A Snow moon christmas

All about the dowry

*Chester*

I discover that being left at the altar isn't nearly as humiliating or infuriating as being abandoned on the dance floor. Or perhaps it simply seems so because I care a good deal more about Merry traipsing off without me than I did about Anne.

As people swirl around me, they give me questioning glances, arched eyebrows, pursed lips. Then the whispers begin, and I have a strong urge to tell them all to go to the devil.

Wending my way past ballooning hems and dancing slippers, I fight to keep my face in a stoic mask that reveals none of my inner thoughts. I suspect a good many of the women would swoon if they knew that I want to rush after Merry, usher her into a distant corner, and kiss her until the words coming from her mouth are sweet instead of bitter.

It doesn't lessen my anger that she has every right to be upset with me. But then the fury is directed at myself, not her. I have handled things poorly. I need to be alone with her to adequately explain, and furthermore, to sway her away from Lightfoot. But I can see now that I have misjudged her loyalty to Lightfoot and her dislike of myself.

"Chester?"

Turning, I smile at the moonbeam-haired beauty standing before me. "Anne."

"Is everything all right?" She asks.

"Yes, of course." Even as I speak the words, I realize that had we married, I would have spent a good deal of my time being untruthful with her, as I am now. I like her, adore her, in fact, but I don't love her. I doubt I would ever have fallen for her as Walter had before he left for the dark lands. And certainly not as Beta Raphael has.

"I'm so very glad you came," she says.

I give her a small smile. "Yes, well, I must thank you for sending me the list of guests who had accepted the invitation."

"I daresay that I needed to send only one name: Miss Merida." She teases.

To imply I am taken aback by the accuracy of her words is an understatement. I thought I was so skilled at hiding my emotions. "How did you know?"

Taking my arm, she guides me over to an assortment of fronds that provide some protection from prying eyes. "While you were courting me, I noticed the way you looked at her with longing on a few occasions when our paths crossed with hers. I thought perhaps she had rebuffed you, which I certainly didn't understand, but after observing the drama on the dance floor, I don't think the rebuffing happened until tonight."

The drama that everyone had observed. I thought in public I would be spared her wrath. Where Merry is concerned, I seem destined to constantly misjudge. "I'm not quite certain 'rebuffed' is the proper word. She is betrothed, after all. What sort of gentleman would I be to try to steal her away from Lightfoot?"

Anne smiles. "A very determined one, I should think, and I would wager on your success." She glances around as though fearing that she might be overheard. "As you know, my brothers are the worst gossips in all of the land. James tells me that Lightfoot is up to his eyebrows in debt to Tristan. While I don't know my brother by marriage very well, Raphael has assured me that Tristan is someone to whom I would never wish to owe anything."

I am of the same mind. Beta Tristan Rafe owns a gambling establishment, and while it has a solid reputation, I prefer one with a bit more class, better clientele, and no rumors of thuggery surrounding it. "You think Lightfoot is marrying Merida only for her dowry?"

"I have heard it's substantial. I wish pack Society would do away with the entire dowry business. It always leaves a miss wondering at a man's true motivations." She sighs.

"Surely you have no doubt where Beta Raphael is concerned." I say. The man is utterly besotted with her.

She laughs. "Oh, absolutely not. No, my concern is with Miss Merida. One of my other brothers, and I can't remember which one now, hinted that this betrothal came about under unfortunate circumstances."

I feel as though I have taken a punch to the gut. "You think he compromised her?"

"I don't know. It was something about a garden and witnesses." She holds up her hands. "Dear Goddess, I'm as bad as they are. Forgive me. I know not of what I speak, and so I should not be speaking. I just dislike seeing her with Lightfoot, whom I don't much care for when she could be with you, whom I favor a great deal."

Reaching out, I squeeze her hand. "What matters, Anne, is that she is happy."

"Of course, you are right. It's just that she didn't look as happy with him as she did with you." She says.

I chuckle. "Now I know you are biased. She was quite put out with me the entire time we were dancing."

"I was put out with Raphael a good bit of the time after I met him, but it didn't stop me from falling in love with him." Rising up on her toes, she busses a quick kiss over my cheek. "I wish you luck with your endeavors here."

As she wanders away, I decide that my best course for the moment is to enjoy another glass of Scotch. I'm heading toward the doorway when Alpha Wexford steps into my path, his nose red, his cheeks flushed, his eyes radiating panic.

"Who the devil was she?" he asks. "I never saw anyone. She has no doubt wandered off and is in danger of freezing to death by now. We must cease the music, form search parties, call out the hounds."

"Steady, old chap," I command, placing my hands on Wexford's shoulders, attempting to calm him before damage is done. "There was no woman."

Wexford blinks and stares at me as though I have spoken in Mandarin. "Whatever do you mean?"

Obviously, the man's ability to reason has frozen while he was outside. "I wrote the note. The entire thing was a ruse as I wished to dance that particular dance with Miss Merida."

"You sent me out in the cold? For a dance? Why didn't you just ask, man?" He huffs

"Would you have stepped aside?" I ask.

"That is beside the point." Wexford holds up a finger. "I shan't soon forget this, Chester." With that ominous warning, he storms off.

Considering Wexford has once shot a rhinoceros, I consider myself fortunate that the veiled threat is quite mild. Then I see a young miss grinning in the doorway. "I don't suppose it would be my good fortune to discover you are deaf."

With a giggle, she shakes her head and disappears into the hallway. Lovely. More fodder for the gossip mill.

*Merida*

"He sent Alpha Wexford out into the storm so he could dance with you," Miss Sophia says.

I have come to the retiring room to regain my calm because it's too early to retire to my chambers. I find myself surrounded by Ladies Sophia, Beatrix, and Violet.

"Terribly romantic," Miss Violet says.

"Terribly selfish," Miss Beatrix insists. "Wexford could have died."

I wonder if she is hoping for more than a dance from the fellow. I wonder if I should tell Miss Beatrix that she shouldn't strive so hard to impress men with her litany of accomplishments.

Then I wonder if things might have been different if I had tried harder with Chester… if I had thrown a fit in the garden instead of giving the impression that I could hardly be bothered by his change of heart. Am I as much to blame for our diverging paths as he is?

"Perhaps we shall have a duel at dawn," Miss Sophia says, her voice rife with excitement.

"Between Chester and Wexford?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I was thinking more along the lines of Chester and Lightfoot. I daresay it is one thing to dance with a miss, an entirely different matter to go to such great lengths to do so."

"My dance card was filled. He wanted a dance. Make no more of it than that." Even now I should be in the ballroom fulfilling my obligations. Perhaps I will claim a headache.

Miss Sophia raises a brow. "It's no secret his family coffers suffer for want of coin. His father made some ghastly investments, from what I hear. He needs an heiress with a substantial dowry. He lost Miss Anne."

"You say that as though he misplaced her," I interrupt, impatient with the conversation. Standing quickly, I shake out my skirts. I want to be more than my dowry to some man. Am I to Lightfoot? I'm no longer as sure. "I'm returning to the ballroom."

It's nearing midnight, the last dance will be soon, and I'm anxious to see Lightfoot, to have him wash away any lingering evidence that Chester danced with me.

But I wait for him in vain, standing among the older matrons whose hips no longer allow them the luxury of dance. My only consolation is that Chester isn't about to witness my disappointment. I wonder if he's taken his leave. I can only hope.