Excentryke's Musings

Title: Roll of the Dice
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Twilight Saga/Pride & Prejudice
Pairings: Bella/Owestry, (side) Lydia/Wickham
Word Count: 12k
Rating: PG
Warnings: elopements (canon), despoilings (canon), gambling, class differences, vampires (pre-story), Bella didn’t know the Cullens were vampires, no Elizabeth, illegitimate children (pre-story), Sophie had syphilis because she cheated (read between the lines)
Summary for foccaciabread who wanted: Gambler Bella seems to be pretty self-sufficient and strategic, and admits that she has become a bit hardened/jaded due to her experiences. But there was that throwaway line in “A Nosegay of Yellow Roses” where Owestry worries if she is ok and hasn’t lost anything, and Bella replies that she doesn’t bet what she can’t lose. But… what if she does? Maybe Owestry helps a less jaded/more innocent Bella when she’s lost more than she can pay, or if a fellow gambler tries to attack/harm her? There is also a hint of Carrie the maid having a romance.  I snuck it in there, just as you asked.

Roll of the Dice

Bella considered and raised two shillings.  She had two pair.  A good hand.  If she didn’t bet, she wouldn’t be able to make the rent next month, never mind Charlotte’s salary.

Mr. Small considered, brushing his whiskers which was his tell, and called.  He had a shaky hand.  This was only good for Bella.

Sir Hugh, who was barely knighted and liked a rough game in the back ends of London, eyed Bella over his cards.  He was a smooth one.  Bella didn’t know if he had any property, where his money came from, or even how he came to be knighted, but she did know he had plenty of coin in his pocket.  He liked to jingle it in his purse when he was thinking.  He jingled it now.  Bella could hear the coins clink together and she tried not to swallow at the thought of all those shillings.  He raised another shilling.

Damn.  Bella wasn’t going to be able to afford this game much longer.

Wickham, the damnable Lieutenant Wickham who had only joined their game the night before, smiled to himself, and called.  That was three shillings.  Bella knew that was money he didn’t have.  He was supporting a young lady and staying at that very inn.  He needed to pay the innkeeper.  His uniform was unbuttoned and unkempt, as if he had just come from the bedroom and, honestly, he very well may have.

Bella’s mind wandered to the young lady.  She had been wearing tolerable muslins.  She must have come from somewhere.  Hopefully her father hadn’t sold her for a debt, which in 1813 London was unfortunately a possibility.

It was her turn.  If she called, she’d have to put in another shilling.  If she went all in, that would be two shillings.  If she called, someone could raise an amount she didn’t have.  If Bella went all in, she would end the bidding and would have a greater chance of winning the pot of nearly a pound sterling.

She called.  Better to play it safe.  She still had two shillings and a couple of pennies left to get her by.

Mr. Small knocked on the table.  No more bets.

Sir Hugh considered, jingling his purse, and knocked on the table.

Wickham, damnable Wickham, went all in with his last three shillings.

Bella had to stop herself from biting her lip in exasperation.  Now, if she folded, she would lose almost everything.  If she went all in, she could very much lose to Sir Hugh or even Wickham.  He was a smooth one if ever Bella saw one.

In a split second decision that Bella knew she was going to regret, she went all in with her two shillings three.

Mr. Small seemed pleased.  He went all in.

Sir Hugh jangled his change again.  He went all in with what he had on the table.  He certainly had much more in his purse.

The game was set.  It was time to reveal. 

Wickham was first.  He revealed a straight in diamonds: King, Queen, Jack, ten, nine.

Bella inwardly cursed and threw her cards in.  She had lost. 

Mr. Small scratched his mustache and likewise folded.  His hand, whatever it was, wasn’t good enough to beat Wickham.  That only left Sir Hugh.

Sir Hugh eyed Lieutenant Wickham.  “A straight?” he inquired.  “Are you sure you’re not cheating, sir?”  His voice was jolly although his accusation certainly wasn’t.  There was a coldness in his pale blue eyes, his wig slightly askew.  He had set his cards down, not revealing them, indicating that they were not as good of a hand as Wickham’s.

“Sore loser?” Wickham inquired, reaching to pull the pot toward him.  It was upward of thirteen shillings with several spare pennies.  He had certainly made a killing that evening.

Quick as lightning, Sir Hugh grabbed his left wrist and drew out a card from his sleeve.  It was the eight of diamonds, the next card in the straight.

Bella’s breath hitched.

Of course, what happened next was the only outcome that could have happened.  Wickham took a swing at Sir Hugh, who ducked out of the way.  Wickham fell over the table and the money went everywhere.  Desperate, as now Bella didn’t even have enough pennies to purchase milk for the next week, Bella dove for the scattering coin and picked up as many shillings as she could, disregarding the pennies.  They were less of a prize.

Picking up her fifth shilling, she stuffed it in her purse and went to grab a sixth.

Wickham was still swinging for Sir Hugh, who had naturally started to hit back. 

The table was now overturned (Bella had been crouching under it so now had lost her cover) and she swiped for several pennies just as Mr. Small grabbed three shillings that had fallen together.  Their eyes met and Bella saw they had an accord.  They would grab all the money they could and make a run for it.

Reaching for another shilling, Bella slid it into her purse before falling backward on her hands, trying not to be trampled by Wickham who was still very much engaged with Sir Hugh.  A couple more coins lay on the floor, but Bella would have to give them up for lost.  She rushed backward on her hands, pulled herself together, climbed to her feet, and rushed out of the back room, Mr. Small hot on her heels.

She felt his hand brush the small of her back as he escorted her out and she forced her breath to regulate.  She and Mr. Small must act, as soon as they came out into the pub proper, as if nothing untoward had gone on in the backroom.  They must also not attract notice.

While it was not illegal to gamble (and the aristocracy were known for it in their clubs with their card games and their wagers), gambling fights were certainly looked down on and pub owners would not invite you back if you got into fights in their back rooms.

Mr. Small reached out and pulled a shilling from his purse, tipping the barkeep on his way out, and escorted Bella outside.

“Well,” Mr. Small commented, brushing his mustache with his fingers, “looks like we won after all, Miss Swan.”

Bella laughed a little to herself.  “I knew Wickham was a little too good, winning all those hands.”

“He took us for right fools,” Mr. Small agreed, his dark eyes sparkling.  “I suppose this gambling hole is now dry, as long as Wickham is here.”

Bella looked up and down the street, considering.  She and Mr. Small had been gambling with each other, in this very pub, for well over three months before Wickham had showed up just last night for an indeterminate stay with his sweetheart.  It was certainly unreputable and no place for a lady—not that Bella was a lady.

“Do you suppose Sir Hugh has a suggestion?” Bella wondered, not at all certain the outcome of the fight.  Sir Hugh had the right of it, but Wickham was certainly a younger (and fitter) man.

“He does rub elbows with some of the gentry,” Mr. Small agreed, thinking, “now that he’s knighted.”

Bella considered again.  “Do we know how that happened?  I thought he was in trade.”

“He gave a speech at St. James’s Court,” Mr. Small informed her, “or so he told me.  The King was actually present and liked it so much, he knighted him on the spot.”

“Huh.”  Bella was stumped.  She wondered how Sir Hugh was even invited to the Court of St. James.  “How long should we wait?  It is nigh on midnight.”

Mr. Small looked up and down the street.  There were certainly some dodgy sorts about.  Gamely, he suggested, “I could send you a note.”

Bella laughed to herself.  “Are you asking me where I live, Mr. Small?”

He sobered suddenly, brushing his mustache to show how uncomfortable he was.  “Miss Swan, you know I only have the deepest admiration for your womanly good judgment and respect your youth.  I am a married man, after all, and have daughters myself.”

Daughters whose dowries he had probably gambled away, Bella thought grimly to herself.

She placed a hand lightly on his lower arm and caught his eye, nodding.  “I know you would never abuse the information,” she assured him.

They stood there, awkwardly, neither looking at the other, for several long moments.  Bella, despite her words, failed to give him her address.  No one but the local butcher knew where she lived and she liked it like that.  Not even the postman knew.  She didn’t get any post.

They dallied for half an hour, Mr. Small going so far as to threaten a drunkard who came up to them and tried to proposition Bella, when Sir Hugh finally came out of the pub, his wig now noticeably absent.

“Sir Hugh,” Bella cried, coming up to him, worried.  “You have a black eye!”

“A battle scar I gladly carry, Madam, I assure you!” he said in his jolly voice, bowing to her.  Then, sobering, he asked, “I trust you both have been rightly compensated for Wickham’s treachery?”

Bella was a little uncomfortable. “I haven’t counted,” she admitted.  “And it’s not like—here—”

They were out in the open and it was certainly rough going this part of London, especially at this time of night.

“Quite right, quite right!” Sir Hugh agreed, taking out his purse and carefully sneaking her five shillings, for which she was grateful.  Bella didn’t like charity, but she didn’t like starving either.  “Small, I trust you are compensated,” Sir Hugh checked.

“Quite compensated,” Mr. Small assured him, scratching his mustache.  He was uncomfortable then.  “Miss Swan and I wondered if you knew of any other games as our current host will not invite us back.”

Sir Hugh considered a moment. “I am afraid, Small, you are not up to snuff, but Miss Swan, as a lady—” here he paused.  “Her dresses are a little simple but she could rub elbows with the gentry with my say so.”  What he didn’t say is that Bella’s accent was more genteel than Mr. Small’s.

Mr. Small was quite obviously London born and sounded like it.  He probably lived above a tavern or a shop himself and his daughters would have dowries of three pounds or less.  They would marry tradesmen, if they were lucky, but quite possibly shop boys.

Bella, whose American accent had smoothed over the past four years, sounded decidedly like the British gentry, though her speech was a little smoother.  She also dressed herself cleanly and neatly in muslins, though perhaps not in the latest fashions.  She also had a ladies’ maid, Charlotte, who knew how to do her hair and how to properly wash stockings.  She could easily pass as a young lady of the merchant classes or as a governess, especially as she wore dark blues, grays, and blacks.  She was ostensibly in mourning for her father, who she always said died of influenza in oh-nine, leaving her without a protector.

“What game, Sir Hugh?” Bella inquired.

Sir Hugh hesitated.  “I would have to escort you there, Miss Swan.  They would not let you in otherwise.”

It was Bella’s turn to hesitate now.  “What’s the buy in?”

“Twenty pounds.”

Bella paled.  “You know I do not have that.”

“I would back you,” Sir Hugh was now saying, “for a percentage of your winnings.  Shall we say, seventy percent?”  That was outrageous and outright usury in Bella’s opinion, but she had less than a pound in her purse which would last her two, three months at most.  Thirty percent of winnings on twenty pounds would have her set for a year, if she could win—and Bella was lucky (except, of course, when playing against Lieutenant Wickham).

Mr. Small shifted uncomfortably behind Bella.  “Miss Swan, I would advise you—”

“Yes,” Bella agreed, thinking carefully.  Turning to Sir Hugh, she asked, “If I may have your card so I may be in touch.”

He instantly produced it for her with a flourish.

It seemed he lived in Blackburne Square.  Bella wondered if it was at all fashionable.

She made her excuses and began the long and unsavory walk back to Bloomsbury.  It took well on an hour and a half, and it was near two in the morning when she arrived.

Charlotte was waiting up for her, anxiously asking if Bella had won, and Bella nodded, not going into detail about how she had had to pluck shillings off the floor like a common harlot.  Bella fell into bed exhausted, determined not to wake up until well after ten the next morning.  Charlotte knew not to wake her, and would have a fresh pot of tea ready to boil whenever Bella did make her appearance.

Bella considered Sir Hugh’s card for four days, often holding it and brushing it against the palm of her hand.  She had exactly fourteen shillings and seven pence, enough for three if not four months, but one unlucky hand could always mean her ruin.

One unlucky hand in Sir Hugh’s card game could mean impoverished debt.

A winning though, a winning could mean…

She wrote to him on the fifth day and had Charlotte deliver it, going so far as to give her money for a cab.  Telling Charlotte to wait for a response, she anticipated the response a little anxiously for over two hours.  Then the reply came: Sir Hugh would pick her up that evening in his carriage.  She was to wear mourning black.  He would bring her adornments for her hair.

The adornments for her hair turned out to be feathers, but Charlotte was able to attach them to Bella’s hair expertly. Bella looked at herself in the mirror, taking in the choker that Sir Hugh had also brought that now ornamented her neck, and supposed she was ready.

“You are my brother’s stepdaughter,” Sir Hugh told her once the carriage set out, his blackeye not visible in the darkness.  “That is why I am backing you.”

“Would you back your brother’s stepdaughter?” Bella wondered.

“If I thought I could win money off her,” Sir Hugh told her with a jolly laugh.  A new wig was now in place.  He slipped her a black silk evening bag and she looked inside.  She had fifty pounds.  Twenty for the starting bid and another thirty to raise.  “That is barely an evening dress, but it will do.”

“I do not move in your circles—”

“Quite, quite,” Sir Hugh agreed, waving her off.

The room where they went to gamble was off of nicer establishment, much more refined, and the quality of the players was good.  Bella met Lord Timothy, Lord Septimus, Sir Andrew, and a Lord Owestry came in once the game had properly begun.

When he arrived, he just stopped and stared at Bella for a long moment.

Everyone had varying degrees of surprise when introduced to Bella, but they all accepted her to be who Sir Hugh told them she was—his brother’s stepdaughter who was in need of a night’s entertainment.  As Sir Hugh was in trade and therefore had no morals, Bella as his brother’s stepdaughter likewise had no principles, she supposed.  They did, however, treat her with politeness and respect, and both Lord Timothy and Lord Septimus certainly liked to look at her.  Sir Andrew was a little long in the face.

“Owestry!” Sir Hugh called, “come and meet my little niece, come to play a round with us men for an evening.”

“And taking us for a battering, too,” Lord Septimus noted gaily, clearly not minding that he’d already lost fifteen pounds.

Bella glanced at him from under her lashes, not knowing how seductive the move was.  She was rather unaware of her own powers, but she always had been, from the very moment she had stepped into Forks High and become the “pretty new shiny toy” for all the high school boys.  She still did not know how she had attracted Edward Cullen, the most beautiful boy at school, other than he had said he couldn’t read her feelings in her eyes.  It wasn’t until he had left her on the forest floor, alone, and disappeared, that she had even begun to suspect that he was more than he appeared.

The Volturi had certainly been a surprise…

“M-Miss Hayes,” Owestry greeted, stuttering a little at the beginning.

“Miss Swan,” Lord Septimus corrected, breathing in deeply on his cigar.  “She’s Sir Hugh’s brother’s stepdaughter.  Not an actual relation, which is, we suppose, why he sees fit to corrupt her with our presence.”  He grinned at Bella and winked at her.

“Miss Swan,” Owestry corrected, pulling up a chair and taking his seat.  “Surely your stepfather cannot approve of your gambling.”

“It is only for one night,” Bella replied, not knowing exactly how long her agreement with Sir Hugh would last.  She supposed it depended if she won or not, and she was certainly already winning.  “I have no father or mother to care.”

This seemed to strike Owestry and he visibly started.

Bella wondered at it.

Lord Owestry was a thin man, his well tailored clothes barely fitting on him, his shoulders weak, his blond hair thinning, his eyes a watery blue.  He was also nearly as old as Charlie would have been—if he weren’t back in the twenty-first century.  Still, there was something about Owestry that Bella liked.  He seemed honest.

“Matlock hounding you to take a wife again?” Lord Timothy asked companionably, clearly addressing Owestry.  “Needs an heir tomorrow, does he?”

Owestry looked anxious.  “Yesterday.”

Bella was confused. She knew men needed heirs in the early nineteenth century, she was aware how society worked, but she didn’t know why Owestry’s father wanted one so desperately at the moment.  Owestry was still young.  He couldn’t be older than thirty-five, thirty-seven at most.

Bella exchanged two cards.  She didn’t like the cards that she received back from the book.  She was going to lose this round.

When Owestry was dealt in, it was clear he wasn’t a card player.

Bella won money off of him very quickly.

He didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he seemed more interested in Bella than in his hand, outright regarding her during the card game and having to be reminded to play his cards.

During the fourth round, when Bella was up sixty pounds sterling, Sir Hugh leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “I think you have an admirer.”  He then pointedly nodded in Owestry’s direction.

“I’m not here for that,” Bella murmured.  She nonetheless peeked at Owestry and caught his watery gaze, holding it for several long seconds, before she looked back down at her cards.

“You’re a young lady.  Surely any young lady is in need of a husband, as you certainly don’t have a father to protect you.  Owestry is in need of an heir.”

At the sound of his name being whispered back and forth, Owestry looked up with his blue eyes, clearly curious.

Bella offered him a small, conciliatory smile, hoping that Sir Hugh would stop gossiping.

He just gave her a knowing look.

When the night was over and Bella was putting over a hundred and twenty pounds away in her reticule, Owestry approached her although Lord Septimus had been trying to joke with her.  Septi—for Lord Septimus insisted on being called ‘Septi’ even on so short an acquaintance—stepped away when he saw him coming and went to speak to Lord Timothy.

“You seem to have lost all your capital,” Bella stated, not certain what else to say to Owestry.

“I do not mind.  I had money to burn.”

“How nice,” Bella murmured, “to have money to burn.”

Owestry looked at her confused, but let it pass.  “I should probably ask Sir Hugh—”

“Ask Sir Hugh—?” Bella looked up at him with her warm dark eyes.

“Ask him if I may call on you,” Owestry blustered, clearly embarrassed.

Bella blinked at him.  She had thought Sir Hugh had been teasing her when he said Owestry wanted a wife.  She honestly didn’t think a lord of the realm would find one in a poker match!  Certainly his father would disapprove of a girl with barely any refinement.  She was Sir Hugh’s brother’s stepdaughter—supposedly—and he had come from trade.  What did that make her?

“I—”  Bella wasn’t entirely certain what she meant to say, but Owestry held up his hand to stop her from responding at all.

“I shall speak to Sir Hugh,” he told her before he took her hand, kissed her glove (also provided by Sir Hugh) and then left her.

Septi wandered back over with his eyebrows raised.  “Well?” he inquired slyly.  “We have a bet on.”

Bella wasn’t entirely certain how to answer him.

Thirty percent was thirty-six pounds sterling.  Sir Hugh subtracted the original twenty he had given her as the buy in, which left her with sixteen, and since they didn’t have exact change, she was left with fifteen.

It was a very nice sum of money to put away for a rainy day.

She handed back the feathers, the choker, the gloves, and Sir Hugh helpfully told her that Lord Owestry expected her at two in the afternoon at the glacier in Bond Street on Thursday.  “Don’t say I’m not a matchmaker!” he cried out the window, before he banged on the roof to tell his horses to drive on.

Bella was flabbergasted.

Of course, it was only Tuesday night, so Bella dithered on whether or not to even go to the glacier the entire next day.  In the end, she put on a gray dress and hired a cab, and was there a full twelve minutes early, giggling with Charlotte.

She stood, looking in the window, and saw that Owestry was already waiting at a little table in the back.

Taking a deep breath, she entered, the sound of the store bell chiming to signal her arrival.

Owestry looked up and his entire face lit up at the sight of her.  Bella was almost stopped dead in her tracks at his reception of her.  She was not used to men being glad to see her in a social setting.  She knew men liked to look at her when she gambled, but that was lust not—whatever this was.

He pulled her chair out for her and ordered two sundaes, which came in tall glasses with even longer spoons.

She daintily took a bite of her ice cream when it came and smiled.

Owestry was ignoring his sundae in favor of regarding Bella over their spoons.

Charlotte was standing in a corner, unobtrusive, a pillar of black.

“You must be so pleased with your uncle’s elevation to knighthood,” Owestry began carefully, his eyes never leaving Bella as she took a second spoonful of ice cream.  It was rather good.  It seemed to be handmade and mixed with actual cream, unlike modern ice cream which tasted only like chemicals.  Bella almost shuddered when she remembered McDonald’s shakes.

Bella glanced at him, determined not to show any surprise at the subject, and settled her spoon in the glass.  Picking up her napkin, she gently pressed it to her lips two times to buy herself more time.  “Yes,” she agreed.  “It was quite a surprise.  He wears the title so well.”  She gave an inauthentic smile that she hoped would fool her companion.

An expression crossed over his eyes that she couldn’t quite read.  “You are his brother’s stepdaughter—” he broached carefully.  “Sir Hugh told me your father was a gentleman.”

Trying not to cough at the absurdity of the conversation, Bella gave the inauthentic smile again.  “Yes, Charlie,” she agreed airily.  “He’s been gone for many years, you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Owestry commiserated.  “My own wife has been gone these two years now.”

This surprised Bella.  She didn’t know that Owestry was a widower.  No wonder his father wanted an heir so badly.  He probably thought he had it in the bag with Owestry married to some society lady of breeding, only to have her die on the family.  “Was it unexpected?” she inquired carefully.  That would give her a better lay of the land.

“The Viscountess did not have the cleanest habits,” Owestry admitted very carefully.

Bella stared at him.  She had no idea what this meant. 

When he said nothing more, she took another bite of her ice cream.  After they sat in silence for several more moments, Bella told him outright, “I gamble.”

He made no reaction.

“With investors’ money, as now seems to be the case.”  She looked at him hard over her sundae, willing him to understand what she was trying to convey.

He was silent for a few more moments before realization entered his expression.  “Sir Hugh is not your uncle.”

“No,” she told him very carefully.  “He was an investor.”  She held his gaze, but he did not look away.

“You are a lady of integrity,” Owestry decided as he finally picked up his spoon.  His ice cream was melting.  “You could have continued on with your ruse and I would have been none the wiser.  You were made respectable by Sir Hugh’s elevation to the knighthood, even if he does have some bad habits.”

“Habits which I share,” she reminded him, taking another bite of her ice cream.

“You have a maid,” Owestry remarked.

“I could have hired her for the day,” Bella refuted.

“You were giggling behind your hands when you came in.  There is obvious affection between you.  She is not hired for the day,” Owestry observed, his watery eyes hard as steel.  “Is it your desire to put me off, Miss Swan?  Is that even your name?”

“It is,” she agreed carefully.  “It was easier not to change it for an evening of cards.”

He gave her a genuine smile then.  “Miss Swan then, of London.”

“Of London,” she agreed—and certainly not the fashionable portion.

Bella noticed during this entire exchange that a young lady, dressed garishly in yellows, was sitting with a friend and eating ices, but her eyes kept on wandering to their table.  Perhaps Owestry was a more famous bachelor than Bella had initially realized.

“Your benefactor is most generous in sharing you with me,” Owestry commented as he walked her out, Charlotte following at a sedate pace.  “Sir Hugh could have put me off by telling me you were not out.”

Bella laughed a little to herself.  “Sir Hugh is nothing if not in good spirits!” she commented, thinking of her gambling partner.  “I have yet to see a scowl cross his face even in the most trying of circumstances.”

Owestry hesitated on the step.  “Lady Ashleigh is holding a ball tonight.  I was going to ask if Sir Hugh was bringing you.  I suppose I know the answer now.”

Bella scuffed the sidewalk with the tip of her shoe.  It was not a fashionable slipper like she noticed the other young women in the glacier wearing, but a definite shoe with a toe and a heel, laced up almost to become a boot.  “You should not like to dance would me, Lord Owestry.  I should only step on your toes.  I do not know the steps.”  She had only danced with Edward and he had only twirled her.

Owestry glanced up at her.  With his own middling height, he was a half an inch shorter than Bella, especially with her heeled shoes, but he did not let the height disadvantage make him seem smaller than he was.  “I should very much like to dance with you,” he told her quite plainly.  “I haven’t danced in an age and all to keep my father from leaking it to Lady Whistledown that there is soon to be another Viscountess.”

“Who is Lady Whistledown?” Bella asked in confusion.

He smirked at her.  “Only the most infamous gossip column in London.  She names all of her subjects.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Most unusual,” Owestry assured her with a gleam in his eye.

“Well, then, I hope I am not named in the next edition,” Bella decided as a cab came sauntering up and Charlotte flagged it down for her.  “I have, after all, been seen taking ices with you.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it lingeringly.  “I shall speak to Sir Hugh and see what we can do about the ball.”

“If there is gambling, he’ll be sure to attend.”

“It’s only thruppence a card,” he told her, “hardly Sir Hugh’s stakes.”

“No,” Bella agreed, as he lifted her into the carriage.  “He would find that paltry.”

Charlotte climbed in beside her after giving the driver the direction.  With one last look out of the window, they were soon gone on their way to Bloomsbury.

“He certainly wishes to marry you,” Charlotte commented as she got Bella ready later that night, Sir Hugh waiting in the living room.  He had brought diamond clips for her hair, evening gloves, and another choker.  Bella was forced to wear the same black dress she had worn several evenings before.  She did not have another that was appropriate.  “I daresay he won’t beat about the bush if his father wants an heir to the title.”

“But do I want to be married?” Bella sighed. 

She thought back on her life the past five years.  She had woken up in a Volturi prison, starving, dirty, and alone, and had crawled out of a tunnel that led to 1808 Venice.  She had only just become aware that Edward was a vampire—that there were vampire kings—and that Edward had broken the law by revealing himself to the human population of Volterra by stepping out into the sunlight.  Bella had eaten out of back alley of kitchens for weeks before she had found her first few coppers and entered her first poker match.  She had then traveled from Italy to Switzerland to Spain to France and then over to England.  She had tried to crawl back through the tunnel back into the Volturi dungeons when she discovered she had been displaced in time, but had found the way caved in, trapping her in the early nineteenth century.

She didn’t even think to find the Cullens in this timeline.  She didn’t know when they had been turned into vampires and didn’t know if they would eat her on sight if she appeared, not being able to recognize her from the future.  She also didn’t know if ‘Cullen’ and ‘Hale’ were even their names.  She had no way to track them.  No, she was friendless and alone, trapped in a time and place she knew nothing about, with social customs and rules she had to learn in order to survive.

Now she must live her life, knowing she would never go back.  She would die before she would even be born, her tombstone never even found in the waysides of Europe.

“Certainly,” Charlotte murmured, pulling Bella out of her thoughts, “you don’t want to gamble for the rest of your life.”

Bella sighed.  “I do live card game to card game.”

“A husband would offer respectability,” Charlotte told her carefully.  “He could give you children.”

Children.  Bella had never considered children, not even knowing as she did that Owestry needed an heir.

Childbirth would certainly be painful in the early nineteenth century.  Would it be worth having children, even if they were merely to provide a title with heirs?

Finally ready, Bella stepped out of her bedroom, bedecked in diamonds and lace, not quite fashionable, but certainly respectable.

Lady Ashleigh lived in Hanover Square and her house was accosted with candles.  The lady was polite, but turned up her nose at Bella, her invitation clearly only having come through a request and not the actual society pages, but Bella didn’t mind.

Sir Hugh settled her in a seat in the ballroom and fetched her a punch, gladhanding every gentleman he saw and even introducing Bella as his brother’s stepdaughter, lately in mourning and therefore not dancing.

Septi was the first to find her, a young rogue who was of an age to attend Cambridge or Oxford, but was out in society instead.  “I am the seventh son and the eleventh child of the Duke of Denver,” Septi was now whispering to her near the lemonades.  “Father gave me four hundred pounds to play with, and I’ve amassed quite enough of a fortune to buy myself a small estate.”

“Have you, Septi?” Bella complimented.  “And where will you buy?”

“Father’s in Norfolk,” he was now saying.  “Duke’s Denver.  I have a mind to settle nearby but far enough away that it will be a solid carriage drive so the old man cannot simply pop in!”

“Hmm,” Bella agreed, taking a sip of her lemonade.

She should have known that Owestry would come find her immediately as he arrived.  He was wearing a freshly tied cravat and white waistcoat, his lapels almost a little too long for his thin airs, his britches a little loose about the thigh, as if he’d recently lost weight.  Claiming her from Septi with a look, he settled them in a loveseat where they could watch the dancing.

Pointing out a young lady in white, with equally wispy hair, Owestry told Bella she was his younger sister, Lady Julia, who was in her third season. 

“That would make her twenty-one,” Bella checked, not knowing the exact age young women debuted.

“Twenty-two, so it would happen,” Owestry admitted.  “She’s turned down seven marriage proposals.  She’s quite picky, even for a Matlock.”

“And Matlock is your father’s title?” Bella checked.

“Quite so, m’dear,” Owestry agreed, now pointing out a tall man with curling dark hair.  “That’s Colonel Fitzwilliam, my younger brother.  He’s set a cap at the title as he thinks I’ll never marry again.”

Bella glanced between Owestry and his younger brother.  “He looks nothing like you and Lady Julia,” she commented quietly.

“That’s because,” Owestry murmured into her ear, “he’s the product of an affair.  Father refuses to have him in the house.  If Darcy were here, I could show you how alike they look.”

Pausing, Bella considered.  She knew the name ‘Darcy.’  Lieutenant Wickham had mentioned it just the previous week.  He had said something about ‘Darcy coughing up the cash.’  Come to think of it, Lieutenant Wickham looked a great deal like Colonel Fitzwilliam, almost like brothers—

She shook the thoughts away from her.

About halfway through the dancing, just before the Supper Set, an aging gentleman who looked a great deal like Owestry approached with Lady Julia on his arm.  Owestry whispered a hurried apology to Bella before helping her to her feet.

“Ah, Owestry,” his father clearly greeted, taking in Bella from head to foot.   His voice was winsome and not as strong as Owestry’s natural tenor. “I see you are not dancing.”

“Miss Swan is in mourning,” Owestry explained, “and cannot be seen dancing for several months yet.—Miss Swan,” he began, turning to Bella, “may I introduce my father, the Earl of Matlock, and my sister, Lady Julia Fitzwilliam?—This is Miss Swan, Sir Hugh Hayes’s brother’s stepdaughter.”

Ah, so they were still going with that line.  Bella wondered if she decided to marry Owestry if Sir Hugh would be invited to Christmas and family Christenings.

“Ah, Sir Hugh!” Matlock commented, taking Bella’s hand and lifting it to below his lips, though not quite kissing it.  “Excellent edition to any party!”  He turned to Lady Julia, raising an eyebrow in silent command.  “Surely your sister requires refreshment, Owestry.”  He turned to his son, a pointed look on his face.

Owestry’s eyes narrowed.  He clearly didn’t like the idea of his father getting Bella alone for a private tête-a-tête. 

Bella placed her hand carefully on Owestry’s arm, letting him know it was all right.  If she could survive Aro Volturi caressing her hand for a full three minutes, for reasons Bella still didn’t understand, she could survive an overbearing father.

After Owestry had left with his sister, Matlock indicated that they should sit again.

“I shan’t inquire if you have a dowry,” Matlock told her outright.  “I frankly don’t give a damn.”  Bella looked over at him in alarm at his language.  “Dowries are second to breeding.  Can you breed, girl?”

Bella paused.  “My mother gave birth to me when she was eighteen,” she admitted carefully.

“Any sons?”  His watery blue eyes pierced her.

Hesitating, Bella admitted, “My mother didn’t enjoy the experience of childbirth.  She took steps to ensure she’d never have to go through it again.”

Matlock harrumphed.  “I hope you are not so willful as your mother.”

“Renee—that is, my mother—was like a child.  I ran the household since I was seven years old.  Nothing was done that I didn’t do myself.  My mother was quite incapable.”

“And your father allowed that?  Or stepfather, I should say?—I don’t suppose your father was a gentleman.”

“My father had some land,” Bella lied.  “All entailed away from the female line, of course.”

“Of course,” Matlock agreed, unbemused.  “As I said, your dowry is second to your ability to breed.”

Bella turned to him and caught his gaze.  “Owestry has not asked and I certainly have not answered,” she reminded him.  “We met only earlier this week.”

“Yes, girl,” Matlock concurred, clearly exasperated, “but he’s set his cap at you when just on Sunday he was declaring he would never enter the misery of matrimony ever again!  You all I have to work with.”

Bella was a little surprised at this.  “I guessed that Lord Owestry was not—fond of the Viscountess.”

Matlock snorted.  “That is the understatement of the nineteenth century!  It was my greatest folly forcing him into that marriage.  It’s a miracle they were even in a room long enough to beget Annabelle.”

Bella looked over in confusion.

“Aye, missy,” Matlock told her.  “I have a granddaughter, just seven years of age.  You need never see the girl.  It is a stepmother’s prerogative.  There are such things as governesses and schools.”

“I would never do that to a child!” Bella protested.

“Then you’re unlike most society misses,” Matlock told her.  “Then again, I don’t much suppose you were brought up in society.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Bella saw that the dancing was wrapping up and the man she believed to be Colonel Fitzwilliam was now making his way over, clearly having spotted them.  She squared her shoulders.  First the father, and now the brother.  She wondered where Owestry had gone.

However, Colonel Fitzwilliam was upon her.

“Sir!” Matlock greeted, clear disapproval in his tone.

Fitzwilliam was nonplussed.  He was certainly tall, with verdant green eyes and curling brown hair.  He had broad shoulders, a broad brow, and an aquiline nose.  He was certainly handsome, nearly as handsome as Edward had been.  However, he did not strike Bella.  She was somehow stuck on Owestry’s lost pleasantness.  It was so terribly human, and she couldn’t help but like that after her misfortune at the hands of the Volturi kings.

“I came to meet Owestry’s new young lady,” he told his father-by-society’s-dictates.  It was clear they were not related.  Fitzwilliam turned his verdant gaze on her.  “I was quite surprised to hear from Julia that Owestry was considering matrimony.”

“That is none of your concern, sir!” Matlock answered.  “Go off and find an heiress to dance with.  You only have your commission to live on and whatever Darcy gave you in his will.  You shall find nothing here.”

Fitzwilliam took this all calmly, as if he was used to it.  Turning to Bella, he bowed politely.  “I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, since my father refuses to introduce us.  I am Owestry’s younger brother.”

“A redcoat!” Matlock whispered in exasperation toward Bella, though loudly enough for Fitzwilliam to hear.  “No sense of honor and always at the gambling tables.”

Bella didn’t react.  She, after all, had been at the gambling tables not two nights earlier.  She might sneak into the gambling room here although it was only thruppence a game.  She knew Sir Hugh had slipped off in that direction.

“Do you dance, madam?  I apologize for not addressing you properly, but the Earl refuses to properly introduce us.”

Hesitating before answering, Bella told him, “I am in mourning, sir, as you can see.  It is unseemly for me to dance.”

“And unseemly that you should ask her!” Matlock defended, having clearly taken Bella’s side in whatever argument he was concocting with his wife’s illegitimate child.  “I know you only want to put her off Owestry.  Want the title for yourself and your heirs, little though you deserve it.”

Bella was getting decidedly uncomfortable.

Spotting Owestry over near the refreshments, she tried to catch his eye.

“Is Darcy in town?” Matlock was now asking, turning the conversation from Bella.  “I had heard from Owestry that he came down unexpectedly from Derbyshire even though he had just left for Pemberley last week!”

There was that name Darcy again, Bella realized.  They must all be connected somehow.

“Who is Darcy?” she inquired, looking between father and—not quite son.

Fitzwilliam smiled at her.  “Our aunt’s son,” he explained—ah, a cousin then—“I share guardianship of his sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy, with him.”

Bella hadn’t realized there was a Miss Darcy in the picture.  She wondered how this Darcy was at all connected to Lieutenant Wickham and how her two worlds were somehow colliding.  How was he supposed to “cough up the cash” unless he took to gambling in the darker parts of London as well?

“Darcy is a fine nephew,” Matlock was now telling her, “though why he puts up with this one is anyone’s guess.  He owns a fine estate in Derbyshire.”

“All the young ladies hope to catch him,” Fitzwilliam supplied.  “Perhaps you should like to join their ranks, Madam?”  He seemed overly pleased with himself at the suggestion.  “Darcy is, after all, much more striking to look at than poor old Owestry who has nothing but a wastrel daughter and a half-mortgaged estate to recommend him.”

Bella raised her eyebrow at Fitzwilliam.  She had been disposed not to like him before, but she certainly didn’t like him now.  She saw Lady Julia approaching, looking hesitantly between Matlock and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Lady Julia,” she greeted, “where have you put your brother?” She turned to her with a forced smile on her face.  “He is quite neglecting me.”  It was time to end this chat and it was time to end it now.

“Neglecting you, is he?” Fitzwilliam asked with a laugh that would have been charming if it came from anyone else.  “Owestry is not even a proper suitor, Father.  Perhaps you will not have your desired grandson by the end of next year as you so desperately hope.”

Matlock gave Fitzwilliam a stern look.

“It seems Lord Septimus has started a wager on when your wedding will take place,” she explained apologetically.  “It is getting quite heated in the piquet room.  Owestry is quite put out.”

It seemed Septi certainly had a gambling spirit and meant to enjoy the ball even if he wasn’t dancing.  “Oh dear,” she sighed, getting to her feet and curtseying to the Matlock family.  “I must go assure Owestry that Septi is only teasing—at least, I hope he is.”

“On first name basis with Lord Septimus, are we?” Fitzwilliam asked slyly, but Bella was ignoring him.  She was moving down the line of dancers and going toward the room she had seen all the men slip into when they were done with a reel.

It seemed there was a wager on.  Septi was writing with quill hurriedly and people were calling out bets.  “Lord Amabel’s Ball!” One gentleman called out.  “I put fifty pounds on it!”

Owestry was in a corner, clearly helpless to stop what was happening.

Bella came up to him and slid her hand through his arm.  “What are they betting on?” she asked.

“When I will propose,” he told her in aggravation.  “My even being here should nullify the bets.  However, they don’t seem to care.”  He glanced at her, clearly upset.  He didn’t seem to like being the center of this type of attention.

“Are you so renowned a bachelor?” Bella whispered to him as someone called out “Lady Danbury’s ball!  Seventy-five pounds!”  She squeezed his arm.  “Let’s leave the men and go back out to the dancing.  Your father was about to murder Colonel Fitzwilliam with his tone.”

“The Smith-Smythe’s concert!”  This was Sir Hugh.

Bella only shook her head in exasperation.

She coaxed Owestry out of the room and back out to the dancers who were reforming the lines.  “Shouldn’t dinner be happening soon?” Bella wondered.

“Very soon,” Owestry assured her, placing his hand over hers and squeezing it reassuringly.  “Have you ever been to a ball before, Miss Swan?”

“Not like this,” she admitted, watching as the dancers flitted down the row.  “I wouldn’t even know how to dance if I were out of mourning.”

“Julia and I should teach you,” Owestry assured her as the quartet concluded the set and everyone turned to clap.  “Ah, now it is time for Supper.”

Bella went home in Sir Hugh’s carriage tired, a bit pleased with the evening, and ready to retire for the evening.  Sir Hugh told her to keep the gloves as she was sure to have need of them, and even gave her the choker as a gift.  He did, however, reclaim the diamond clips.

Three days later Bella was in her room, reading, when Charlotte came in with a sheet of paper, an astonished look on her face.

“What is it, Carrie?” Bella asked.

“The maid down the corner showed me, mum,” Charlotte apologized, coming up and handing over the sheet of paper.  “You are mentioned in Lady Whistledown.”

Bella frowned.  She took the gossip sheet and began to read it.  She and Lord Owestry were the grand conclusion.  At least Lady Whistledown had got the story right.  Bella was the well-placed niece of Sir Hugh Hayes, of indeterminate fortune.  Bella snorted.  Her fortune was fifteen pounds.  Also, according to Whistledown, this was the most anticipated wedding of the season—more so than the hoped for wedding between the Duke of Hastings and a Miss Daphne Bridgerton.

Setting it aside, Bella frowned.  “Owestry has seen it,” she guessed.

“You said he had a sister.  He might have a mother—”

“Yes, yes,” Bella agreed, standing and throwing aside her book.  “They were all making bets on us at the ball.  When Owestry would propose.  I still don’t know if I’m going to marry him.”

“Oh, but you want to, mum!” Charlotte exclaimed, which was unlike her.

Bella glanced up at her maid.  “There is something about him,” she confided, “in his demeanor.  He is certainly kind.”  Edward had not been kind.  He had never been kind.  He had been adoring and then cruel, leaving her on the forest floor to suffer hypothermia like that.  That was not love, she realized now.  If only she had come to this conclusion before she had run off with Alice to Italy.

“A kind man is certainly worth pursuing,” Charlotte urged, coming further into the room.  “He also cannot take his eyes off of you.”

Yes, yes, Owestry couldn’t.  He was always regarding Bella over his cards or looking at her in wonder, as if he couldn’t believe she was sitting with him or even speaking to him.  His first wife—with her unclean habits, whatever that meant—must have done a number on him.

“He has a daughter,” Bella remarked.

“A daughter?” Charlotte asked carefully.

“She’s supposed to be seven.”  Bella ran her hand over her hair, tucking it behind her ears.  It was a nervous gesture.  She didn’t bother to put it up when she was alone in her flat.  She’d always worn it down like that, even before—in Forks.

Charlotte considered.  “Seven is a lovely age, mum.  And you need never see her if you need not want.”

“That’s what Lord Matlock said,” Bella confirmed.  “I don’t want to be a wicked stepmother.”

Charlotte looked confused.

Bella didn’t bother to explain.

Sighing to herself, she picked up her book again and ran her fingers over the spine.  She had much to consider.

She and Sir Hugh were invited to Lady Sarah Talbot’s ball the next week.  Bella put on her same tired black dress, and Charlotte crafted her hair into a chignon.  She then pinned a piece of lace on top to add decoration.  With the choker and the evening gloves, Bella looked somewhat respectable.

There was a knock on the door and Bella turned.  “I wonder who that could be.”

“It is probably Sir Hugh,” Charlotte guessed, “although he is half an hour early.”

“That is not like Sir Hugh,” Bella commented, though she let Charlotte go.  Regarding herself in the glass, she turned her head from side to side.  Yes, she supposed she just might do.  She certainly wasn’t as elegant as the society ladies, but everyone seemed to make allowances for her as she was Owestry’s chosen bride.

She heard the door unlatch and a voice she did not recognize.

Coming out into the living area, Bella glanced toward the door.

Charlotte came in with a card in her hand.  “A Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, mum,” she explained.  “He seemed most determined to see you.”

Bella took the card and studied it.  “Tell him I’ll be at Lady Sarah’s ball tonight.  I will see him there.”

Charlotte looked worried.  “Mum, he’s not dressed for a ball.  I don’t think his hat is right.”

Confused, Bella looked back down at the card.  “Then what could he want?” she wondered aloud.

There was a tap on the doorway and Bella looked up to see a tall man, with broad shoulders and a handsome face, waiting in the entryway.  He had tapped with his cane.  How gentlemanly, Bella thought bitterly.  At least Owestry didn’t carry about a stupid cane.

The man—Darcy—with his verdant eyes and curling brown hair, looked a near exact copy of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lieutenant Wickham.  Clearly someone had been propagating his family line a generation back.  All men seemed to be approximately the same age.

“I will be at Lady Sarah Talbot’s ball tonight,” Bella informed him, lifting her voice a little in her embarrassment at being seen in her humble surroundings by Owestry’s cousin.  “You may meet me there, Mr. Darcy.”

A look of confusion passed over his face. “Why should I expect you at Lady Sarah’s ball, madam?” he inquired, holding out his hat and his cane to Charlotte expectantly, though not even looking in her direction.

Bella found this rude.  She nodded to Charlotte, to show that she could go.

Going to the mantle for the little protection it gave, Bella was likewise confused.  “Why else would you be here unless you wished to meet me?  Everyone else has.  As I said, I shall be at Lady Sarah’s ball tonight.  My uncle will be here in less than half an hour to escort me.  I believe it is—not the done thing—for a gentleman to be in a lady’s private rooms.  Certainly no other man has called upon me here.”

Taking her in carefully, Darcy inclined his head.  “I apologize, madam, for offending your sensibilities, but the matter is of the utmost urgency.”

“What can be more urgent than a ball?” Bella wondered aloud.

Darcy considered a moment.  “I was unaware you traveled in such elevated circles, madam.  I had been led to believe you frequented certain card games.”

Bella felt the blood drain from her face.  She knew Owestry was not ashamed of her, but she also knew that he preferred to keep her profession a secret from his family.  It was enough that she was Sir Hugh’s niece by marriage and had apparent connections in trade.  As Lord Matlock said, breeding was more important than a dowry.  Scandal, however, could chase Owestry away or certainly put pressure on him to desert her.

And Bella knew by now that she didn’t want to be deserted.

Swallowing carefully, Bella responded, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Darcy came more fully into the room, seeming to loom over her.  Bella did not like this at all.

“Are you not the Miss Swan that frequented the Armor’s Bounty not three weeks ago?”

Yes, Bella had gone to a game there, but it had been rather rough, so she hadn’t returned.

Careful not to let anything show on her face, Bella told him carefully, “I think you have me confused with someone else.”  She pierced him with a look that she hoped would show her sincerity.

Darcy, however, did not back down.  “I assure you, my information is good, madam—”

There was a clip knocking at the door.  Good, Sir Hugh seemed to have arrived.  She waited patiently for Charlotte to show him in, and as soon as he entered the small room, he looked between Bella and Darcy, brow furrowed in confusion.  He took in Bella’s rigid frame by the mantle, and demanded, “Is this man bothering you, Isabella?”

“He seems to have me confused with someone else, uncle,” Bella explained, trying to get her point across.  “I don’t know what he wants, but I think I wish for him to leave.”

“Madam, Sir,” Darcy said respectfully, “I seek a man named Lieutenant George Wickham.”

Bella caught Sir Hugh’s eye and shook her head minutely.

“—I was led to believe that you, madam, frequented the same gaming tables as he does.”

Sir Hugh cast another look at Bella, before he put one of his merriest smiles on his face.  “My dear sir, I do like to escort Miss Swan to the odd poker match, but I do not believe that either of us have played a Lieutenant George—what did you say the gentleman’s name was?”

“Lieutenant George Wickham,” Darcy repeated, eyeing Bella carefully.

“Lieutenant Wickham,” Sir Hugh concluded, clapping his hands together.  “Never heard of the fellow.—Now, I must escort my niece to a ball tonight, as you can see she looks particularly lovely tonight, and I must ask you to leave.”  He clapped his hand on Darcy’s back, which was a bit of reach, and tried to push him from the room.

Darcy hesitated, but at Sir Hugh’s continued chattering, he allowed himself to be led out.

When he was finally gone, Sir Hugh came back in, an odd look on his face.  “He’s after Wickham, is he?”

Bella moved forward with the calling card.  “That was Darcy of Pemberley—Owestry’s cousin.  I couldn’t let him know I had gambled in such—unsavory places as Lieutenant Wickham.  It could possibly ruin Owestry’s reputation.”

Sir Hugh looked at the card and turned it over, before slipping it up his sleeve.  “Quite right, quite right!” he decided.  “Do you know why he wanted him?”

Bella shrugged.  “A gambling debt?”

“Must be, must be,” Sir Hugh decided.  “Now, are you ready?  We mustn’t keep Owestry waiting.  He’ll want to stare into your eyes all evening.”

Bella was sipping a lemonade with Owestry, watching the dancers, when Darcy entered Lady Sarah’s ballroom, now properly dressed for an evening.  He certainly looked tired, but his waistcoat was a white silk and his cravat was freshly tied.  It seemed he had gone back to Darcy House, if the location on his card could be believed, freshened up, and had come right over.

He looked around the ballroom and, upon spotting Bella, looked upon her in surprise.

“Your cousin’s here,” Bella told Owestry carefully.

“Beg pardon?”

“Darcy of Pemberley is here,” Bella clarified.  “He came to my rooms demanding if I knew the whereabouts of a Lieutenant Wickham.  Sir Hugh escorted him back to his carriage after he arrived.”

“Wickham?  That scoundrel?” Owestry wondered in consternation. “Surely you have nothing to do with him.”

“I was quite confused by his questioning.  I thought he had come to make my acquaintance.”  She eyed Darcy again who was nearly upon them.  “Best foot forward.”

Offering his hand, Owestry lifted her so they could greet his cousin.

Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but Owestry interrupted him.

“I understand you have been bothering Miss Swan this evening.”  His tone was certainly accusatory.  “If you wanted to meet her, all you had to do was ask.  I wrote to you at Pemberley, but I had thought you had not got the letter since you returned for the Season so quickly.  Tell me, have you left Georgiana behind in Derbyshire?”

Darcy hesitated, looking between them.  “I do not take your meaning,” he told Owestry carefully.

“The betting books are full of it,” Owestry informed him, a wryness to his tone.  “Lady Whistledown can write of little else.  Everyone wishes to know when I will propose to Miss Swan and I daresay the lady is beginning to wonder herself.”

Bella carefully placed her hand on Owestry’s arm.  “You know I am in no hurry, Owestry.  I am not a woman to leap upon every proposal in her first season.”

Owestry turned to her with a small, silly smile on his face.  “I do not even know your age, Miss Swan.”  He was clearly deflecting from whatever Darcy was going to say to them.

“You know I was never presented,” she demurred.

“Quite right, Miss Swan,” he declared, taking her hand and threading it through his arm.  “We shall have to remedy that when you are made Viscountess of Owestry.”

Darcy now inserted himself into the conversation.  “I was unaware you had decided to remarry, Owestry.”  He carefully regarded Bella.

“Miss Swan quite changed my mind on the subject.”  He had that dopey grin back on his face.  He turned to Darcy now.  “Surely you must be thinking of matrimony yourself soon, Darcy.  I had fathered Annabelle by your age.”

Darcy seemed a little startled before his handsome face smoothed back out.  “You know, Owestry, that I do not believe I can find a wife at balls such as this.”

“Neither could I!” Owestry exclaimed.  “I found Miss Swan under a rock and had to force Sir Hugh to cart her out.  I daresay he likes the infamy of being the guardian of the most talked about woman in London!”

He also liked the coin Bella was winning him at the poker matches she had been attending.  Owestry had not been back, and Septi had told her that was because he was no longer ragingly unhappy at being forced to marry against his wishes.  Septi had said this with a wink before calling.  Bella had unfortunately lost that hand.

Darcy was regarding Bella again.  “What kind of rock?”

Bella could see what Darcy was getting at.  He was going to bring the conversation back around to Bella’s origins and her possible knowledge of Lieutenant George Wickham.  He seemed to be reckless enough to bring it up in a ballroom in front of his own cousin.

Giving him a tight-lipped smile, Bella told him, “I used to read Shakespeare in the evenings and had no one to talk to but my maid.—And Sir Hugh, of course, when he came to check on me.”

“I do not believe I am acquainted with your uncle.”

“You saw him tonight,” Bella replied a little flippantly.

Owestry rested his hand carefully on Bella’s, quieting her.  Turning to his cousin, he told him, “Sir Hugh Hayes.  He was knighted at the beginning of the season after giving that impassioned speech on the state of our war with Napoleon!—I do not know if you are aware of this, Miss Swan, but I was actually in attendance at court that day.  My father wanted me to preview the debutantes.”

“Any interesting ones?” Bella flirted, determined to keep the conversation away from Wickham.

“Miss Prudence Featherington fainted, but Miss Daphne Bridgerton was named the diamond of the Season.  We have quite eclipsed Miss Bridgerton’s romance.”

Bella grimaced.  “Carrie did get a copy of Whistledown and showed me.”  She looked over at the dancers.  “Which one is Miss Bridgerton?”

“If she’s dancing with Hastings, I’ll be able to spot her, otherwise I never really took notice of her,” Owestry admitted, casting his eyes over the dancers.  “There is Hastings in the red coat,” he pointed out.  “The girl in white with the diamonds in her hair must be Miss Bridgerton.”

“She looks very elegant,” Bella noticed.  “I can see why Queen Charlotte took a liking to her.”

Darcy cleared his throat.  They returned their attention to him.  Bella noticed he looked perturbed.

“Miss Swan has conquered you then?” Darcy checked. “I daresay Uncle Matlock feared this day would never come.”

“He asked me about my mother’s childbearing skills when we first met,” Bella told him outright.  “He was quite concerned.  Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, suggested I should set my cap at you instead of Owestry.”  She gave him a pointed look.

Before Darcy could answer the accusation, however, the was a commotion on the top of the stairs of the ballroom.  Bella glanced up and saw an elegant woman of dark skinned beauty in fashions of what Bella knew to be the previous century enter with a young man of foreign extraction beside her.

“Who’s that?” Bella wondered aloud.

“Queen Charlotte,” Owestry whispered in her ear.  “I do not know who the gentleman is.”

The queen was now coming down the stairs, proclaiming to the hostess that she be attended to immediately, and when she came into the ballroom proper, the queen demanded, “Now where is the Viscount of Owestry?”  She was looking around.

Owestry quickly disengaged from Bella and, kissing her hand, rushed up to the queen.

“Where is your better half?” the queen was now demanding.  “I must see this Miss Swan!  I have been reading of nothing else!”

Bella glanced at Darcy, who was standing imperiously beside her, and she carefully went up to where Queen Charlotte was waiting, Lord Owestry in attendance.

Curtseying as low as she could go while not making a stupid show of it, Bella rose to her feet and carefully flicked her eyes up at the queen.

Queen Charlotte was looking her over, tapping her fan on her chin.  “Lovely,” she decided, “though hardly dressed appropriately.  Girl, wherever did you get that dress?”

Bella looked down at it.  She knew the sleeves weren’t quite the thing and it needed lace around the bodice, and it should probably be silk instead of muslin, but it was at least respectable.  “I have been in mourning for my father since oh nine, your majesty,” she apologized.  “This is the only evening dress I own.”

Scoffing, Queen Charlotte looked about.  “Where is Sir Hugh?  This must be put to rights!  This young lady is to be a Viscountess!”

Sir Hugh, however, was in a back room, probably gambling for higher stakes than thruppence.  A murmur went through the crowd and Bella waited until it reached the end of the ballroom and Sir Hugh Hayes came tearing out of it at the behest of his queen.

“Why is Miss Swan dressed so badly?” Queen Charlotte demanded.  “I thought you were made of money if not land.  “You must go to Madame Delacroix tomorrow and see to this, Sir Hugh.—Now, where is Miss Bridgerton?  I wish to introduce my nephew!”

Bella stepped backward as the young lady who was indeed Miss Bridgerton was led forward by the man in the red coat—the Duke of Hastings.

“I don’t need a new dress,” Bella assured Sir Hugh.

“Of course you need a new dress,” he responded to her gaily.  “The queen has commanded it!  Perhaps grey since you’ve been in mourning so long.  I know you have the funds.”  He gave her a pointed look.  Bella quite understood him.  The queen had commanded it but she must pay for it out of her own winnings.

The next day, Sir Hugh escorted her to the modiste, and Bella was poked and prodded as she was measured for a ballgown in silvers. 

“You still need not dance,” Sir Hugh informed her.  “Lord Owestry will respect that you are in mourning.”

“He knows I cannot dance,” she whispered when Madam Delacroix was in the other room to fetch a lace she thought Bella might like.  She wondered how much it would cost.  “He said he’d teach me when the time came.”

“How gentlemanly!” Sir Hugh beamed.  “You cannot go out in society,” he reminded her, “until the dress is done.  Queen Charlotte will not stand for it.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “I know.  I can still go for ices, however.”

Then, though, Bella lost spectacularly at poker one night.  She went all in on a straight in clubs from deuces to six.  She was beat out by a Royal Flush.

That night when she went back to her rooms, she had to count out a hundred pounds sterling from her hiding hole to pay back Sir Hugh.  He looked at her sternly and reminded her that her dress was due to be picked up the next day.

The bill came in at over seven pounds.

Bella only had forty pounds now to her name, and life was getting expensive.

From Owestry, Bella was aware that Darcy was still in London and knocking down every innkeeper’s door from Tarryville to Bloomsbury.  She knew he was in search for Wickham, though she had no idea why.  She thought it would be better to show no curiosity in Darcy or his dealings, so she didn’t inquire.

When her dress was finished, Sir Hugh escorted her back out to balls, enjoying all the attention he got.  He told her she could not accept Owestry’s proposal until the final ball of the season, as he had money riding on it.  Bella would not dare refuse him.

However, she lost at another poker match.  And then another.  She was beginning to get desperate.

Owestry proposed the Thursday before the Duchess of Hastings’ ball.  Miss Daphne Bridgerton had had a quickie marriage to the Duke of Hastings after she had been pursued by none other than Prince Friedrich.  It had been quite the scandal and had usurped Bella and Owestry’s place in Lady Whistledown for a whole fortnight, not that Bella minded.  The problem was, Bella had played poker for Sir Hugh yet again and had lost spectacularly.  She was now on a serious losing streak and she now owed him the twenty pounds buy in, and she only had the fifteen pounds (and the thirteen shillings) that she had won the week before.

She hadn’t even touched her ices and was unaware that everyone was watching her quite closely.

Feeling a smooth hand slide over her gloved one, Bella looked up, tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, m’dear?” Owestry asked, trying to catch her gaze.  “Is it that you don’t want to marry me?—I had thought you had come round to the idea.”

“It’s not that,” Bella admitted, trying to take a deep breath.  “I honestly haven’t decided if I even want to be married or not.  I hadn’t considered the idea before I met you.”

“Because I’m quite gone on you, Miss Swan,” Owestry admitted, his hand still warm on hers.  “If I don’t marry you, I don’t think I’ll marry at all.  The title will end up with Fitzwilliam and his heirs, and all Matlock blood will be purged from it.  I don’t even really mind at this point.”

Bella gave him a weak smile.

Owestry looked her over, thinking.  “Is it that Lady Whistledown wrote about you last week again?”

She honestly couldn’t care less.  Giving Owestry a look, she withdrew her hand and set it in her lap.

Owestry considered her for several more moments.  “Is it money problems?” he asked her delicately.  “Are you in need?—If so, I can certainly—”

“I can’t ask for your money,” Bella told him, shaking her head vigorously.  “How could I take money from you without giving you the answer you want to hear?  We both know it’s only a matter of time, days even—”  She thought how she had to win Sir Hugh his bet by accepting at the Duchess of Hastings’ ball.  She had to put off Owestry by a matter of days without putting him off entirely.

Owestry nodded carefully and then pushed their untouched ices aside.  Leaning forward, he asked her, “How much do you owe Sir Hugh?  You lost two nights ago, but I assumed you had it covered.”

“Six pounds,” she admitted.  “I only have about twelve shillings left, now that I’ve taken a cab here and must take one back.”

“As little as that?” Owestry wondered to himself.  “Sir Hugh must have really plucked you from obscurity.”

Feeling a little defensive, Bella grimaced.  “I win more often than I lose—usually.”

“No,” Owestry agreed, “of course you do.  I have no doubt.”  He reached out carefully for her, but she kept her hands firmly in her lap.  He sighed and withdrew his hands.  “I will go to Sir Hugh and pay your debts.”

“And if there’s a next time?” Bella asked carefully, “and I’m still not married to you?”

“I will impress upon Sir Hugh that you are no longer an investment,” Owestry told her firmly.  “I know he has a bet riding on our engagement.  He’ll make enough money on you without backing you in poker games—”

Bella looked up at him, her dark eyes filled with tears.  She hated appearing weak like this, but she had never felt so desperate in her life, and all over six pounds sterling.  It would be laughable in the twenty-first century, but she wasn’t in the twenty-first century.  She was in the nineteenth, and everything was different here.  Money had a different value and women certainly couldn’t work for a wage unless they were a governess, a companion, or a prostitute.

“And I am determined you will marry me,” Owestry was now saying, conviction in his voice.

Bella looked up, a little hopeful. 

“You have taken a decided liking for me,” Owestry continued.  “It is only a matter of time.  I must stay the course.  And, if between now and then, you need me to pay your servant’s wages or need help with the butcher, there will be no shame in it.  We shall merely think of it as a bride price—”

“I think Carrie is in love with the butcher’s boy,” Bella now admitted.  “I’m not going to have a maid soon.—and I couldn’t take your money—Owestry—” Bella tried to object.

“I shall hear no objection,” Owestry told her, signaling to the girl that they needed two fresh ices.  “I know you like me.  You’re just waiting for the appropriate moment that Sir Hugh has decided on.—We will get you a French ladies’ maid when your current one marries.  It is all the rage.”

And despite herself, Bella felt her shoulders relax even the smallest bit.  Everything would be well.  Owestry would see to that.  She just had to trust him and trust in herself, trust that a love could grow from fondness and that she could give this idea of marriage an actual try.  Owestry was, after all, so bearably human.  It was such a relief.  And she hoped she would never see a vampire again.

Now she just had to engineer another proposal at the Duchess of Hastings’ ball.  That shouldn’t be too much trouble.  A little nudge in the right direction, a hint that she had her answer.  All will be well with the world, and at least she no longer owed Sir Hugh six pounds sterling. 

Her life would no longer be poker match to poker match or a roll of the proverbial dice.

The End.