Highest Stakes (37 page)

  When he arrived in his room, Phillip was thankful for Grayson's foresight. Forgoing the glass, he took a long swig from the mouth of the bottle, cradled it in his arms, and collapsed on the bed. He drank for some minutes, bemused even more by Edmund's behavior than what his father had revealed.

  His audience with the earl had been, thankfully, exceedingly brief. Philip had spoken little beyond answering his father's questions. Although he wasn't fool enough to believe he had entered the earl's good graces, mayhap his military success had at least removed him from utter perdition. At least it was progress, he mused. He shrugged resignedly, took another drink, and pulled a crumpled letter from his inner pocket. It was written in a childlike, sloping hand and dated over a for'night ago.

  
I pray that you forgive the impropriety of this message, but I must
needs speak with you on a matter of the utmost urgency. 'Tis a matter
most confidential and delicate, that may be made only unto your own
ears. Time is of the essence, as we depart the first week of April for
London. I await your reply with greatest anxiety and "expectation."

  
Your Beloved,

  
B. W.

  He digested the brief contents.
Confidential and delicate disclosure?
Expectation?
What the devil did that mean? Did she wish to personally inform him of her betrothal to Edmund? Unlikely, he thought. There were no promises between them. Indeed, they had little conversation at all during their last encounter. He grinned. Besides, the betrothal was already public news.

  Did she wish to reveal that she was under duress? That she did not wish to go through with the marriage? If so, she could have written thus.

  The next thought that sprang to his mind was nearly unthinkable. Although he had exercised less than his normal degree of caution, Philip couldn't believe in any undesirable consequences. Were it that easy, he'd have fathered a pack of bastards by now.

  Nevertheless, if Beatrix
was
with child, 'twould certainly foil all Sir Garfield's schemes, let alone humiliate Edmund.
What retribution
that would be!
The notion amused him.

  When his brother had provoked him at dinner, he had been tempted to expose his liaison with Beatrix, but he had bit his tongue. As a gentleman, his code would not allow him to ever willingly cause shame or embarrassment to a woman. Beatrix's letter gave him cause to address her father, but his sense of honor required that he do so with utmost discretion. He also could take no action until he knew if Beatrix was a willing party to the betrothal, or not. He filed this thought away in his brain for further reflection.

  In examining the other side of the coin, Edmund had obviously contracted the marriage for financial gain. This knowledge alone would not have got under Philip's skin, as his own motives were equally rapacious, but the difference lay in Beatrix's destiny of misery should she marry Edmund, Lord Uxeter.

  Although Philip was by no means in love with the girl, if he had to marry someone, he could do much worse. She was an heiress, after all, and he thought they would rub along tolerably well together. Indeed, he decided, all would be much better served, whether or not she be with child, if she were to marry him.

  Having now muddled through the tangled web to some semblance of a plan, he resolved that he must intervene. He would confront Sir Garfield with her letter.

E ach having a score to settle with Sir Garfield, Philip and Robert departed at first light for London.

  "Tomorrow morning, you and I shall go unannounced to the house," Philip said. "While I demand my audience with the baronet, you shall arrange a private word with Charlotte. He has forced our hand, so we shall now see who wins his wicked game." Philip grinned,
wickedly.

  The next morning, with his uniform concealed in a dark cloak topped with a shabby-looking tricorn, Robert stalked to the servants' entrance, while Philip, resplendent in his dress uniform, called at the front door of the house on Upper Brook Street. An unassuming manservant answered, and Philip boldly entered the domicile.

  "Major Philip Drake to see Sir Garfield. You will be pleased to announce me," he commanded the servant upon whose heels he trailed. Philip announced in sardonic tones as he barged into the master's study, "My felicitations on the happy announcement."

  Sir Garfield, startled by the intrusion, nonetheless retorted, "You have no business here, Drake."

  "On the contrary, sir," he replied blandly, "it is precisely my business that directs me. Though I have offered my felicitations, as propriety requires, I come to make known a slight… impediment… shall we say, to the pending nuptials."

  "Impediment? There is no impediment. We had no formal agreement."

  "'Twas an understanding, a matter of honor between
gentlemen
."

  "Without a betrothal contract, you haven't a leg to stand on."

  "True, unless our agreement had already been… consummated."

  His intonation and choice of words caused Sir Garfield to blanch, but he hastily dismissed it as a bluff. "I have no time for your conundrums. Be pleased to make your departure, Major."

  "As you wish, sir," Philip answered with mock civility and made as if to go, but turned to play his trump card. "I will, as a matter of course, recommend to my fastidious brother that a physician examine his bride-to-be. 'Tis an unfortunate nuisance for your daughter but an innocuous enough precaution on Edmund's part." He uttered this last with such calculating confidence that Sir Garfield wavered.

  "Do you mean to imply that you dishonored my daughter? And under mine own roof?"

  "I, dishonor your daughter? Indeed not!" Philip replied with selfrighteous indignation. "More accurately, your daughter compromised me by coming to my room and seducing me! Nonetheless, I stand ready to forgive this heinous act and absolve her with the atonement of marriage." He flashed a taunting grin.

  "Impossible! 'Tis all an accursed lie, damn you!"

  "But what if I speak the truth? What if your daughter even now carries my child? Should you proceed with your plans, matters might become extremely problematic.

  "Lord Uxeter could legally and without repercussion break the betrothal should the bride's virtue be called into question," Philip stated flatly, having now driven his point home. He waited for Sir Garfield to digest it all.

  With a bellow, Sir Garfield summoned his daughter.

  Beatrix arrived breathless, disarrayed, and confused, and followed by her mother.

  "Sir Garfield, what is the meaning of this?" Lady Felicia demanded.

  "This is not a matter for your ears, wife. I have need to speak with
your
daughter."

  Beatrix's eyes lit upon Philip. "Philip, my love! You have finally come to speak to Papa for me!" Remembering her parents, she broke off, blushing scarlet.

  Philip strode gallantly to her side. "My dearest, of course I have come in response to your letter. I only regret that my obligations delayed me so long." He raised her hands to his lips, regarding Sir Garfield ironically. "Have I now your permission for your daughter's hand?"

  "She is spoken for, you audacious blackguard!"

  "On the contrary, I have it on word from the family solicitor that the final settlements are yet unsigned, my brother having been called suddenly to Sussex."

  "But 'tis already announced in the papers. There would be a scandal!" Lady Felicia exclaimed.

  "Scandals should be avoided at all cost, would you not agree, Lady Beatrix?" Philip said softly and smiled.

  "Y-y-yes," she answered, her eyes growing wide in apprehension.

  Sir Garfield understood the implicit threat and realized his entrapment. His countenance darkened. "So, it is to be blackmail, then?"

  "I confess to such thoughts when I first learned of the betrothal; however, I am confident of a mutually beneficial solution should we call a truce."

  "The major and I have business to discuss, m'dear," the baronet said, addressing his wife. "Pray escort your daughter back to her rooms."

  Beatrix directed Philip a pleading look answered with a reassuring flash of white.

  Disgracing a lady was not the hallmark of a gentleman. He despised putting her in such a distressing position; but needs must, as the saying went.

  "All right, Drake, if I should call truce, what then?" Sir Garfield asked.

  "I have a proposition in mind, something that should suit all parties."

  "What sort of proposition?"

  "Mayhap a sacrificial lamb, for want of a better phrase. I propose that you offer your niece as Edmund's bride, in lieu of Beatrix. He will care little, providing the dowry remains the same."

  Sir Garfield, having already considered Charlotte's marriage prospects, digested this. It made little difference which of the girls married first, as long as the connection was to his advantage. "And why should your brother countenance such a thing? What possible appeal should Charlotte have over Beatrix?"

  "You don't know my family, Sir Garfield. Have you not yet met Lord Uxeter?"

  Sir Garfield colored at the remembrance.

  "I see you have," Philip remarked dryly. "Charlotte's father was a barrister, a member of Grey's Inn, was he not? Men of the law are deemed of a higher social caliber than merchants. Hence, the alliance with a barrister's daughter would be more appealing to my noble family than an alliance with a former tradesman."

  "You propose that I substitute the bride?"

  "Why not? If the contracts are unsigned, they need only be revised. I shall then offer Beatrix the protection of my name in return for her dowry of twenty thousand, of course."

  Sir Garfield, bowled over by the sheer audacity, grudgingly responded, "Quite brilliant m'boy. However, you overlook that the dowry is already pledged to your brother."

  "Surely this is another negotiable point, Sir Garfield. No dowry; no wedding. No wedding would assuredly lead to dishonor and scandal. Moreover, should anything befall Charles, your heir through Beatrix would be a bastard."

  "You've outmaneuvered me on the score of my daughter, but I'll be damned to bless you with a fortune for it!" he expostulated. "Besides, you have no proof of a child."

  "Do you think to call my bluff? I regret it has come to this. I had wished to spare Beatrix further indignity." Producing her letter from his breast pocket, Philip presented it to her father.

  Sir Garfield conceded defeat.

  "I believe my proposal the best way forward," Philip remarked.

  "Ten thousand pounds, Drake. I'll offer a dowry of ten thousand."

  "Twenty thousand."

  "I will see her in a nunnery first! Fifteen thousand, and not a penny more!"

  Pleased with the ease of the negotiations, Philip agreed amicably. "Dearest Papa, I shall await notice that Edmund has agreed to the new settlements. Pray convey my warmest sentiments to my affianced." He departed with a self-satisfied swagger.

With impatient hauteur mixed with repugnance, Lord Uxeter waited in his carriage while the footman presented his calling card at the door.

  Following his interview with the earl, Edmund had sent word to Sir Garfield of his change of heart concerning the alliance, but now the baronet had inexplicably changed the agreement by putting forward his niece. He had described the girl as genteel, demure, and obedient, but Edmund cared only that she was sound for breeding and came with a fortune.