility became cannon fodder. It happened every London season; as soon as the Sheffield town house was occupied, his life became a game of chess. She’d scatter her pawns and try to weaken his defences. He’d sacrifice the odd knight and bishop, but only to keep her playing until she left town. Winning would require that he capture the queen.

Finley’s sitting room faded as he drifted back into his private mental world. He was a mediæval knight, standing on a battlefield littered with dying men. He could smell blood from the wound in his leg, and his aching shoulders slumped under the weight of his chain mail hauberk. Leaning on his long sword, he stared across the strip of field at his remaining opponent. Sitting astride a large, grey mule, the queen stared back with a serene knowing smile, as a gentle breeze fluttered her white wimple and the edges of her green robes. She knew it was only a matter of time.

‘I’ll never surrender!’ he thought.

Soft, amused laughter drifted on the wind, mocking his unspoken defiance as though she could hear his thoughts. Picking up his sword, he bravely marched forward. He was a coffin’s length from her mule when his wounded leg gave way, and he fell face-first into blood-soaked mud. He heard the creaking of strained leather, and then he was rolled onto his back. His helmet was removed and thrown aside. The clink of metal on metal forgotten as gentle hands wiped his face, and soft lips kissed him, ending nine years of senseless war.

Chapter 2

The Countess of Mulgrave looked up from pouring a cup of tea and watched with raised eyebrows as her twenty-nine-year-old niece skipped into the blue-and-silver breakfast room. Dangling her bonnet in one hand and swinging a brown wrapped package in the other, the smiling younger woman flung the bonnet onto the sideboard where it landed next to a pair of ceramic lovers. Dropping the parcel next to her plate, she smiled at her aunt and sneering cousin.

‘Good morning, Auntie; good morning, Tommy.’

With a sigh of pleasure, Miss Theodora Sheffield sat down at the round table and reached for the silver toast rack.

‘I am having the most perfect day,’ she said, slathering her toast with butter and too excited to care about her waistline.

Her cousin, the Earl of Mulgrave, stared at her breasts as though they were a personal affront.

‘Do you leave today for a convent?’ he asked. ‘That would make my day perfect.’

‘Mulgrave!’ said Lady Mulgrave, glaring at her son in disapproval.

The Earl of Mulgrave turned to his mother with a well-practised innocent expression that might have bought him leniency if he hadn’t resembled a rat.

‘Yes, Mother?’

‘Are you a mannerless monkey? Return Theodora’s greeting.’

Mulgrave turned to his cousin with an exaggerated smile.

‘Good morning, Theodora.’

His cousin ignored his sarcastic tone, and smiled.

‘The sun is shining. The birds are singing. I found a copy of the book I wanted, and I met Lord Finley’s brother.’

Knowing it would irritate Theodora, Mulgrave made a show of emptying the orange marmalade onto the last piece of toast.

‘Lady Carolyn must have finally persuaded the idiot he hasn’t a hope in hell,’ said Mulgrave, chuckling in amusement and revealing sharp pointed front teeth. ‘I wonder if Finley’s heard…’

‘Mulgrave!’

Mulgrave’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Yes, Mother?’

‘Don’t be vulgar! And keep your mouth closed while chewing. Seeing your masticated food ooze from between your teeth upsets my digestion. Why did you have to have your teeth filed down like that? It makes you look like a rat.’

‘I look dashing,’ said Mulgrave. ‘The ladies know a man with sharp teeth will protect them.’

‘They know you might chew the flesh from their arm,’ replied his mother. ‘You should have those pointy things pulled out. I know a reputable shop that trades in teeth. They’re guaranteed to come from good pious men and women, not dissected corpses. I wouldn’t let you put some murderer’s teeth in your mouth. That would be the height of vulgarity.’

‘I like my teeth,’ said Mulgrave.

‘I preferred the ones God gave you. Pass Theodora her cup, and don’t spill it. Well, Theodora, what did Robin Vaughn say?’

‘Did he promise to carry you away, and spend all your money?’

‘Mulgrave! Wait your turn to speak, and don’t be rude to your cousin, or she’ll never marry you out of desperation.’

‘I wouldn’t marry Dora if she put a pistol to my head,’ sneered Mulgrave.

‘You’ll wed the most eligible woman who’ll meet you at the altar or face my wrath,’ said Lady Mulgrave. ‘There has to be at least one fecund female of good ton who’ll happily wed a man who gnaws his beefsteak like a dog. She’s bound to be ugly, but I doubt waking up to your face will be any more traumatic than looking in her mirror.’

‘Ugly?’ said Mulgrave. ‘My personal attractions combined with my money and title…’

‘It’s my money,’ said the countess, narrowing her eyes, ‘and if I don’t like your choice of bride you won’t get a penny.’

‘Don’t be cruel Mamma! It upsets my bowels when you threaten to cut me off.’

‘Then don’t do anything to upset me,’ threatened his mother. ‘Now, if you’ve finished filling your stomach, go and sit in the library and read something instructive. I don’t mean those smutty magazines your father hid in his map books and don’t start pouring bottles of port down your throat. We’re attending Lady Fanny’s ball this evening and I don’t want you falling off your chair into a potted plant again.’

Lady Mulgrave watched her son leave the room before turning her attention back to her niece.

‘Mulgrave needs you. You know he won’t find a decent woman with those awful teeth. I’ll leave half of my money in trust for you if you’ll change your mind.’

‘I’d never marry Tommy,’ said Theodora. ‘We grew up together. We hate each other.’

‘Most married couples do. If you change your mind, you need only say the word. He’ll do his duty.’

‘I’m sure he’ll find someone more suitable to his taste given time.’

‘His taste runs to poxed whores who pick his pockets,’ said Lady Mulgrave. ‘My son is going to make some Jezebel his countess. They’ll be ruined within a year. The Sheffield family and their achievements will be forgotten before my son is heaved into the family crypt.’

‘You underestimate Tommy’s pride,’ said Theodora. ‘If you were to increase his allowance, he could let bachelor rooms…’

‘If I gave him rent money, he’d move into a brothel. The man hasn’t the sense of a sewer rat. Has Vaughn given any intimation of interest? The Vaughn family of Shropshire is reasonably respectable. They’ve only had the Barony of Finley for three generations, but the mother’s line is impressive. She married beneath her, poor soul, but she had no choice after that monstrous scandal. If you fall in love with a married man, make sure his wife is definitely dying before testing his mattress. There was no hope for the girl’s reputation after her lover’s wife attacked her at a card party and yanked off her periwig. Thankfully, the bastard child had the good sense to die shortly after birth. Money may not buy love, but with calculated investment it can purchase respectability. Lady Finley was considered impeccable ton before succumbing to a mysterious illness – no doubt a gift from that French quack she found in Paris. It’s just as well she died before the man could mesmerise her into matrimony. It’s a pity all the money went to the eldest son. Is Mr Vaughn courting you?’

‘No.’

‘Then what did you discuss?’

‘Lord Finley,’ said Theodora. ‘I sent him a challenge. I wanted to make sure he’d be attending Lady Fanny’s ball this evening. With luck, he may even ask me to dance.’

‘Why would you want to dance with Finley?’ asked Lady Mulgrave. ‘The man loathes you.’

Theodora smiled as she imagined Finley being given her message.

‘Remembering his thinly-veiled contempt as he asks me to dance will amuse me for months.’

‘Entertainment is a play or a concert, Theodora. Your habit of roasting Finley is making you look a quiz. Are you going to find a husband, or die an old maid?’

Theodora’s smile hardened into a grimace.

‘I want to marry someone I love. I’d rather die an old maid then chain myself to a pleasant lord who spends my money upgrading his mouldy country seat, and politely visits my bed once a week to breed his heir. ‘Please lift your nightdress Madame, this will only take five minutes.’ I couldn’t bear it!’

Lady Mulgrave snorted in disgust.

‘Have you been reading silly romance novels again? Love is an ailment best left to courtesans and kitchen maids. I thought I loved my husband, but three weeks after the wedding I realised I really loved his footman. Six weeks later, I loved the gardener. A month after that, I was in love with our neighbour. Whichever one of them fathered Mulgrave, his seed was disappointing. Life is too short to worry about love if you have a fortune and entailed property to pass on. Your father will break out of his lead coffin if you don’t breed. He was obsessed with ensuring his line. It’s a pity he didn’t spend more time ensuring it was with your mother, but he would insist on marrying a woman everyone knew was in love with her half-brother. Forget this love nonsense and choose a man who won’t gamble you into penury. Cease pinching Finley for entertainment unless you wish to be chained to the man. Unlike most women you won’t have a visible footman to fondle. Finley can’t be sane, why else would he insist on being served without sight or sound of his servants?’

‘It is odd,’ said Theodora. ‘What do you think he does if he’s hungry earlier than the prescribed dinner hour? Do you think he keeps a big wheel of mouldy cheese in his bedchamber?’

‘The contents of Finley’s chamber is only a fit topic of conversation for his lovers,’ said Lady Mulgrave. ‘You’re swimming in deep water, Theodora. Finley’s reputation for seducing ladies isn’t idle gossip. If you must entertain yourself, I suggest you find a victim who is too kind to retaliate.’

‘I want him to retaliate. The vexation in his eyes when he can’t think of a witty repartee makes me feel as if I’ve jumped the fastest horse over the highest hedge,’ said Theodora, smiling as she remembered the last occasion. Had it really been two years ago?

‘Cease provoking Lord Finley and find a husband or one of these days the man will unseat you.’

‘His irritating mask of boredom is too tempting,’ said Theodora. ‘Every time he comes near I have to poke him. I love seeing his blue eyes sparkle with feeling, even if it’s only irritation.’

‘You’re a fool, child!’ said Lady Mulgrave. ‘If the thought of begging Finley for mercy makes you hyperventilate, pray leave him be and take up a less scandalous hobby.’

‘Will I have time to ride today?’ asked Theodora.

‘No, we’re at home this afternoon. Lady Basingstoke has some interesting news she can’t possibly put to paper, and if any men call to pay you their respects, I expect you to be polite, attentive, and open-minded. Forget about taunting Finley and all this love nonsense. Find a husband before your breasts sag and hair starts growing out of your nose.’

‘Yes, Auntie…’

Chapter 3

The light from a thousand candles glittered in twenty large mirrors placed along the longest wall of

Reviews for Once Upon a Wager

[Leena Aluru · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Ridiculous book.why was this book written? Everyone is hateful and pretty much goes around in circles.