Highest Stakes (35 page)

  He was unprepared to meet four-and-twenty British ships of the line with orders to burn the French transports. The total destruction of the French fleet was virtually inevitable, but Admiral Norris tarried and deferred his assault. In the morning, Roquefeuille and the French fleet had slipped away!

  Although Norris failed to pursue, Providence worked on Britain's behalf, with a fierce gale. Three days of punishing winds and squalling waves scattered and dashed the French transports, sinking some of the largest and wrecking others along the coast, devastating the French navy without a single cannon having fired.

  Their few remaining ships returned to port, and the surviving troops disembarked to march for Flanders. The Stuart prince, having barely escaped with his life, was all but abandoned.

  Major Drake's troops patrolled the coast for a full for'night before receiving report of the devastation to the Brest fleet, but fear of a second invasion attempt persisted. After another month with no French flagships sighted and no appearance of the Young Pretender, the British concluded they had held the domestic threat at bay.

  With the crisis now averted, Drake left a handful of troops behind to continue patrols, while the rest were recalled for another deployment to Flanders, following France's formal declaration of war. All officers were given three days to take care of personal business and report to Whitehall.

  Given his current proximity to home, Philip decided to make a much-dreaded but long-overdue visit to the ancestral estate before returning to Headquarters. Inviting Devington to accompany him, the pair set off on the twelve-mile ride.

  "Misery does prefer company," Philip remarked as they mounted up.

  "Just how long have you been away?" Robert inquired.

  "Nearly five years, but not long enough by my estimation."

  "Indeed? Why so bitter?" Robert asked.

  "I would that I had only one reason, my friend," Philip replied ruefully, pulling a newspaper clipping from his inside pocket and handing it to Robert.

  "What's this? I should hardly think you followed the social scene."

  "On the contrary, I was quite thunderstruck by this news. Indeed, you may also be overcome with the incongruity."

  Robert's eyes grew wide. The clipping was the betrothal announcement of Edmund Giles Drake, Lord Uxeter, heir apparent to Anthony Philip Drake, Earl of Hastings, and Lady Beatrix Wallace, daughter of Sir Garfield Wallace of Heathstead Hall, Wortley, South Yorkshire.

  "Beatrix engaged to your brother? B'God, looks like the old sod has buggered us both. But what does it mean, Drake?"

  "The announcement has already run in the Times, so I can only assume the settlements are made. I cannot help but believe it is retaliation for the lost race."

  "But I wasn't aware of any connection between Sir Garfield and Lord Uxeter. How could this have come about?"

  "It came about from my own bloody stupidity, that's how! After a fine dinner and several bottles of port, Sir Garfield petitioned me for a letter of introduction to my family. I was more than happy to oblige, thinking it might advance my cause. I erroneously assumed Sir Garfield desired an introduction into one of my father's clubs. I had no clue of any such devious intent!

  "One can't but laugh at the irony, that through my own doing, my sanctimonious brother not only inherits the entire estate but now shall gain my heiress, as well. Though Edmund, I assure you, will not appreciate Beatrix's particular charms."

  "Why do you say so? Although not to my taste, her pulchritude is widely remarked in Yorkshire."

  "My brother is arrogant, conceited, and pretentious. He takes singular delight in exercising his erudition and intellectual prowess at the disparagement of others less gifted. He values political connections over friendships, and I have never known him to look sideways at a woman, let alone harbor any tender feelings toward one."

  "Never?"

  "I have never known him to keep a mistress or pursue any serious romantic liaison, though I have heard whispers regarding his particular preferences."

  "Are you saying he's a sodomite, Drake?"

  "I have my suspicions. Regardless, he will doubtless hold Beatrix and her charming prattle in utter contempt. 'Tis a veritable match made in hell."

  "Might I interject that the deed's not yet done. You might decide just how badly you want her."

  "I confess I had an indifference to all but her fortune in the beginning, but later I discovered at least one area of compatibility. I am convinced that we would get on tolerably well in our daily intercourse." He grinned.

  "Quite so." Robert ignored the double entendre. "So what are you to do?"

  "That, Devington, I have yet to decide."

Within two hours, Philip and Robert caught their first view of the estate. The manor was an imposing gray stone edifice set back several hundred yards from the cliffs—as if looming over them—in a vista of desolate grandeur.

  "Most resembles an ancient keep from this vantage point, don't you think?" Philip asked. "Centuries hence, this region was a Norman stronghold. You'll find that many like structures, dating back to William the Conqueror, dot the coastline. The house, built on the site of a castle ruin, used many of the original stones."

  The long drive to the manor gate was well landscaped at one time.

The numerous trees and shrubs were designed to lend the entrance a more welcoming appeal, but evidence of neglect abounded. Now, in the dead of winter, bereft of their leaves, they somehow enhanced the loneliness, the eeriness of the landscape.

  Philip dismounted to open the gates, and Robert could not help remarking, "To be sure, Drake, 'tis not the most welcoming sight."

  Philip laughed cynically. "Not by half, and you have yet to see the inside, dear boy! Do you now understand my lack of enthusiasm as well as my yearning for company?"

  "Quite." They entered the deserted courtyard, and Robert gazed up at the weathered stone walls. "Charming," he remarked dryly.

  "'Twas much more welcoming in my mother's time, I assure you. She loved flowers. They were everywhere, giving the old place almost an air of enchantment. There were half a dozen full-time gardeners about the place at that time." Philip's voice dropped off, and he gazed at the overgrown, ivy-covered walls and empty flowerbeds.

  With no groom appearing at their arrival, the two men dismounted. Philip approached the large iron knocker on the massive door. He had barely laid it to rest, when the door opened to a most formidable manservant.

  Recognizing the major, the somber face made a complete metamorphosis. "Why, Master Philip! 'Tis so long, I scarce recognized you. Welcome home!" Only his dignity and awareness of his position prevented the old retainer from taking the major into a joyful embrace.

  "Thank you, Grayson," Philip responded, truly taken aback by the enthusiasm of his greeting. "One would hope my family will receive me so warmly."

  "Certainly after such extended an absence," the butler replied, but they both knew it a lie. "You have brought a guest?" He looked toward the officer holding the horses.

"Indeed, this is Captain Devington."

  "Welcome, Captain. We shall do our utmost to ensure your comfort." He turned back to Philip. "My apologies there was no groom to meet you. I will summon one, posthaste." He rang a bell and stated, "The staff is much reduced these days, you see. Half attend Lord Uxeter in the London house, and the rest care for the earl, who since his illness, rarely leaves his apartments or receives visitors. Shall I prepare your old rooms, Master Philip?"

  "Please, and a guest chamber in the same wing for Captain Devington, but don't trouble yourself overmuch. I daresay it will be a short stay."

  "When we received news of the army patrolling the coast, we had hoped to see your return, but we hardly dared expect you. 'Tis prodigious pleased I am, Master Philip." He grinned again. The hunched old groom arrived to take the horses, and the butler ushered them inside to the Great Hall.

  "I trust there's a fire and a bottle of brandy to be had in the library?"

  "Aye, Master Philip. His lordship still enjoys an active commerce with the free traders." He winked knowingly.

  Philip answered Robert's questioning look. "The Sussex coast is second only to Cornwall in smuggling activity." He turned back to Grayson. "You mentioned my father's recent illness. Am I to understand this is something beyond his gout?"

  "Sadly so. His lordship suffered an apoplectic seizure several months ago. Although much recovered, he retains a lingering weakness of his right side. You will perceive him much changed."

  "Dare I ask if his illness impaired his faculties in any manner?"

  "His faculties are yet as sharp as his tongue."

  Philip ignored the impertinence and responded with good humor. "I appreciate the word of warning."

  "My lord is currently resting above stairs, but I will announce you as soon as he awakens."

  "And my brother? Is he also in residence?"

  "He has been much occupied in Parliament since France's declaration of war, but he is expected this evening."

  They entered the library, where Grayson took their hats and cloaks and set about building a fire. Philip, meanwhile, went straight to the brandy decanter. Pulling two chairs close to the hearth, he poured two generous glasses for the captain and himself and set the bottle on a table between them.

  "Is there aught else you require, sir?" Grayson asked.

  "Not at the moment." Philip met the old servant's eye with a murmur of thanks. The retainer, slightly embarrassed, mumbled about it being his pleasure to serve, and departed to alert the cook and supervise room preparations.

  Now comfortably ensconced by a blazing fire, the two men nursed their drinks and warmed their chilled bones.

  "Drake, it may be altogether impertinent of me, but why is there such acrimony between you and Edmund? Knowing you as I do, I find it hard to believe it stems only from the birthright."

  "You are entirely impertinent to pry into my family matters," Philip chided, threw back his drink, and generously refilled the glass.

  Devington regarded him expectantly.

  "All right," Philip said, deciding. "You surmise correctly; it goes much deeper than the birthright. If you are so dammed interested, I'll air our dirty laundry." He paused to take another long swallow of brandy.

  "I suppose I should begin with the present Earl of Hastings. Shortly after inheriting the title and estates, he married his paternal cousin. He had awaited her coming of age by design to merge the fortunes of two related families, and to ensure the purity of the family line, a notion no longer held by many outside the royal families."

  "Is your family so very old and noble, Drake?"

  "Old, yes, but noble? Mayhap ignoble is more apposite," he added ruefully. "It is said we descend from the blood of the Conqueror, but on the dubious side of the blanket. My great-grandfather persuaded James the First, for a handsome fee of course, to recognize the connection and thus issue the patent of earldom. But I digress.

  "The earl's first wife died of puerperal fever following childbirth, but the babe, Edmund, survived. Grieving his wife but satisfied in having produced an heir, Lord Hastings returned to London and left the infant in the care of nursemaids. The earl was at that time one of the high Tories at Queen Anne's Court, but his fortunes changed with her death. The Act of Settlement, which rang in the Hanoverians, rang the death toll for the Tories. Less than a decade later, he lost the vast majority of his fortune with the South Sea Company. He then did what most noblemen in such positions do: he sought a rich wife.

  "At five-and-forty, he married twenty-year-old Eugenia Forsythe, the daughter of a London merchant and the lady who would be my mother." He took another long drink as he reflected on his boyhood memories.

  "Although she was anxious to make a successful marriage, the earl's excessive pride and arrogance destroyed the remotest possibility of happiness. The bastard never gave her a chance, but buried her in the country while he supported himself in town, largely on her dowry. I was born scarcely ten months following their nuptials. To this day, I am dubious whether the old man ever touched her again after my birth."