Highest Stakes (25 page)

  "You've made your point," he grudgingly confessed.

  The trio set out at a sedate pace for Heathstead Hall, well satisfied with both their performances. Charlotte handed the horse off to the bleary-eyed Jemmy and then scurried back to the house to dress for breakfast, where they would soon hear Sir Garfield's decision.

  After giving Mars a vigorous rubdown, Robert turned him out in the paddock next to an indignant Amoret. The stallion, eager to attract the mare's attention, first snorted then powerfully arched his neck, tossed his head, and trotted in a springing stride up to the fence, where he nickered softly to her.

  The mare, who had been cropping grass, paused to regard the eager stallion with haughty disinterest and then turned away. With her hindquarters facing him, the stallion curled back his upper lip, trying to better catch her scent in order to decipher her receptiveness to his nickered invitation.

  This time the mare exhibited mild curiosity and ambled up to the fence. Eagerly, the stallion stretched his neck and reached out his head to sniff her more closely. Amoret, rather than showing any encouragement, demonstrated her repugnance with a squeal of displeasure and a lightning-fast strike of her foreleg. Contrary to the male's amorous inclinations, the mare was more disposed to kicking his teeth in. The hapless stallion, demonstrating good sense and even better reflexes, retreated from the peevish mare.

  "'Tis not yet her season, my good fellow," Robert replied. "She will surely show more interest as the days grow longer."

  Philip chuckled to the stallion, considering his own pursuit of Beatrix. "She merely plays hard to get, old chum. With patience, and above all finesse on your part, she'll issue her own invitation in due time."

The officers left the paddocks for the house and joined the family, who were still seated at breakfast. Lady Felicia again played the gracious hostess, and Charles greeted the pair genially enough. Beatrix feigned disinterest but stole covert glances at Major Drake. Charlotte concealed her apprehension by diverting her eyes to her teacup. Sir Garfield, however, was all business. Without preamble and forgoing any social niceties, he staunchly announced, "I shall accept the rematch with the following provisions: Firstly, it shall be run at Doncaster Common, three days hence. Secondly, the horses will be ridden by a hired jockey." Far from crestfallen not to ride again, Charles received the news with a sigh of relief, return by Sir Garfield's darkling look.

  Sir Garfield continued, undaunted by his son's sullen visage. "Thirdly, they will run four miles distance and perform three heats, if required, to clearly declare a victor." He paused, scrutinizing the captain, and added the final proviso. "As to the wager, it shall be augmented by five hundred pounds. I accept nothing less. A bona fide race requires a true wager."

  Robert's heart skipped a beat at this final pronouncement. At his rate of twelve shillings per day, five hundred pounds represented over two years' salary! It would be impossible for him to cover such a loss.

  By issuing such a challenge, Sir Garfield had saved his own face. He had intentionally proposed stakes so exorbitant that Devington would have no choice but decline, but doing so would also compromise his honor as a gentleman.

  Philip's ire rose at the gall of this game played at Robert's expense. Such men as this baronet were the lowest of the low in his estimation. He refused to suffer his fellow officer's debasement by such a pusillanimous sod, but given his recent ill luck, five hundred pounds was a devilish stiff loss to cover. He had a rule never to overextend himself and lived by this basic canon to avoid the humiliation of appealing to his family to cover his debts. Nonetheless, he vowed to support his companion.
In for a penny, in for a pound…
Catching Robert's eye, Philip nodded almost imperceptibly to accept the wager.

  Though taken aback by the magnanimous gesture, Robert managed to choke out the words, "I accept your conditions, Sir Garfield."

  The wily baronet, in belief he had outmaneuvered the captain, now found himself backed into a corner.

  The race was most definitely "on."

R eturning
to the house, Charlotte was greeted by a summons from her uncle. "He wishes to see you in the library, miss," the footman notified her.

  With foreboding, she straightened her shoulders and proceeded to his sanctuary, where he beckoned her to a chair. Charlotte perched upon it rigidly, expectantly.

  "I wish a word with you, Niece," Sir Garfield began in deceptively cordial tones belied by his visage. Rising, he sighed deeply and commenced pacing with his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Charlotte, as your uncle, it befalls to me to see to your future, to ensure you properly settled and espoused to a gentleman. Do not deceive yourself that I am ignorant of this romantic fantasy you persist in entertaining. I had hoped you had done with your foolish fancy when he went off to war, but since he failed to get himself blown to bits, I find I must needs deal with this once and for all. This infatuation with young Devington must come to an immediate conclusion."

  "But, Uncle—" His dark look cowed her.

  "A marriage, not unlike a business partnership, is an amicable arrangement at best. It is not to be entered indiscriminately and upon one's personal whim. One must consider the betterment of one's family, as in horse breeding, with sagacious deliberation to improve the stock. With no name, no holdings, and no future, Devington is of a decidedly inferior breed. He is not, nor will he ever be, a suitable match."

  "But I love him!"

  "
That
is of absolutely no consequence! Love is for paupers, those who have nothing else. The boy is not for you, so get this maggot out of your head once and for all! Henceforth, you are expressly forbidden any contact with that upstart. Do you understand?"

  "But the race! You agreed to his wager!"

  "Whatever the outcome of this ludicrous wager, you are to refuse his suit. Attend to me closely, Charlotte," he said, his voice threatening, "regardless of the outcome, you
will
refuse him."

  Charlotte, who had scarce spoken a word during his tirade, sat pensively silent. She had almost known what he was going to say before he said it, but the knowledge didn't lessen the sting. He claimed to have her best interests at heart, but the truth was selfevident. Her uncle viewed her as nothing more than a commodity to advance his own ambitions.

  He had used her father in the same way. When young Edward Wallace approached his brother with a desire to enter the clergy, Sir Garfield had refused. He had no use for a clergyman in the family. Instead, he had insisted that his brother study law or lose his financial support. Edward acquiesced and entered the Honorable Society of Gray's Inn, where he spent the ensuing decade repaying his brother with legal favors.

  Although he never developed a passion for the law, he had found contentment with his wife and daughter. Charlotte's parents had loved one another deeply and were truly happy. Having seen this, Charlotte would settle for nothing less. She would never agree to a loveless union, and only Robert held the key to her heart, that sacred organ she had warily guarded. Her future would be with the man she loved, or with no one.

  Misreading her silence, Sir Garfield brought the interview to a closure, gratified by the ease and success of his subjugation. Charlotte excused herself, and with a heavy heart, escaped to her room. Upon entering her chamber, she went directly to her treasure chest, the ornately engraved mahogany box on her night table. Opening the lid, she solemnly fingered her only valuables, her most treasured possessions—Robert's letters, a short strand of milky pearls tied with a pink satin ribbon, and a silver watch.

  She knew the value of these items was only a fraction of the five hundred pounds Robert needed, but he had gambled everything to win their future together. Her sacrifice could be no less. Tenderly wrapping her treasures in a linen handkerchief, she slid the small bundle through the slit in her petticoat and into her pocket.

  Lest anyone spy her, she exited the house through the garden and crept thru a neglected opening in the hedgerow, taking the well-worn path to the stables. Failing at first to see her beloved, she wandered over to the paddocks. Amoret greeted her with a warm nicker and trotted prettily up to the fence.

  "How goes it, my lovely, with your handsome gent?" Charlotte crooned, stroking the mare.

  "Not as well as he had hoped," Robert replied, striding up behind her. "Though I confess I had no real expectations for either of us until spring."

  Charlotte turned, and Robert pulled her to him, encircling her in his warm embrace. Charlotte was suddenly hypersensitive of the rising physical tension between them. "Spring?" she asked.

  "Aye. If all goes as planned. Spring would be a good time to wed, would it not?"

  Hope rekindled in her eyes. "B-but what if—"

  He hushed her with a finger to her lips and slowly traced them before inclining his head and brushing them with his own. Charlotte quivered involuntarily. Alarmed by her sudden clamor of emotions, Charlotte backed away, fumbling for her pocket and the small package within.

  "But we needn't wait, Robert, and you needn't risk everything in this wager. We could run away together."

  "But how would we get by?"

  "With these," she answered, retrieving her bundle and offering it with open hands.

  Distraught by her sudden anxiety, Robert had neither need nor desire to inspect her gift. Probing deeply into those hazel eyes, he cupped her hands in his and closed them back about her offering. "Have faith," he whispered.

  His kiss expressed the greatest reverence for her selfless gesture, and Charlotte responded with all her being. Any further speech was superfluous.

Keen to learn even the most tedious and mundane details of army life, Charles detained Philip after breakfast. Callow and idealistic, he would have enthusiastically enlisted in the army had not his father dismissed the notion and any further discussion of it. Sir Garfield's interdiction, however, did little to stifle his son's interest in all martial matters, and most particularly in the current campaign.

  "Major Drake, I understand from Robert that you've served with His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland?"

  "Not precisely, Charles. All cavalry units were under Ligonier's command, but during the fray at Dettingen, His Grace rode bravely to the fore and assumed command of the left flank when our major fell and Ligonier was cut off. The duke took charge of the remaining Horse whilst His Majesty and Lord Stair commanded the Foot on our right. We were sure to be annihilated, but the men rallied, and the tide was turned, ere I shouldn't be standing before you."