The Wagered Widow by Patricia Veryan

I’ve an ace up my sleeve.”
    â€œYou have? God bless my soul! What—”
    The ladies had been too engrossed in their discussion to notice the gathering of bandsmen, but now a sudden roar of music shattered the quiet of the warm early afternoon, sending pigeons rocketing into the air and causing a dozing elderly gentleman to topple from his chair.
    Anthony, his pale face alight with excitement, added to the embarrassment of the casualty by clamorously aiding him back into his chair. This done, he galloped up to deposit his dripping yacht in his mother’s lap. His aunt foiled this dastardly scheme by snatching the yacht and setting it on the grass. He threw a beaming grin at her, and panted, “May I please go and listen to the band, Mama?”
    Being conversant with the mental processes of small boys, Rebecca refrained from pointing out that the efforts of the musicians could probably be heard in Hampstead. “Yes, dear. But please stay where I can see you.”
    He darted off. Mrs. Boothe watched the vigorous pumping of those bony knees, but she had not lost track of the conversation and probed, “Now, as to this ace of yours…?”
    â€œWell,” said Rebecca gleefully, “it seems that Sir Peter has become temporary guardian to the daughter of a cousin. He means to launch the girl properly, and wishes her to be groomed for her come-out by an exceptional, er—companion or governess.”
    â€œVery good of him, I’m sure. But I do not see how this happenstance can be viewed as an ace card for you, love.”
    â€œBut only think! Sir Peter is an only child. What can he know of the type of lady who would be suitable for such a post?” Seeing that her aunt was preparing to enter a caveat, she rushed on, “It seems to me that were I to offer to help him in selecting a suitable candidate, ’twould be logical enough that I must also meet his charge, no?”
    â€œIt is scarce a certainty, and—”
    â€œAnd from what he told me of her upbringing, the poor girl has known little of love and less of guidance.” Her eyes dreaming, Rebecca went on, “She has been sickly, and is likely a dowd, poor creature. ’Twill be a positive joy to instruct her. I shall take her to Madame Olga, perhaps, and by the time I am finished, will have transformed the girl into a poised debutante of whom Sir Peter can be proud.”
    Mrs. Boothe mulled this over in silence. Life, she knew, had not been easy for her niece since, at seventeen, she married Forbes Parrish. Rebecca had accepted her father’s choice of a husband with no outward evidence of dismay. They had made a handsome couple, she thought, with a nostalgic smile. Forbes, the most generous and well meaning of men, had gone through his quite respectable fortune within three years of the marriage, however. The jewels he had showered upon his bride had been the first casualties to result from his gaming, and had kept them solvent for another two years, but the luck he was sure would come to his rescue had (after the fashion of such capricious commodities) deserted him, and only his aunt and his widow knew how perilously close they now were to bankruptcy.
    Rebecca’s tendency to fantasize was well known to Mrs. Boothe, who had judged the trait a blessing that enabled the dear girl briefly to escape harsh reality. Besides the romantical, however, Rebecca harboured a wilful streak, and an occasional disregard for the bounds of convention that could be alarming. What other lady would have paid heed to that old man who had fallen in the middle of Bond Street last winter? Why, he had given every appearance of being inebriated and, if the gentlemen passing by chose to ignore him, a lady should certainly not rush into the traffic to aid him. Much less a lady wearing blacks! It made one palpitate just to remember the uproar it had caused. Especially when Becky had demanded that those two unwilling chairmen