Highest Stakes (24 page)

  Accepting the obvious bait, Major Drake complimented Beatrix on her charming appearance, but his appraising gaze spoke volumes more. Satisfied she had achieved her aim to fix his interest, Beatrix lowered her eyes coyly in a perfect imitation of a blush.

  Observing the interaction, Charlotte and Robert exchanged skeptical looks.

  Yet ill-humored from the race and completely oblivious to the exchange between his daughter and the major, Sir Garfield fixed his morose stare on Robert. "Well, now you've won your wager, what have you in mind regarding the mare?"

  Considering for a moment, Robert replied, "I have a mind to breed her to Mars in the spring."

  "'Twas pure happenstance, your taking the race," Sir Garfield grumbled crossly. "Rascallion's by far the superior horse. Must've been off today. Damned fluke it was, nothing more!"

  "He's a fine colt, Sir Garfield. No doubt he was off," Robert amiably conceded.

  "'Twasn't even a proper race, for that matter," Sir Garfield continued, gaining steam. "A proper race would have been four miles and three heats! That's the true test. The true runner has bottom; still runs with vigor at the end, don't you know. Four miles, three heats: that's the true test!"

  "Indeed." Philip encouraged Sir Garfield, perceiving a golden opportunity, the proverbial gift horse about to raise its head, if he would take the bait. He winced at his mixed metaphors then prompted, "Perhaps, sir, a rematch is in order?"

  "A rematch?" Robert eyed his comrade speculatively.

  "Yes… yes, indubitably a rematch is in order," Sir Garfield

parroted.

  "What do you propose, sir?" Robert asked cautiously, veiling his enthusiasm for Philip's stroke of brilliance.

  "Yes. Indeed. A real race, b'God. Four miles, three heats."

  Robert eyed him squarely. "I accept, Sir Garfield."

  "If it is a real match, it must be a real wager, Devington," Sir Garfield challenged, fully expecting Robert to back down.

  "Then I propose substantially higher stakes, sir." He paused for courage then took the ultimate plunge. "I propose Charlotte and Amoret should I win, and the forfeiture of Mars, should I lose."

  Sir Garfield choked on his tea. "What do you say?"

  With his heart in his throat, Robert enunciated slowly, "Should we again triumph against your Rascallion, I shall win the mare, as well as your consent to Charlotte's hand, if she will have me." He directed his gaze straight into her astonished hazel eyes. "Conversely," he continued, "should I lose, you shall acquire one fine gray charger, and I shall foreswear my feelings for your niece forever."

  Charlotte was stricken at these last words.

  "You would have me wager my own niece? You impudent puppy!"

  "'Twould appear your stakes are too high for the gentleman's liking, Devington," Philip drawled.

  "Stakes too high? Indeed not, you insolent whelp!" Sir Garfield furiously sputtered.

  "Whelp, sir? I think the remark needlessly disparaging to my poor mother." The major smirked.

  "Your mother?" Sir Garfield scowled, befuddled by the major's satire.

  Robert regarded Philip intently with a silent plea to hold his peace. Sir Garfield needed no further goading. The man had never refused a racing wager in his life.

  "Must mull this overnight," the baronet replied sullenly. "You'll

have my answer on the morrow, Devington."

"On the morrow, then, sir." Robert said and bowed his dismissal.

  While Robert departed in relative haste, Philip tarried, making his adieus in an obsequious fashion. He thanked his hostess for her congenial hospitality and displayed his leg in the execution of a most courtly bow. Advancing to Beatrix, he lingered longer than necessary over her hand. "My lady," he said for her ears alone, "I fear I provoked your father and have jeopardized my opportunity to make atonement for our prior meeting."

  Beatrix lowered her head demurely for her mother's benefit, but her brazen gaze belied her innocent tone. "I am yet unconvinced of your contrition, Major." She accompanied the words with a practiced moue. "You have yet to pay penance."

  Philip was all too familiar with such coquetry but played along. "Indeed, my lady? And precisely what… penance… have you in mind?"

  "The penalty should match the crime, should it not?" she challenged.

  "Indeed, so." Philip chuckled.
So, the little minx wanted to play
deep, did she?
She ventured into unchartered waters if she intended to play with him. "I then leave it to your imagination, my lady." He made his departure.

Charlotte confronted Robert, intercepting him as he was leaving. "Why, Robert? Why take such a gamble, such an impossible risk? What are you about? Please make me understand," she beseeched.

  "My dearest, dearest, love." He clasped her shoulders. "When I left you, I had no wealth, property, or title attached to my name. I departed with only the desire to elevate myself in your uncle's esteem. I had the naïve belief that my new rank might deem me an acceptable suitor. I had hoped to part with a betrothal.

  "I realize now 'twas a false hope. Your uncle will never perceive me as either an equal or as a suitable match. As matters rest, we will never be together. You will soon be given to another, and I would have nothing beyond a hard and lonely soldier's life, with greater likelihood of an early grave than a prosperous future.

  "Although it is an undeniably rash act, this is my only way forward. I have pledged to you and before God to take charge of my destiny and of
our
future. If I cannot earn Sir Garfield's favor, then I would incur his debt of honor. If I lose, I am no worse off, but if I win, I gain my heart's desire. It truly is no gamble, Charlotte. Do you see it now?"

  "But, Robert, I have as much at risk as you. My uncle already has plans to take us off to London in a few months to arrange marriages for Beatrix and me. I'll do anything to prevent this and secure our future together. You must let me help."

  "There's nothing you can do, my love," he said tenderly.

  "But there is," she insisted. "You need to ready Mars, don't you see? Though he made an impressive showing today, it was a short race. Rascallion doesn't start as strong, but he has impressive stamina. I've seen him run, and I'm not nearly as confident of victory as you are. It is by no means assured, especially if Mars is not prepared."

  "What do you propose?"

  "Let me ride. I can ready him for you. You know I can outride even you. I proved it years ago. I can help. You
must
let me," she pleaded, knowing their future balanced on the outcome.

  Arriving to overhear her entreaty, Philip retorted with a snort, "What rot! A woman to ride? I credited you with more sense, man! Take the horse back to Doncaster and hire a professional."

  "Don't be so quick to dismiss her, Philip. She speaks the truth. I've told you as much before. Her suggestion is not without merit."

  Eyeing Philip disapprovingly, Charlotte continued, "It must be very early, at first light. Only the servants are about before dawn. We can trust Letty, and Jeffries will be in Doncaster with Rascallion, at least until the race is over. A few coins should bribe the stable hands."

  "You've yet to convince
me
," Philip interjected with clenched teeth, "and it's once again
my blunt
at risk. I've played the fool once on your account, Devington, and it's not a role I relish."

  "Reserve judgment until you've seen her ride. We won't have Sir Garfield's final word 'til the morrow anyway. If you're not swayed by then, we'll off to Doncaster if he accepts the terms, though I doubt not he will. The man doesn't suffer defeat easily."

  Charlotte concurred. "My uncle is entirely predictable on that score."

  "All right, I withhold judgment until the morrow," Philip conceded grudgingly.

  "Until the morrow, my little hoyden." Robert pulled Charlotte into his embrace and sealed their pact with a long, lingering kiss.

They met at daybreak and rode in silence to the heath. The rising sun shed barely enough light to limn the laid-out course.

  Robert cast his nostalgic gaze over the same great oak where the young lovers had first raced, and then over Charlotte, garbed once again in her cousin's cast-off britches. Drawing off her cloak, she pulled a woolen cap from her pocket and tightly tucked up her long, honeyed locks until well contained in the cap.

  Philip stood askance while Charlotte and Robert exchanged horses and joined their heads to confer on the distance and course. This decided, Charlotte led the restless stallion a short distance away but did not immediately mount, as Philip had expected. Instead, she laid her hands on the horse and began murmuring in a low, hypnotic voice.

  With skepticism, Philip watched her move around the horse, from neck to shoulder and down his foreleg, speaking to him and tracing every muscle with her hands. She continued her journey over his withers, back, flank, stifle, and hock. She memorized his very form with her hands.

  Moving back to his head, she whispered and murmured in his ear. Mars was mesmerized by Charlotte's witchcraft and responded in his own language of snorts and nickers. He appeared hers to command.

  With a sharp nod to Robert, Charlotte signaled her readiness to mount. Philip and Hawke then joined them at the start, in the belief that competition would help stir the stallion's blood.

  They ambled the short distance to the oak, and the contenders took position.

  Breathing deeply, Charlotte poised over the stallion's withers, reins woven through tightened fingers, her small body lithely balancing in the frame of the stirrup irons. As the stallion arched and tensed in anticipation, she forced herself to relax.

  Robert gave the signal, and Mars, fully engaged in the hind end, let fly. He lunged forward, stretching into his peculiar gait. Gaining impulsion and with it momentum, he instantly parted company with Philip and Hawke. Were it a real race, 'twould have been a cruel hoax. Horse and rider disappeared like a gray ghost into the horizon, their hoof beats echoing in the silent dawn.

  Charlotte initially struggled for balance, but within a few strides found her rhythm with the horse. She rode with intensity previously unknown to her. Gauging the time, the distance, the exertions, the pace, she no longer harbored any doubt the horse could run. But did he have the staying power, the "bottom," to last four miles at this bruising rate? Moreover, could he sustain for the two additional heats that would be asked, nay,
demanded of him? Onl
y the toughest and most tenacious survived such a trial uninjured in body or spirit.

  Charlotte pushed him harder on the second lap, and he responded without hesitation. Instinctively watching, waiting, feeling, she hovered, belly over withers, hands along the crest of his neck. Her toes balanced in the irons, legs flexing along his sides, he felt to her akin to a bellows, flexing and contracting with every stride. She was lost in the cadence, the tattoo of hooves striking earth. Her only thoughts were of lightness: lightness of limb, lightness of hand, as she by degrees gave and took of the slack, rating him, pacing him, willing him to maintain his momentum, to persevere. She became one with the horse, losing herself in the glorious, ineffable thrill of their gallop.

  Rounding the final bend, she urged further acceleration. He answered readily, lunging forth again, exerting his power to lengthen his stride for home. At once Charlotte understood Robert's confidence and why one who never gambled had wagered his all on this horse. Her racing heart lightened when the great oak came into sight. With a smug little smile to Philip, she pulled up to the waiting men.