Highest Stakes (46 page)

  Charles, who was to ride, regarded Jeffries with a scowl.

  "I didn't mean no offense, Master Charles," Jeffries hastily amended.

  Sir Garfield, who had his own reservations about his son's ability to ride the horse to a victory, asked, "Who then is the greatest threat in this race?"

  "There be several good ones, sir. Badger, by Partner, be one to watch, old Byerley blood, ye ken. Won three plates last season and is brother to Sedbury, who is now put to stud after winnin' nigh every race he ever run. Another is Phantom, what won both at York and Lincoln last autumn. Lord Godolphin's Hobgoblin was his sire, though I misremember who run him in the plates."

  "What of the Bolton Starling sons? I hear this stallion produced three who will be running."

  "Aye. 'Tis right enough, and nigh all of 'em's bred up at the Barforth stud."

  "John Crofts," Sir Garfield grunted.

  Jeffries nodded. "He's bred some of the best cracks, old John. None can deny it. His stallion sired Martindale's Torismond, the Duke of Ancaster's Starling, and Grisewood's Teazer, though I don't think to see that last one do much after he was routed at Doncaster by that young Godolphin colt."

  Sir Garfield remembered the day only too well. It was the same in which Devington had routed Rascallion. The colt was never any good after that ill-fated match. "What do you know of Martindale's Torismond?"

  "Torismond what won at Morpeth?"

  "The same. That rotter always has a horse to beat."

  "Then 'twould please ye to know that he scratched the King's Plate. Says why should he trouble for a mere fifty guineas when he's already won a thousand in a match race with Lord Uxeter."

  "What do you say?" Sir Garfield asked in amazement.

  "'Deed, 'tis true. They done run a match race on the last four miles of the Beacon Course right along the Devil's Ditch. 'Twas quite the sight, by all accounts. Lord Uxeter begun worrying his mount almost from the go, and by the time they hit the third mile, his Perseus was running wild-eyed and roaring like a lion. Lord Uxeter was still driving the horse like the devil himself and rousting him mercilessly to claim the race. Within yards of the finish, with blood streaming crimson from his nostrils, Perseus done collapsed.

  "By the Hastings's groom, Willis's telling, Perseus was broken in wind and spirit. Willis done give his notice straight after that match, saying that was the last good horse he'll see destroyed by that son of a… son of…"— Jeffries caught himself—"
an earl
."

  "Indeed? That's capital," Sir Garfield remarked, unaffected by the tale. "There are now two fewer contenders in tomorrow's race."

  Sir Garfield left the rubbing house with the happy thought that his time may have come at last.

Sir Garfield had done all in his power to encourage Charles's association with Lord Uxeter, in the belief that under the viscount's sponsorship, Charles would make his way with ease into the elite political circles, much as commoners William Pitt and George Lyttelton had done under Lord Cobham's patronage. He was eager for Charles to mix company with those men who wielded the most power, the same who attended these very races.

  Charles Wallace, however, was as little inclined to politics as he was to racing. He yearned for nothing more than a meaningful pursuit. He still burned with resentment and stung pride from his father's thoughtless dismissal of him when he desired to go after Charlotte. His own father did not consider him capable of redeeming his family's honor.

  He had long wearied of his father's control and of always deferring his own wishes. He had desired a commission in the army, as Robert Devington had done, but his father wouldn't hear of it. Instead, he pushed Charles to seek a political career or a government sinecure, for which he cared nothing!

  Having no one else in whom to confide, and with his tongue loosened under the influence of strong drink—for which he had little tolerance—Charles spilled all to Lord Uxeter. In a single evening, Edmund learned not only of Charles's frustrated desires but of all the family secrets, including his runaway fiancée and Beatrix's delicate condition.

  Edmund was livid! He had not only been cuckolded by Beatrix with his own brother, but Charlotte had eloped with a lowly captain. It was beyond humiliation!

  For fourteen years, since first taking his seat in the Commons, he had managed his personal affairs with perfect discretion. Though it cost him dearly, he had never yet embroiled himself in the kind of scandals that brought others down. This tale, once out, would make him a fool as none other before him.

  Controlling his gut reaction to lash out, he carefully examined the facts in his mind, evaluating the situation from every possible angle.

  He vouched no denial that he had contracted the marriage for pecuniary gain and had already used the dowry to back his political ambitions, but this was only half the bargain. He still needed an heir to satisfy Lord Hastings and ensure his full inheritance, but marriage alone guaranteed no heir.

  The very presence of the Hanoverians on the throne was evidence of this. Had the house of Stuart begotten any legitimate Protestant heirs, they would still hold the throne of England. But just as the English throne had ceded to a rustic German princeling, his own failure could see the earldom of Hastings fall into his half-brother's detestable hands.

  No, he must produce an heir. Edmund carefully considered now how he might yet turn the circumstances to his advantage.

  Beatrix was already with child, and a child of his brother's seed, no less! What better reprisal than to ensure his own succession through his brother's child. It was brilliant! Philip had saved him so much trouble by seducing the bovine slut. He could simply take the vapid, breeding cow to wife and pass the child off as his own. Edmund basked in the exquisite irony.

  With this last thought, he escorted the inebriated Charles back to his father's lodgings, where he confronted Sir Garfield.

  "But we should be ruined!" the baronet protested fiercely. "Drake knows about this child, Uxeter. He could expose us all. Indeed, he has already threatened to do so. We would never live down the scandal, and moreover, Charles's future would be destroyed!"

  "Sir Garfield, we are intelligent men," Edmund said in his most patronizing tone. "Let us speak frankly. I have need of the dowry and an heir. You desire a place in government for your son. Should we forge ahead with this alliance, I shall soon be in a position to provide what you desire in exchange for my needs.

  "Once I assume my father's place in the Lords, I can easily arrange for Charles to take my seat in the Commons, but my own assurances rest solely upon my father's good graces, which have proven fickle at the best of times.

  "I must produce an heir before his death. Your daughter already carries a child of the Drake blood, which could assure me of my full inheritance, and what greater delight should I have than to deny Philip his own son and raise him as my own. Lastly, sir, by our allegiance, your grandson shall be heir to an earldom."

  He paused to let Garfield reflect on the full weight of this.

  "Indeed you are astute, Uxeter," Sir Garfield said with open admiration. "But what now of the major? He might still cause mischief. Should he succeed in retrieving my runaway niece, I have an obligation to him."

  "Then should Philip succeed, I humbly propose another means of meeting your obligation."

  Sir Garfield found Lord Uxeter's proposal eminently to his liking.

  Knowing the scarcity of accommodations in town, Philip had procured a small room on the outskirts of Cheveley, where he ate, bathed, and drank himself into an exhausted coma. Rising betimes and brutally hungover, he made himself as presentable as his circumstances allowed and set out on his horse for the exercise heath in hope of locating Sir Garfield, whose horse he knew would be running in the final race.

  The morning was crisp and foggy, but along the grassy knoll leading to the training Gallops stretched a long procession of vibrant figures, fading in and out of the rolling fog. As Philip drew closer, he could clearly delineate the colorful shapes of blanketed horses out for their morning gallops. Bedecked in custom-tailored and monogrammed clothes costing more than what the average man would spend on his own in a year, most of the horses were now wrapping up their morning constitutionals and returning to their respective rubbing houses.

  Philip scanned the grassy plain for the man he sought, determined he would find him among the clumps of gentlemen and their trainers mounted on their riding hacks all along the hill. These early risers had come out to review their horse's form, spy out the competition, and strategize for their final run.

  He had almost given up when he spotted Sir Garfield and Charles, accompanied by Lord Uxeter, within the groups inspecting those on parade. He rode up to the trio and dismounted from his horse.

  "Well, if it isn't my dear brother, the major!" Edmund greeted him with a disdainful salute.

  Sir Garfield regarded the major in surprise. "Drake? I'd all but given up on you."

  Reciprocating the tepid salutation with a mocking bow, Philip answered, "Yet here I stand."

  "But you are late. And empty-handed," Sir Garfield remarked pointedly.

  Eyeing his brother warily, Philip replied, "An erroneous assumption. I have delivered your… baggage… as promised."

  "Baggage, brother? Are you now demoted to delivery boy?" Edmund remarked snidely.

  "I've ridden nearly six hundred miles in a se'nnight, Edmund," Philip growled. "Don't try my very fragile patience with matters that don't concern you." Philip turned to Sir Garfield. "I suggest we discuss our business in private."

  "But this
baggage
of yours happens to concern me most intimately," Edmund interjected.

  Philip glowered at Sir Garfield. "What does he know of this?"

  Edmund replied blandly, "What do I know? I know that a decorated officer was dispatched to apprehend a wayward chit from the impudent cur who abducted her. If your so dangerous mission is accomplished, I commend you for your valor,
Major,
" he mocked.

  "But what has become of Devington?" Charles interrupted.

  "Indeed, what of the errant captain?" Sir Garfield echoed.

  "The young fool chose to fight a duel, knowing me the superior swordsman," Philip replied grimly.

  "So glad you spared me the trouble, Philip. I find duels of honor highly overrated. But one question remains: whether or not the goods were… damaged." Edmund carelessly flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "He had the girl alone for three nights."

  "They were yet a day's ride from the border. Since he had not yet wed the girl, the captain did not touch her. Devington has proven himself a man of honor, unlike the rest involved in this ongoing farce." His look challenged any to gainsay him further.

  Edmund rose to the challenge. "Only a fool would believe her undefiled, but I suppose a simple physician's examination can confirm or refute the state of her virtue. But 'tis of little account now."