Knaves' Wager Read Online Free PDF

Pleasure has taught you nothing. Mayhap pain will." With that, her small, rigid figure swept out of the breakfast room.
    Lord Belbridge threw his cousin a reproachful glance. "I wish you wouldn't tease her, Julian. She takes it out on me after."
    "Have you considered sending her to Wellington, George? Perhaps she might be employed to browbeat Napoleon into submission. I wonder no one thought of that before." Having finished his breakfast during the marchioness's verbal bombardment, Lord Brandon took up the newspaper.
    George sighed, went to the sideboard, and filled his plate. When he sat down again, his cousin asked from behind the newspaper in a very bored voice, "Are you acquainted with, a fellow by the name of Bexley? Sir Thomas Bexley?"
    "Nut intimately acquainted. He's a deal too political for my tastes. Still, one can't help knowin' of him. One of Liverpool's proteges."
    "I see. An ambitious young man."
    "Ambitious, yes, but he's forty if he's a day. Looks older. Goin' bald," George explained. "Probably all those years in the West Indies did it. Bought plantations there, you know, with his wife's dowry. Made pots. Came back…well I couldn't say when, exactly. Two or three years ago, maybe. After he lost his wife."
    The marquess glanced over the paper. "Careless of him."
    "She passed on, Julian," his cousin answered with a touch of vexation. "Dash it, you've got no respect, even for the dead. She passed on, and the poor fellow came back and I guess he buried his sorrow in politics. They say he's movin' on fast. Shouldn't be surprised to find him in the ministry one day."
    George swallowed a few mouthfuls. After a moment or two, he asked, "if you don't know him, what makes you ask?"
    "Boredom, I suppose."
    "Somethin' in the paper?"
    "Only that his engagement is announced."
    George put down his silverware. "You don't say! He's done it, then. Well, there's a few chaps stand to lose money on that . Mean to say — it's Davenant's widow he's marryin', ain't it?"
    Lord Brandon nodded.
    "Better him than me. Feel an east wind blowin' just thinkin' of her. Cold female, Julian. But you knew her, I expect. You and Davenant were together a good deal." George returned to his meal.
    "I never met the lady then. She was in Derbyshire. Charles was in London. He took ill and returned to the country shortly after I was required to take residence out of England."
    "I recollect. Annoyin' that. And not a bit fair. Stupid female. Burstin' out from the wood, shriekin'. If it wasn't for her, you'd have only winged him. A wonder we weren't all killed. Duel's no place for a woman."
    "Perhaps, having provoked the situation, Lady Advers felt obliged to see it through to the conclusion. At any rate, she taught me a valuable lesson."
    "Yes. Keep away from married women."
    The marquess laughed. "Good heavens, no, George. What I learned was never to let my attention wander, on any account."
    Two hours later, Lord Brandon threw his relatives into transports of joy and relief when he announced plans to proceed to London that very day. He was bored with rustication, he said, and from all reports, Castlereagh seemed to be muddling along well enough without his dubious assistance. Since he had nothing better to do elsewhere, Lord Brandon thought he might toddle off to look into this tiresome little matter of Robert's nuptials.
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    3

    Lord enders's opera box was rarely an object of interest to the audience. If he and his wife had company, it was bound to be the wife's brother. Sir Thomas Bexley, and he was sure to be escorting Mrs, Charles Davenant. Though Bexley was absent tonight, the widow was not, and her severely cut, sombrely coloured costumes had never aroused envy or even interest in her neighbours.
    Lady Enders was equally unexciting. Hers were the same passable features as her brother's. Unlike him, however, she always appeared fussy, a veritable snowstorm of stiffly starched ruffles and. furbelows heaped upon her gown, and the entire contents