Highest Stakes (36 page)

  "And your brother?"

  "Edmund was eleven years old and at school when the earl remarried. My mother endeavored to nurture a relationship with him, but even then he was jealous and exceedingly aloof. He was cruel and actively sought to damn me in my father's eyes. From the earliest age, I perceived that ours was no ordinary sibling rivalry.

  "He was successful in this aim, as I have lived under my father's consummate disapprobation. Knowing I could never amend his bad opinion, I thought it a great lark to confirm his belief in my utter worthlessness. I chose to confound and antagonize them both at every turn, even at the expense of my own hide. I survived numerous birchings for my miscellaneous high crimes and misdemeanors, and I daresay the headmaster at Harrow earned his wings in heaven for all his pains. To this very day, I bear the scars of his labors to save my soul. Fortunately, he finally realized the futility of flogging my sins out of me, and I was expelled."

  "Expelled? On what grounds?"

  "The
coup de grâce
was the discovery of the late-night gambling Hell carried on in my room." He laughed.

  "You were running a gambling Hell?"

  "I was a most enterprising lad, Devington." He flashed a rueful grin. "But my venture came to an ignominious end."

  "This must not have gone well for you."

  "Indeed it did not, my friend! And by this time my dear mother had succumbed to her illness. I dared not return home, and although she left me a small inheritance, I was but sixteen and had no access to it."

  "So, how did you get on?"

  "By little more than my wits, for nearly five years."

  "And your father allowed this life?"

  "He cared little. He'd long written me off as a ne'er-do-well, blaming my inferior breeding. The bad blood, you know."

  Philip refilled his glass and offered the decanter to Robert. He refused but prompted, "So why did you decide on the military?"

  "By the time I received my inheritance, I had gained maturity and discovered a desire to prove them all wrong. So I purchased my commission. Now you have it: the
raison d'être
for my cool familial affections."

  "Under the circumstances, I quite understand," Robert replied.

  "Have no doubt that now here I'll perform my filial duty, but with any luck, I'll be spared further obligation for another three years."

  Grayson knocked lightly on the door. "Your rooms are ready whenever you wish to refresh yourselves, sir. I have placed Captain Devington's bag in the green room as you requested."

  "Thank you. I will show Devington to his room. No need to trouble yourself further, Grayson."

  "As you wish." The butler departed.

  Having drunk their fill of brandy, the officers stumbled up the eastwing staircase leading to the former nursery and Philip's boyhood rooms. The green room, two doors down from Philip's, had once housed his tutor, and there was a small study betwixt the chambers. Grayson had ensured a comfortable arrangement, with blazing fires in all three rooms along with basins of hot water and towels. Philip showed Robert to his room before retiring to his own.

  Once in his chamber, Philip removed his coat and took off his boots, placing the articles of clothing outside the door, knowing they would be cleaned, pressed, and shined in time for dinner. He pulled his shirt over his head and washed. He then promptly collapsed, sprawled full-length on the tester bed. He had just closed his eyes when a light scratch on the door interrupted his repose. Grayson entered with his cleaned and pressed uniform and gleaming boots.

  "Master Philip," he said, "the earl will see you now."

  "Indeed? Might I inquire after his humor in learning of my arrival?"

  Grayson hesitated. "My lord appeared almost… pleased."

  "Remarkable," Philip murmured.

  "May I also inform you that Lord Uxeter has arrived. He bids you and your companion dine with him at six. Is there aught more that you require, sir?"

  "Just more brandy, if I am to deal with both my father and brother on the same day," Philip remarked, only half in jest.

"I shall see to it," Grayson responded soberly.

  Philip groaned at the prospect of facing his father. He rose from his bed, raked a hand through his hair, and donned his clean linen and boots. He buttoned his coat and inspected himself in the looking glass. After Grayson's fastidious attentions, he was ready for parade. Although his appearance would have satisfied any of his commanding officers, in his entire life, he had never passed muster with the Earl of Hastings. Philip squared his shoulders and proceeded to his lordship's apartments.

A half hour later, Philip knocked lightly on the captain's door.

"You look none the worse for wear," Robert remarked.

  "On the outside only, I confess. I'm in desperate need of another drink, a dose of liquid courage, if you will, for what is likely to be a second trying engagement."

  "It would sound as if you prepare for battle."

  Philip's look spoke volumes.

  "That bad, eh?"

  "Quite." He grimaced.

  The pair descended the stair and proceeded to the great dining hall.

  "My lord Uxeter is seated within, sir," Grayson informed him. "The earl dines alone in his rooms."

  The footman opened the door to the formal dining hall to announce their arrival.

  "I see 'tis to be a cozy, informal gathering," Philip commented under his breath.

  Noting Edmund seated in the earl's place at the table's head, Philip executed a less than deferential bow and remarked, "A bit precipitate, don't you think, Edmund? The earl was quite alive above stairs only a quarter hour ago."

  Edmund responded with a haughty stare. The tension between the pair was already palpable to the captain, who stepped forward with his own bow, curious to assess the viscount for himself.

  In observing the two brothers, he noted both were tall and lean, but other than being of a comparable build, the pair stood in stark contrast to one another.

  Philip was of dark complexion, with a ruggedly handsome visage and a mobile, sensuous mouth. His black gaze could be hard as flint one moment or warm with capricious mirth the next.

  Edmund was fair and had sharp, distinctly aristocratic features, with his slightly aquiline nose and thin mouth set in straight, harsh lines. His icy blue, humorless gaze was eerily penetrating and contemptuous.

  "So young Philip has come back to the nest from which he was tossed, or mayhap more like a young vulture come to circle the carrion," Edmund drawled, but his lips formed a sneer.

  Philip's skin prickled at the early provocation, but he responded with indolence. "I credit you with a vivid metaphor, Edmund. I should rather have expected some boorish remark about the return of the prodigal."

  "No doubt you've come to beg a loan to cover your gaming debts."

  "Alas, I am come merely to pay long-overdue respects to our father. Much as I hate to disappoint you, my finances are in tolerable order. I have no need of money." He was immeasurably grateful at the truth of it. Although perpetually low in the pockets while in London, his luck ran true. He had at least managed to keep his head above water.

  Perceiving his disadvantage in the first parry, Edmund's eyes narrowed. "Why, then, have you
really
come?"

  "'Tis nigh on three years since I have visited the ancestral home. Is this not reason enough?"

  Silence reigned while the footmen poured wine and brought in the first covers. The captain moved to break the oppressiveness. "Do you still maintain a racing stable, Lord Uxeter? Philip has mentioned you have horses at Cheveley, I believe?"

"You know blood horses, Devington?"

"Undeniably, my lord. Raised and raced 'em."

"I don't recall seeing you at Newmarket."

"Doncaster racing," Robert amended.

"Doncaster!" Edmund scoffed.

  Robert eyed him ruefully, remembering his prior arguments with Phillip. Obviously, these misbegotten views ran in the family. "I beg to differ with you, my lord. Many prominent runners hail from Yorkshire. Indeed, Major Drake and I recently witnessed one of Martindale's new colts trounce a Bolton Starling son."

  "Martindale, eh? The pompous ass goes on incessantly about his stud. He's got a four-year-old he claims is undefeated under twelve stone. I've a mind to match him with Perseus for a thousand guineas. We'll then see if he stands by his claim."

  "Perseus?" Robert queried. "Of what blood is he?"

  "Only the oldest and purest of English racing blood, the Byerley Turk and Old Careless. He's full brother to Hawke, you know; both carry pure Eastern blood, undiluted by any
common
stock." He ended his intimation by directing Philip a contemptuous stare.

  "I know Hastings's Hawke very well, my lord. He is a fine stallion," Devington remarked.

  "
Was
a fine stallion. 'Twas a sad day when he was euthanized after injuring a leg at the Lichfield races."

  "I remember this race, my lord, but I was unaware of any incapacitating injury," Robert replied. He and Philip exchanged knowing looks.

  "I'm sure you were devastated, Edmund," Philip remarked.

  "Just so. I thought the horse irreplaceable at the time, but Perseus shows even more promise. The blood will always tell."

  This second insinuation sent the bile rising to Philip's throat, but Robert intervened. "But even the purest stock, my lord, can on occasion produce imperfect get. Indeed, this manner of inbreeding you advocate has proven to bring out either the best or the very worst in the offspring."

  "I am affronted by your ignorance, Captain! Superior blood will always prevail, just as bad blood will eventually out."

  Robert countered, "While I beg not a quarrel, 'tis well known that a number of highly inbred crosses have produced imperfect get. Flying Childers of the Darley line, by example, was one of the most successful racers of his time, but his full brother, Bartlett's Childers, was unfit to race due to a blood-vessel disorder thought to descend from the dam, Betty Leedes. She was also inbred with the blood of Darcy's Yellow Turk. As there are a number of highly bred racers with similar bleeding disorders, I suspect some connection to this particular breeding method. This is, of course, just my personal theory," he added.

  The footman cleared the covers and refilled glasses. Philip gestured to leave a bottle close at hand. Robert noted he had barely touched his food.

  "While on the topic of breeding, what of your family, Devington?" Lord Uxeter inquired.

  "Undoubtedly common stock, my lord." Robert's self- deprecating laugh was met with Lord Uxeter's narrowed stare. "My father was first a coachman and later stable master for a South Yorkshire baronet."

  "I am recently acquainted with a South Yorkshire baronet by the name of Wallace, a Sir Garfield Wallace. Do you know of him, Captain?"

  "Indeed, my lord! My father was in the same man's employ from the very start of his coaching service."

  "Coaching service? The man to whom I refer is a significant Yorkshire landholder."

  "Indeed, 'tis one and the same man. Sir Garfield is possessed of a considerable fortune made in trade but is assuredly a commoner by birth. Are you acquainted with him through your racing stud, my lord? He has a considerable interest in blood horses."

  Lord Uxeter's displeasure shone in the hardness of his eye and the grim line of his mouth. It was bad enough he should be betrothed to the daughter of a country squire, but a tradesman?

  "Are you acquainted with the gentleman through horses, my lord?" Robert repeated.

  "I don't recall the circumstances," he remarked dismissively.

  "Sir Garfield Wallace of Yorkshire?" Philip mused artlessly. "It seems I've encountered the name. There was recently something related to his family," Philip uttered pensively.

  "It is of no consequence!" Lord Uxeter snapped, throwing down his napkin.

  "Precisely what is your connection, Edmund?"

  Edmund exploded in a venomous outburst. "I didn't say, you accursed half-breed whelp!"

  "Another interesting choice of words," Philip drawled, "especially given your choice of bride and your stated views on selective reproduction. Mayhap you'll produce a whole litter of such halfbred whelps."

  "Damn your insolence!"

  "It appears the
noble
viscount forgets himself. My apologies for my brother's poor
breeding
, Devington." Philip rose stiffly, and with a mocking bow, strode out.