Authors: Emery Lee
Highest Stakes (74 page)
The Earl of Hastings's blood ran cold. He opened and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to blink away the vision before his disbelieving eyes, whilst his mind violently rejected the very notion. Shakespeare had lost the bloody race!
Thus, Daniel Roberts's unknown half-breed native pony from Virginia completely annihilated the Earl of Hastings's champion on his own turf.
RESURRECTION
Good God, Philip, we have lost!" Lady Hastings cried in dismay. "I have never witnessed such a run! I must go and console our noble Shakespeare at once. What a blow this must be to him. Pray congratulate the victor on my behalf," she declared genially, and oblivious of Philip's stunned anguish, sought out her former champion and his jockey.
He couldn't move. He couldn't hear. He couldn't speak. Frozen, he was unable to process what was beyond its ability to comprehend. Shakespeare had lost the bloody race!
The surrounding voices roared in his ears, yet he was deaf to the words.
Smile, Philip. They are all watching you.
The result was more grimace. Outwardly conceding defeat with grace, he nodded dumbly to those around him, but inside he reeled.
Smile, Philip. They are all watching you.
The result was more grimace. Outwardly conceding defeat with grace, he nodded dumbly to those around him, but inside he reeled.
In his supreme confidence—or better said, extreme arrogance— Lord Hastings had recklessly wagered twenty thousand pounds without any consideration of defeat. With the loss of this wager, the fourth Earl of Hastings accomplished a feat no prior generation of supercilious and self-indulgent ancestors had managed to achieve: the total and complete ruination of an earldom.
It took all his strength, all his will, to force his body to obey his incapacitated brain's commands, but once regaining a modicum of control of his impaired faculties, he mechanically weaved through the crowd to his stable block. Entering the first empty stall, he clutched the wall and heaved.
Although Daniel Roberts would like to have congratulated his champion, he could not yet risk detection. Instead, with smug selfsatisfaction, he located the carriage to take him back to his lodgings. He had incontrovertibly won the first round but was far too cautious to become cocksure. The game was not over, and the rest would not be so neatly scripted.
Though his earlier investigation had not determined the full extent of Lord Hastings's financial resources, they did confirm that his hold on his family estate was precarious at best. He would have few places to turn for ready coin, and Philip's pride would prevent him from applying to friends for a loan.
The most likely method of meeting his obligation would almost surely be the liquidation of his only viable asset: the Hastings stud, the racing stud that should justly have been his and Charlotte's. Only
this
sacrifice would begin to even the scales.
this
sacrifice would begin to even the scales.
By the unwritten code, a gentleman had three days to settle a debt of honor, and by the same code, it was best settled in person. Thus, upon Ludwell's return to the White Hart, Mr. Roberts sent his calling card to the Hastings residence and departed for London.
Unable to locate her husband to escort her home after spending a pleasant hour with her horses, Lady Hastings had requested a groom accompany her. To her great surprise, she discovered Philip's horse already stabled, another curious deviation from the Earl of Hastings's normal routine. The stabled horse indicated his direct return following the race, rather than staying out drinking, gaming, and God only knew what else he did. She dismissed further contemplation of Philip's multifarious vices as unworthy of her energies.
Climbing the stairs to her rooms to change out of her riding habit, she was startled by the resounding crash of shattering glass emanating from the study. She paused then closed her eyes, and her rampant imagination envisaged what she might discover. At first, deciding to ignore it, she then changed her mind. Breathing a great sigh of resignation, she directed her feet to the study.
The scene was much as she had imagined: shards of glass and wasted brandy splattered by the hearth, Lord Hastings himself slumped in his chair in his shirtsleeves, his close-cropped hair completely disheveled, his perruque and coat cast to the floor. Noting the bottle cradled in his arms, she deduced it was merely a glass he had smashed. Far be it for Philip to waste his precious French brandy, she though disparagingly, but when he failed to look up or even acknowledge her presence, Charlotte grew uneasy.
Although Philip was a consummate gambler, she had never known him to accept his losses with anything more than a cavalier shrug. His current state gave her to feel more than a small amount of alarm.
"Philip, what was this wager?"
Ignoring her, he raised the decanter to his lips. Without pausing for thought, she snatched it from his hands, raising it as if to pitch the bottle against the stone hearth. "Now have I your full attention?"
"'Tis none of your affair," he growled.
"Your condition speaks otherwise, and if it is in any way related to the wager, it involves the Hastings stud. If it involves the Hastings stud, it involves me," she finished acidly.
"If you must know, I drink to drown my stupidity in underestimating an adversary. Now give me back the bottle that I might finish the job."
"Philip, you are hardly to blame. Who would have known? I doubt any observers of today's race have ever witnessed such blistering speed, and all from an unknown. From the colonies, no less! Though I chide you for not putting yourself out enough to discover more of the horse before the race, 'tis finished. If one plays, one must eventually pay, so the adage goes."
"Therein lies the problem, Charlotte. I cannot pay."
"What do you mean? You have never wagered beyond your ability to cover a loss."
"The ignoble Roberts proposed such an enormous sum that I had no power to resist. I could never have envisaged defeat."
"'Twas no mere defeat, Philip. Shakespeare was thoroughly trounced today!"
"Your words are less than helpful."
"You said an enormous sum. How much was this bet?" she asked, her trepidation growing by the minute.
"Twenty thousand pounds."
Charlotte gasped. "Philip, how could you! Were you drunk? You were either completely foxed or utterly mad! You don't have that kind of capital. How can you possibly cover it?"
"By any and all means at my disposal. I will not have it about that I single-handedly destroyed my family name and fortune."
"Twenty thousand pounds!" she repeated. "But even I know that we stay afloat by means of the horses."
"I shall do whatever is necessary to salvage my honor and meet my obligation," he replied with grim resolve.
"No, Philip! You cannot sell the stud! I have spent seven years of my wretched life to build something in order to make my life tolerable. You have no right even to think it!"
"I am the Earl of Hastings, and it is
my name
attached to the stud. I have every right to think it! And if you weren't so bloody highminded and obstinate, I should never have been in this position to begin with!"
my name
attached to the stud. I have every right to think it! And if you weren't so bloody highminded and obstinate, I should never have been in this position to begin with!"
"What is that suppose to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean!" he bellowed. "There is well above fifty thousand pounds sitting in a bloody trust. Money that is rightfully mine, which I cannot touch. If the stud is lost, it is your own doing, madam wife."
Charlotte was speechless with rage.
Philip continued more calmly, "I have already dispatched a message to the Duke of Cumberland. He has long desired his own racing establishment at Windsor Park and expressed great interest in our broodmares a short time ago. I have also sent Jeffries to Richard Tattersall, Master of the Horse to the Duke of Kingston, to assist in dispersal of the racing stock."
"How could you! How could you do such a thing without even telling me!" Tears of helpless frustration and fury burned her eyes.
"If I did not, my dearest heart, we should be obliged to remove ourselves to the Fleet Street debtors' prison." He laughed bitterly. "Now will you return my bottle? Or shall I forcibly remove it from you?"
Charlotte stared blankly at the half-empty brandy decanter in her hands. Meeting his bloodshot eyes with a rebellious glare, she raised it to her own lips and commenced a long, choking swig, and then she flung it against the flagstones at his feet. Whirling from the room, she left Phillip gaping after her in a speechless stupor.
Charlotte lay fitfully awake, her mind racing with all that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. Although far from content with her life, she had managed to achieve a precarious state of not quite unhappy; but in one fell swoop, her balanced scales had tipped to decidedly miserable. It was Philip's damnable greed and pride that had led to his downfall, and he was about to drag her down with him.
Greed had tempted him to accept a wager he could never cover,
but then his stubborn pride had pricked and prodded because an unknown from America had dared challenge his supremacy. He had lost, and she would be forced to pay.
This same arrogance and avarice had led to their accursed marriage to begin with. He cared nothing for her, then or now. She had been only the means of collecting a dowry, and later, the inconvenience he had to bear.
Her entire being railed against the injustice. She was a victim once before and had vowed never again to be anyone's sacrificial lamb. She knew not how, but Lady Hastings resolved with all her being to take matters into her own hands.
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