“And good riddance to those ankle-biting terrors she kept with her.” Danvers bumped the rim of his glass against the bottle for another finger or two. In truth, the three of them had stopped counting the amount of fine spirits they’d consumed. It was more a measure of how close to filling without spilling that mattered now.
Filling without spilling? Gabriel rolled his eyes to the cornices outlining the domed ceiling overhead. This wasn’t a good sign. He always started to rhyme when he’d had a too much to drink. Although, he distinctly recalled several instances in the past when he’d imbibed in a greater quantity and it hadn’t taken hold so soon.
He blamed the Dowager Duchess of Heathcoat. Being under the constant scrutiny of the ton’s most formidable dragon had turned him into a one-bottle man. A sad day, indeed.
But there was nothing he could have done differently. At the time, she’d threatened to have his father cut him off. Completely and without a shilling! Well, except for the six thousand pounds he lived on each year. Still . . . What a fine threat, and from his own grandmother too.
Now, safely tucked away in the wilds of Lincolnshire, he could once again be himself. He’d had his fill of reforming. Especially when it had served no purpose, other than to make his father expect more from him. Until more had become too much.
Gabriel lifted his glass as soon as Montwood filled it to the brim. “To Fallow Hall—where neither brides nor babes may ever roam!”
The two other bachelors cheered “Huzzah!” and tossed back another swallow.
Danvers tipped the glass a bit too far and wavered on his feet. Swaying, he dropped into an upholstered armchair at his back. Yet with an outstretched arm, he managed to save the liquor with nary a splash and gave a low whistle.
Gabriel saluted his fellow one-bottle man.
Montwood made the rounds, topping them off, his pouring hand suspiciously steady. “Alas, there is a bride in residence already.”
“Not mine. Never mine.” The gratitude in Gabriel’s voice echoed down from the ceiling. “Brightwell”—absent from their party, the poor bugger—“is stuck with that baggage. I was merely being charitable to allow an old friend and his wife a bit of respite.”
“The carriage accident was a month ago,” Danvers pointed out needlessly.
Gabriel was all too aware of how long ago the accident had been and how long their guests had been in residence in the east wing. Far too close to his own suite of rooms. For that reason, he spent most of his time here, in the north tower.
The map room had been his haven in recent weeks. Framed atlas prints adorned the walls, each one hosting places he’d been or new ones he’d yet to explore. At the back of the room, a spiral staircase curved up toward an open loft filled with books and journals of fellow travelers, in addition to enormous volumes of charts he was eager to inspect.
He was itching at the prospect of another expedition. The need to be aboard a ship, with the wind in his face and England at his back, filled his thoughts. That was something he was good at—running away. Staying one step ahead of guilt and responsibility.
“Not to add bumble broth to our merriment,” Montwood interrupted, his tone ominous, “but the physician suggested continued bed rest until Lady Pamela’s”—he coughed—“mental faculties return.”
Gabriel didn’t appreciate the reminder, but laughed nonetheless. “Though I have not been acquainted with Lady Brightwell overly long, she’s been rather bird-witted the entire time. If bed rest will aid her, then surely another glass of scotch will prevent me from becoming foxed.”
“Aye!” Danvers nodded and squinted in agreement as if Socrates had just spoken.
Montwood held his empty glass to his eye as if it were an enormous monocle. “Ah. A mystery solved at last! The reason Everhart hasn’t married is that he would prefer a bluestocking for a bride.”
Gabriel frowned. This conversation rang with too many familiar notes, bringing to mind the demands of his father. “This tomfoolery has gone on long enough. It is time for you to take your rightful place in society. No more gadding about, wasting your life on games, expeditions, and light-skirts. Find a sensible girl, settle down, and become a responsible adult.”
But at what cost? Turning into the same shell of a man that his father had become?
“I will never marry,” he said, and likely with more vehemence than his friends deserved. Neither seemed to notice, however, because they were too busy laughing.
“Ha!” Montwood challenged. “You are your father’s heir. You must marry.”
Unruffled due to years of weaving away from that type of bare-knuckled blow, Gabriel shrugged. “Let my younger brother be the responsible one.” Clive was nearly thirteen. Plenty of time left for their father to groom him into the perfect ducal candidate.
With the thought settled in his mind, Gabriel pointed with his drink, amber liquid sloshing. “Danvers is the only one of us who must marry. He is his father’s only son.”
Danvers’s grin faded. “Not I. My father holds no title to hand down to me, nor a name that garners much respect among the ton. Unlike yours. Besides, with my sister married to your cousin”—he pointed back to Gabriel as if the fault for the marriage lay with his side of the family—“my parents will have scores of infants to coddle, with the first arriving shortly.”
At the mention of the anticipated arrival, another enthusiastic—and somewhat slurred—toast made the rounds. “To Rathburn, his bride, and his babe!”
Before Gabriel knew it, he was looking at the bottom of another empty glass. Montwood was quick to remedy that situation. Making himself more comfortable in the corner of the sofa, Gabriel was careful to keep his leg propped on a pillow. He thought of Hawthorne Manor and how downright blissful his cousin had been during their last visit.
Absently, Gabriel scratched his leg through the slats. “The marriage noose fits Rathburn’s neck quite well.”
“And so it shall remain,” Danvers added with a fierceness that suggested he still thought of his sister in leading strings. His friend was a veritable beast when it came to protecting his family. Those who knew him best understood that his claws were reserved for enemies, but for everyone else, he was full of stuff and fluff.
Stuff and fluff? Gabriel stared down at his drink. Perhaps he should make this one his last.
“I seem to recall a time when Danvers welcomed the knot.” Montwood sat forward, extending the bottle to add another splash to each glass. It seemed he was baiting both of them now. “But your betrothed decided to tie her rope around a rich American.”
“Precisely why I will never marry,” Danvers declared with only the slightest slur. He rose a bit unsteadily to his feet, made his way toward the hearth, and crouched down to pet the dog. “Fortune hunters, the lot of them.”
The dog thumped his tail in agreement.
Gabriel remembered the day that Rafe Danvers had been left standing alone at the altar. His betrothed had set her cap on a fur trader from the former colonies and then set sail across the pond. Montwood shouldn’t have reopened the wound.
“Quite right.” Montwood topped off his own glass. “I say we pledge our troths to bachelorhood.”
“Hear! Hear!” Danvers held onto the mantel as he stood.
Seemingly encouraged, Montwood held his drink aloft. “Let nary a woman break our bonds.”
They all drank to that.
“Let them pine for our—or rather your,” the amber-eyed snake-charmer corrected, pointing first at Danvers and then at Gabriel, “fortunes, and waste away on the doorstep of this grand edifice.”
“To Fallow Hall!”
A friend of theirs, Lord Knightswold, had won this property, and countless others, in wagers throughout the years. After his recent marriage and subsequent desire for a family, he wasn’t interested in keeping a property that not only was named for the deer that grazed the lands but also hinted at infertility. Therefore, he’d offered to let the property for a small sum and even encouraged Everhar
t, Danvers, and Montwood to purchase it from him. For now, however, Gabriel’s fellow bachelors were content with impermanence.
“And for a little fun, we’ll make a wager.” Montwood was uncharacteristically verbose this evening. Among the three of them, he was usually the most reserved when not required to perform for a crowd. “The first of us to marry must pay a grand forfeit.”
“To forfeits!” Danvers drained the last of another glass.
“How grand?” Gabriel was sure he’d asked the question, but the skeptical, almost austere tone of his voice made him look over his shoulder, expecting to see his father standing there. He shook his head to clear away the echo. Nonetheless, the way his friend seemingly steered the conversation back to this avenue of wagers pricked his suspicions.
Montwood grinned like a cardsharp. “Enough to make it memorable. Enough to make it . . . irresistible. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a wager if we weren’t plotting against one another.”
At that, Danvers stepped back into their circle, sudden clarity alive in his dark gaze. “For us to plot against each other, it would have to be an extravagant sum.” And yet, apparently, he wasn’t opposed to the idea. They all knew he’d give his right leg to buy a certain estate he’d had his eye on for years.
“Enough for you to buy Greyson Park, my friend,” Montwood said with the persuasive charm that had kept him in the good graces of the ton, even though his own family had cut him off without a shilling. “Enough for Everhart to buy . . . well, whatever his latest whim might be.”
Gabriel winced at the unexpected sting. Though why it stung—when he’d done nothing to dispel the mark of the aimless wanderer he carried with him—he had no idea. Still, he felt compelled to fire back a shot across Montwood’s bow. “And enough for you to pay off the mysterious debt of which you never speak?”
Montwood flashed a grin that was more teeth and less charm. “Precisely.”
Gabriel tested the depths of the water in which they were suddenly wading. “One thousand pounds, then?”
“A trifling sum!” Montwood scoffed. “Knowing the vulgar riches you both possess, I wouldn’t wager for five times that amount.”
“Not for five thousand pounds? That is my yearly income.” Danvers laughed as if in disbelief and then sketched a courtly bow. “Would you wager as Prinny does for a mere ten, Your Highness?”
“I believe you have the right of it. Ten thousand is quite a savory number.” A calculating gleam stole across Montwood’s gaze. “Besides, it isn’t as if you need to worry. We’ve all declared never to marry.”
Never. Until this moment, Gabriel hadn’t fully appreciated the utter finality of that particular word. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps a set period of time would make the wager more interesting. Say . . . a single year?”
“Better and better.” Montwood rested his glass on a low table, stood, and extended his hand. “Then our wager is set.”
“Perhaps clarification is in order. This is a grand sum, after all.” Danvers appeared more sober by the minute as he raked a hand through his unruly dark mane. “To be clear—for the following twelve months we will each be pitted against the other in the hopes of being the last bachelor standing.”
“Simple enough,” Montwood said with an encouraging nod, his ready handshake tucked away for the moment.
If Gabriel had learned anything during his years of friendship with Montwood, it was to be well versed in all the rules beforehand. “In theory, the last bachelor earns ten thousand pounds, when the two of you pay me five thousand pounds apiece. Correct?”
“Interesting theory.” Montwood’s grin said that he accepted the challenge. “The figures, however, are spot on.”
Danvers frowned. “If our wager is set to declare one bachelor the winner, it hardly seems fair if there are two of us left who gain nothing.”
“Very true,” Montwood said, stroking his chin. “After our year has ended, the winnings should be split amongst the winners. Therefore, a solitary loser would have to pay ten thousand pounds. Such a loss makes the stakes higher, doesn’t it?”
It did, indeed.
“Of course, it goes without saying,” Montwood continued, “that there can be no betrothals or binding declarations during this time. Also, no elicit affairs with women whose reputation would be ruined; ergo, no debutantes, spinsters, cloistered nuns, et cetera.” The last bit earned a chuckle.
“What about a betrothal that happened prior to this wager?” Even though Gabriel purposely kept his gaze on Danvers when he spoke, the anticipated answer was more for himself. Little did his friends know that he was once a very foolish young man. Five years ago, he’d fallen in love at first sight. Or rather, imagined he had.
Fallen? No, the act had been much harder than a simple fall. He’d plummeted. The earth had disappeared from beneath his feet and kept him falling endlessly. Then one night, drunk on the very thought of her, he’d proposed marriage in a letter.
If that letter was still in her possession—and if it should ever see the light of day—then he stood to lose more than a fortune. Life as he knew it would end.
His father refused to fund any more expeditions or endure any more scandals. His grandmother, whom Gabriel loved dearly, held propriety in high esteem. Maybe it was the guilt of his more recent actions niggling at his brain, but he couldn’t let her down again.
A debt of ten thousand pounds? Well, that would certainly brew a scandal and scream a lack of propriety.
But if he won? With ten thousand pounds, he could fund his own expedition.
“Since Danvers’s bride married another, his prior betrothal no longer counts. It would be different if she were yet unmarried,” Montwood answered offhandedly. Then his gaze sharpened on Gabriel. “Unless . . . you’re asking on your own behalf? Could it be that there is a bluestocking in London who’s shaken the insouciant foundation you’ve so carefully crafted?”
If Gabriel ever were to come clean about the proposal he’d made and explain the details, now was the time.
Yet knowing his friends as he did and weighing the odds of a likely encounter with Miss Calliope Croft—in addition to her discovering that it was he who wrote the letter—Gabriel felt little need for concern.
Certainly nothing that would induce him to enlighten his all-too-curious friends. “Of course not.”
“Then it appears, gentlemen,” Montwood said with a grin, “we are all agreed.”
Gabriel was the first to extend his hand, confident that nothing would go wrong.
CHAPTER TWO
The carriage jolted, startling Calliope from the pages of her book. Outside the window, the scenery dipped sharply but quickly righted again. Apparently, they’d hit a cavernous rut on the road to Fallow Hall. Thankfully, the carriage continued to roll on without event.
Across from her, her brother tapped the carriage’s folding head with his walking stick and spoke with the driver, while her sister-in-law roused from another nap.
“I cannot believe that I fell asleep again,” Delaney said on a yawn, her auburn hair in wild disarray. “I am positively the dullest traveling companion. Calliope, you must forgive me. I promised you a grander adventure than your sisters and mine would have in Bath, and so far I’ve given you nothing letter-worthy.”
“This is already a grand adventure, for I have never been to Scotland or on the road that would take me there.” Calliope shook her head by way of reassurance. “I’ll have plenty of new sights to remark upon when I do write to them.”
Even if their entire party had slept through the journey, Calliope would have preferred it to returning to Bath. Especially since Bath only reminded her of refusing Brightwell’s proposal. A clear reminder that some endings do not bring about wonderful new beginnings.
“Besides,” she continued. “I can also inform my sisters that Griffin is a frightful snorer. The endless years of teasing and torment we will bring unto him are worth their weight in gold.”
“A bear snorer, to be sure.
” Delaney laughed, her violet eyes bright with mischief as she finger-combed wayward curls away from her glowing cheeks. “But I find the rhythmic cadence pleasing. If I were to walk past his cave on a winter’s day like this, I would be reassured by that sound, knowing I would come to no harm.”
Closing the flap in the roof, Griffin scoffed, pretending a great offense had befallen him. “Wound this hibernating bear and suffer the consequences.” He reached out as if he meant to tickle his bride but then stilled as his gaze drifted to her middle. A resplendent smile transformed his face into an expression Calliope had never before witnessed on him. Instead of tormenting his wife, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “But not quite yet. Perhaps there is a reason you’ve been sleeping so much of late.”
Delaney brightened like a flame and settled her free hand over her stomach before she beamed at Calliope. Immediate understanding dawned.
A baby?
“We aren’t certain,” Delaney said as if she’d heard the unspoken question. “I know how much the news would please your mother and father. For now, however, it should be our secret.”
“Of course.” Calliope found herself nodding and grinning and then nodding some more. The perfect beginning. “Although I must mention that Mother’s happiness would exceed any that mankind has ever known if she were to have a grandchild before her younger sister, Augusta.”
Knowing it was the truth, they all laughed.
Then, in Calliope’s ever-wandering mind, a vision of herself sitting for hours upon hours, cuddling and reading to a little bundle, filled her with such joy that she began compiling a mental library.
If truth be told, she’d had the list tucked away for years now—a list that hadn’t always been intended for a niece or nephew . . .
“Calliope,” Griffin said, drawing her gaze away from the fogged window to see that he was now standing outside the carriage, extending his arm to assist her.
She blinked and rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Have we arrived at Fallow Hall already?” Only a moment ago, they’d been having a conversation about a new baby. How could they have arrived so quickly?
The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Page 2