Highest Stakes (57 page)

C harlotte spent days in her room, alternately praying and crying
that somehow God would intervene and spare Robert's life. Was it only three days ago she had gone to him? She had endeavored to give him hope, a reason to go on. She had shown her love in the only tangible way, but now, in mixed hope and fear, she awaited word of his fate. She was at once anxious for word but unready to hear it, as if by deferring the truth she could obviate it.

  Emotionally exhausted, she slept, opening her eyes only when Sarah pulled the heavy drapes to admit the noonday sun. She rose stiffly from the bed when the maid returned with a pitcher and washbasin.

  "Her ladyship has asked for you, ma'am. She inquires if ye might have taken ill."

  "It's nothing a cup of tea won't remedy, Sarah. Please advise Lady Susannah I will be down directly."

  "Aye." The maid hesitated at the door. "Ye might wish to know that yer husband waits below stairs."

  "My husband?"

  "He is yer husband, isn't he? The officer who brought you here? He arrived not a quarter hour hence. 'Tis why her ladyship calls for you."

  "Then pray help me with my laces, Sarah!"

  It had been nearly a se'nnight since Charlotte had last seen Philip, though never again should have suited her very well. But he might have brought news of Robert. Breathless with apprehension, she hastened to the salon.

  "Charlotte." He acknowledged her entrance with a restrained greeting.

  She acknowledged him with a nod, wasting no breath on civilities. "Have you news of Robert?"

  "I've news." His reply was grim.

  Charlotte seized in apprehension. "What has transpired?"

  "I shall not beat about the bush. The verdict was guilty. It could have gone no other way." He shook his head in resignation.

  Gooseflesh formed on her arms. "What does this mean?" she asked, stiffly lowering herself into a chair. "Wh-what of the s-sentence?" Her voice was now scarce more than a whisper.

  He answered in clipped tones. "I know not how to soften the blow. It was a capital offense." He did not elaborate further but directed a helpless look to Lady Susannah, who rushed to the girl's side.

  "You are the very one who put the nails in his coffin!" she cried.

  "Damme! 'Tis not the way of it, Charlotte, and you know it!" Philip retorted hotly. "Need I remind you? Devington drew first. He induced me at great reluctance to engage him. Had I wished him dead, I should have finished the job myself!"

  Charlotte's mind froze with her countenance. She could not think. She could not breathe. She was paralyzed. Lady Susannah knelt beside her, trying frantically to console the inconsolable.

  "Philip, is there naught can be done?" Lady Susannah asked.

  "There is nothing. His sentence has been carried out."

  The reality of his words struck home. Charlotte gasped with horror. As the room swayed, she clutched the arms of the chair. "No! My God, no! It cannot be!"

For three days, Charlotte remained in her room, returning trays of cold tea and untouched food. Lady Susannah let her be until the fourth day, when Charlotte refused to be roused.

  "Sarah, what is the meaning of this?" Charlotte protested as the coverlet was torn from her. She attempted to snatch it back, but it wasn't Sarah who answered.

  "Three days is enough for such deep mourning, Charlotte. I have granted you this time in peace to wallow fully, completely, and passionately in your grief, but it is finished, my girl. I shall not allow you to put yourself into a decline. Your new life begins today," Lady Susannah proclaimed.

  Charlotte met her tyrannical stare in disbelief. "Leave me be, madam! You know nothing of my grief!" Her voice was hoarse from weeping.

  "On the contrary, my dear girl, I well know the deep heartache of lost love, but I will not allow this to go on interminably. It is over, love. You must now pick up the pieces."

  Charlotte's entire body shook anew. "But how can I conceive of going on?"

  "You cannot give up your life, Charlotte. In time, you shall come to accept what has been, and the pain will fade. But now you have the opportunity to make the remainder of your life as
you
choose it to be."

  "You mean as you have done."

  "Indeed I do. My life is my own. I am free to live as I choose and love as I choose, thought I may not always choose wisely." Her thoughts involuntarily wandered to Philip Drake's reappearance in her life. "No one can ruin my life, save me." She laughed drily.

  "But I am not free, madam, and my life is not my own! I'm nothing more than the legal property of the man I most despise!" Charlotte's voice quivered with anger and frustration.

  "Indeed you are wed, but you need not view your state as imprisonment. On the contrary, you might yet ascertain the very freedom you gain in becoming a matron."

  "I don't follow you."

  "Don't fret, child. 'Tis too soon for you to comprehend. For now, let's endeavor to get you dressed and packed. We have a journey to undertake."

  "A journey?" Charlotte looked alarmed.

  "We are withdrawing to Cambridgeshire."

  "Cambridgeshire?"

  "Indeed, Cheveley Park, to be precise. Perhaps you have heard of it? I have arranged to lease a cottage owned by the Duke of Somerset, another of dear Nigel's friends. You are in great need of a change of scenery, and I haven't visited the countryside in years. I believe 'tis just the thing for you, dear girl. We shall retire to the country forthwith."

  "But I should never cause you so much trouble and expense," Charlotte protested.

  "Pshaw! Don't trouble yourself of the expense. It shall be borne by Philip. He is your husband, after all."

  "Isn't Cheveley close to Newmarket?"

  "Yes, it is scarce four miles. By the by, Charlotte, did you not mention a mare you once owned is stabled at Cheveley?"

  "Amoret?" Charlotte spoke the name wistfully. "Philip said she was to be bred and stabled there."

  "I thought as much," Lady Susannah remarked thoughtfully.

Philip arrived in the midst of their packing. "Sukey, where the devil are you going?" he demanded.

  Ignoring his imperious manner, she answered without looking up from her inventory. "You arrive opportunely, Philip. I had begun to fear you would not respond to my message."

  She focused her full attention on him now, but her smile quickly faded at his haggard appearance and the slight whiff of stale brandy.

  "But what of Charlotte? Surely you don't intend to leave her alone?"

  "Of course not!" she answered in a rebuking tone. "Do you think I would shirk my responsibility, when I gave you my word to look after her? The girl has taken the news very hard, as you might guess, but she must get on with her life."

  "So, perceiving my callousness and failure to do so, you have taken matters into your own hands."

  "On the contrary, your very presence betrays your concern for the girl. I know you to be many things, Philip, but I don't believe you nearly as jaded as you portray. Moreover, I don't believe her alone in her angst." She raked him in a knowing gaze, and then sitting on the silk-upholstered divan, beckoned him to her side. "Come, Philip." Her voice was both soft and insistent. She clearly detected the pain behind the mask of detachment that he tried to drown in drink. Her heart cried out to comfort him, but he once more spurned her.

  "I have no desire to speak of it, Sukey."

  "I know, my love," she replied tentatively, reaching out her hand.

  He hesitated, a shadow of uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he turned away. When he faced her again, his mask was firmly back in place.

  Hurt more than she wished to reveal, Susannah spoke matter-offactly. "Very well, we shall only attend to business at hand. I plan to retire to the country for some time, mayhap for several months."

  "Do you indeed?"

  "Yes, until the girl is standing on her own two legs." Her answer was firm, resolute.

  "I gathered you had taken it into your head to play Lady Benevolence, madam, but how to you intend to pay for your bucolic retreat?" Philip spoke with a sardonic glint in his eyes. "I might ask, if perceiving my present weakness, you intend to bleed me dry?"

  "You could at least hear me out before passing judgment," she answered sharply. "Had I thought for a moment you would begrudge her such a small request, I should not have appealed to you."

  He considered her quizzically, warily. "All right, I call truce. What precisely is your plan, and what do you require?"

  "Firstly, I wish to apply to you for the return of Charlotte's maid, if she can be found. The woman would no doubt be of great comfort."

  "No doubt," he agreed dryly. "But she could be anywhere in London."

  "I shall contrive to locate her, if you agree only to pay her wages. 'Twill be trifling enough, I assure you, scarce more than room and board."

  "Trifling," he grunted. "And secondly?"

  "I have already arranged to lease a cottage at Cheveley Park. 'Tis a very modest house. The lease is a paltry sum."

  "A paltry sum."

  "Indeed paltry, Philip."

  "'Twould appear you have matters well in hand, my dear," he replied caustically. "And I suppose you have other requests as well?"

  "Aside from the maid and the house, we have need only to hire a carriage to convey us."

  "A private conveyance, of course."

  "And naturally, sufficient money to sustain us," she added.

  "Naturally. I should have guessed the fifty pounds I gave you a mere se'nnight ago would have fallen far short of your needs."

  She paled at his insinuation. "Have you grown so cynical that you believe everyone is inspired only by greed? I take grave offense coming from one whose own motives have fallen far short of altruistic." The barb struck home. "In addition to what you have already provided, fifty pounds should suffice to cover our needs."

"Fifty, you say? Not one hundred?" he offered mockingly.

"Fifty pounds should more than suffice, Philip."

  "And if I am away for an extended period, how then shall you go on?"

  "An extended period? But what do you mean?"

  He replied brusquely, "I am deployed to Flanders as aide-de-camp to Field Marshal Wade. I depart on the morrow."

  "So soon?" Her blurted response was more revealing than she intended. Although wounded by his cynicism and mistrust, she couldn't deny a sharp pang at his imminent departure. "Have you any idea the duration of your absence? I should need to know for Charlotte's sake," she hastily added, mistakenly meeting his gaze while failing to hide the pained look in her own.

  Bemused, Philip considered her, wondering if that look, that tone did not belie… something. He dismissed the thought. He would be a fool to believe she possessed a heart.

  "One never knows, Sukey. The French continue to amass their forces, and Louis himself takes to the field. I anticipate at least six months, though I don't despair of making winter camp in England. 'Twill all depend on our success." He continued briskly, "I had come thinking you desired to make alternate arrangements for Charlotte, but if you are so willing to involve yourself with her welfare, I shall continue to entrust her to you."

  "I am happy to do what I may for one in need of a friend, Philip."

  
Did she refer to Charlotte or himself?
He regarded her quizzically but refused to give any further weight to these thoughts. "Then if there is no more, I shall take my leave of you. I trust a bank draught of two hundred pounds should sustain you?"