When he drew back he flashed her a smile, hoping to stop her tears. “So if you don’t want me to race Chetwin, I won’t race Chetwin.” He chucked her under the chin as she tried mightily to regain control over her emotions. “After all, the last thing I need is you throwing yourself in front of my horses.”
“I’d do it, too,” she choked out.
“I have no doubt of that. I can just see you, standing in the gap between the boulders and daring us to run you down.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said gamely, “but it’s a good idea.”
With a laugh, he kissed her again. Then taking her hand in his, he led her back toward where Lyons paced and Chetwin stood scowling.
As they neared the rigs, Chetwin snapped, “Well? Are you ready?”
“Sorry, old chap. The race is off.”
Lyons said, “Thank God,” and ambled toward Gabe’s family.
“You can’t do this,” Chetwin said.
“Sure I can,” Gabe drawled. “I changed my mind.” Chetwin scowled. “Then I swear you’ll never hear the truth.”
Gabe looked down at Virginia, who was gazing up at him with eyes full of love. “It doesn’t matter. I have everything I want already.”
“And the three hundred pounds?” Chetwin sneered at him. “That doesn’t matter, either?”
Gabe lifted an eyebrow at Virginia. “Sweetheart? Shall I race Chetwin for three hundred pounds?”
“Absolutely not,” she said stoutly. “We’ll do just fine without it.”
Gabe told Chetwin, “No race today, or ever again. The Angel of Death is retiring.”
That earned him a kiss on the cheek from Virginia.
“Balderdash,” Chetwin spat. “You’ll be back once your pockets are to let and you need some blunt for that new Thoroughbred of yours.”
“I don’t see why,” Gran said, stepping into the fray. “I have every intention of investing in my grandson’s Thoroughbreds. I can’t wait to see him double my money.”
Gabe gaped at her, and she colored a little. “The general and I had a conversation on the way here. He says you have a knack for training horses, and with his help, he thinks you might make a go of it. I’m willing to invest a bit to see if that’s true.” She tipped up her chin. “A tiny bit, mind you, but it should be enough to fund entering a horse in the race.”
“Thank you, Gran,” Gabe said, biting back a smile. Occasionally she could be quite the soft touch. Especially when it came to her grandchildren.
The sound of more horses approaching caught his attention. They all looked over to see Devonmont and Lady Celia barreling toward them in Devonmont’s curricle with his tiger on the back.
“Pierce!” Virginia cried as she ran up to greet him. “What are you doing here?”
After climbing down from the carriage and handing Celia down, he gave Virginia a quick peck on the cheek. “I arrived at Waverly Farm late last night. I figured you were all sleeping, so I didn’t worry until this morning when I awoke to find nobody there but the servants. They told me that you were both at Halstead Hall, so I went there. Then Lady Celia showed me a letter that Sharpe had written, and I came here straightaway.”
“Why?” Gabe came up to snake a possessive arm about Virginia’s waist. “Were you hoping I’d break my neck, and you could take my place with her?”
“I was hoping to stop you.” He turned a hard gaze on Chetwin. “I believe the lieutenant knows why, too.”
Chetwin looked belligerent. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“No?” Devonmont snapped. “So you don’t recall a conversation we had years ago, when you were blathering a lot of nonsense about Sharpe and Roger and what had happened the night before their race?”
Gabe forgot to breathe. “You’re Chetwin’s mysterious source?”
Virginia froze. “You were there for the wager, Pierce?”
“No,” he said, “I was at Waverly Farm. But after Roger stumbled in drunk that night, he came to talk to me before he talked to Uncle Isaac. He told me everything.”
“And you never said a word of it?” she cried. “How could you?”
“Until I read Sharpe’s letter a short while ago and Lady Celia explained its import, I assumed that Sharpe knew exactly what had happened that night.”
“But I didn’t know what happened that night!” she said, betrayal in her voice. “Poppy didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell us? You knew it was important to us!”
“Which is why, if you’ll recall, I told you to ask Sharpe about it,” Devonmont retorted. “How was I to know that he didn’t remember? I assumed he was keeping it to himself for the same reason I never said anything—because I wanted to protect you and Uncle Isaac from knowing the worst about Roger.”
As it dawned on Gabe what that meant, a relief coursed through him so profound that he began to shake. “So I didn’t . . . I wasn’t the one who . . .”
“No,” Devonmont said. “Roger told me he laid down the wager. Apparently he was smarting over something Lyons had said in their argument, and when you agreed with Lyons, he challenged you to that fool race.”
With a sigh, Lyons moved up behind Gabe. “I remember that. He complained because the general wouldn’t let him play jockey in some horse race. Roger said his grandfather had gone soft in his old age. I told him that a man who had stared down Boney had more courage than all three of us put together. He took exception to that, especially when Sharpe agreed with me. When he started railing at me for it, I decided I’d had enough, and I went home.”
“He then felt compelled to demonstrate his bravery by challenging Sharpe to run the most dangerous course in London,” Devonmont said.
“Damned fool,” the general muttered.
Devonmont looked at Gabe. “He said you balked at first. He was very proud of that, seemed to think it made him somehow superior. I told him he was an arse, that he could easily kill himself on that course and that at least you had the good sense to recognize it. I told him he ought to get out of it however he could, honor be damned.”
“Then he came to me,” the general said hoarsely. “And I countered your advice, Pierce.”
Virginia cast her grandfather a concerned glance. “You didn’t know what you were advising him about, Poppy. It wasn’t your fault.” She swept them all with a fierce look. “It was no one’s fault. Not Gabe’s or Pierce’s or the duke’s. Roger always made his own decisions. And that one proved to be his worst.”
“While this is all very interesting,” Chetwin put in, “it doesn’t change the fact that Sharpe agreed to race me and is now trying to back out.” He strode up to Gabe. “This is your last chance, Sharpe. If you don’t race me as agreed, I’ll make sure every man in London knows you’re a coward. I’ll blacken your name from one end of London to the other for backing down from a challenge.”
“You laid down a challenge?” General Waverly put in. “Sounded more like blackmail to me: if Sharpe didn’t agree to race you, you refused to tell him what any decent fellow would have told him when asked.” His tone hardened. “There’s no dishonor in a gentleman’s refusing to give in to blackmail.”
He strode over to Chetwin. “I happen to know your superior officer, and I’d be happy to give him a truthful account of your actions here today. He’s a gentleman. He won’t look kindly upon your preying on another gentleman’s grief. Are you willing to risk your future in the army for one last go at threading the needle?”
Chetwin went utterly pale, but the general wasn’t done.
“So I’d better not hear one word about this incident ever again. My granddaughter is about to marry this man, and I will not have the reputation of my future grandson-in-law besmirched by an arse like you. Is that understood, soldier?”
Gabe had to dig his fingers into his palm to keep from laughing. Chetwin looked as if he were about to piss in his pants.
“Yes, General,” Chetwin finally choked out. Then he grabbed his friend and headed back to his rig.
&nb
sp; “Apparently Chetwin has some sense after all,” Gabe drawled as the man swiftly drove away.
“Obviously more than you,” Gran snapped. “I can’t believe you were going to thread the needle again with that blasted—”
“Hetty,” the general said, halting her tirade. “It’s done. He came to his senses in the end, so leave the man be.”
That shocked Gabe more than anything the general had said to Chetwin. Especially when, instead of giving the general a blistering retort, his grandmother gazed softly up at him and said, “I suppose he has suffered enough.”
Gabe glanced down to find Virginia gaping at her grandfather, and he bent close to whisper, “Looks like I’m not the only one who fell in love with a Waverly.”
Tucking her hand in his arm, he strode up to the general. “Thank you for stepping in, sir. I don’t much care what Chetwin calls me, but I appreciate your nipping it in the bud.”
The general’s gaze hardened. “Just don’t make me regret it.” His gaze flicked to Virginia. “Make her happy. Or I’ll make good on my promise to shoot you.” He offered his arm to Gran. “Now, shall we adjourn somewhere a little more comfortable?”
“Sounds like an excellent idea to me,” Devonmont drawled as he handed Celia up into his curricle.
“We’ll be along in a moment.” Gabe drew Virginia aside. “There is one thing I need to make clear, my love.”
She stared up at him with a soft look that made his blood hum. “Yes?”
“You said earlier that I was marrying you as some sort of penance. I’m not. Don’t think that for even one moment.”
The sudden vulnerability in her face clutched at his heart. “You did say you wanted to marry me to make amends, to keep me from a bleak future.”
“I said a lot of stupid things,” he admitted, “and perhaps it started out that way.” He took her hands in his. “But that reason for courting you vanished the first time I kissed you. The first time I realized that you were the light to my darkness, and the only woman I could ever imagine marrying.”
As her eyes began to glisten, he added, “You are my reward. God only knows what for, but I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to take the prize and thank God for letting me win it.”
He drew her close and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Because of all the prizes I have ever won, you are definitely the best.”
Epilogue
Ealing, Late September 1825
“All hail the conquering hero!”
The cry greeted Virginia and her husband of one week as they descended from their carriage at Halstead Hall, and the Sharpes swiftly surrounded them to congratulate Gabriel on Flying Jane’s win in Doncaster.
Virginia smiled as Gabriel hoisted the gold cup for the benefit of his brothers, who cheered and slapped each other’s backs as if they’d ridden the horse to glory themselves.
Celia was the only one of his siblings who’d attended the race. His brothers hadn’t wanted to leave their wives, who’d both entered the periods of their confinements, and Mrs. Masters had chosen to remain in London with her husband, who couldn’t leave his law practice at the moment. But now they were all together again, and clearly excited by the news.
“The Times said it was a brilliant race,” Stoneville told Gabriel. “I quote, ‘Flying Jane flew to the finish line.’ ”
“I told you that jockey would do you proud,” Jarret said.
“And you were right,” Gabriel said. “Thanks to him, I have two gentlemen clamoring to buy Flying Jane.”
“You’re not selling, are you?” Annabel asked.
“Not on your life.”
Virginia smiled. “Poppy wants to breed her with Ghost Rider.”
A carriage drove up behind theirs just at that moment.
“And speaking of Ghost Rider,” Gabriel said, “here’s the other conquering hero.”
Another cheer went up as Poppy descended from his carriage and handed Mrs. Plumtree down. Pierce followed, helping Lady Celia disembark.
Gabriel and Poppy had decided to run the better of the two horses in the St. Leger Stakes, which in trials had proved to be Ghost Rider. Then both horses had run the second race for the gold cup since, as winner of the St. Leger Stakes, Ghost Rider had to carry additional weight. Gabriel had thought the weight might tip the balance toward Flying Jane, and it had indeed. Flying Jane had won the gold cup, so it was a triumph all around. Poppy and Gabriel had been celebrating all the way from Doncaster.
“So what do you think of Thoroughbred racing now, Gran?” Jarret called as she took the general’s arm.
“They were lucky, is all,” she said primly.
“Don’t listen to her.” Poppy patted her hand. “She won a hundred pounds in bets on the two races.”
“Gran gambled on a horse race?” Minerva exclaimed. “Will wonders never cease!”
“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Plumtree retorted. “Isaac told me if I didn’t bet I would regret it, but I damned near had heart failure watching those races. That second one was a very near thing.”
“So they said in the papers.” Oliver grinned. “I guess you were glad you listened to ‘Isaac.’ ”
The two spots of pink that appeared in her pale cheeks showed that she hadn’t meant to slip up and use Poppy’s Christian name.
Virginia stifled a laugh. He and Mrs. Plumtree had grown quite chummy of late, and she and Gabriel had begun to speculate on whether there was a marriage in the offing. Mrs. Plumtree kept saying she was too old for such nonsense, but her protests had weakened quite a bit lately.
“And what did you think of the races, Devonmont?” Jarret asked as they all headed for the arched entranceway.
Pierce shrugged. “One horse race is like any other, to me.” With a sly glance at Gabriel, he tucked Celia’s hand in the crook of his elbow. “Thank heaven, Lady Celia was there to keep me entertained.”
At Gabriel’s frown, Virginia whispered, “You know he’s just trying to provoke you. He can’t make you jealous of me, now, so he’s trying to worry you about your sister. It’s his idea of entertainment. But Lady Celia is far too clever to fall for Pierce. You should know that.”
“I hope you’re right,” Gabriel grumbled.
They were crossing the courtyard when they heard the sound of another horse approaching, and Mr. Pinter came through the archway.
He halted at the sight of the entire family. “Am I interrupting something?” His gaze took in Pierce and Lady Celia, and hardened.
Oliver came forward. “Not at all. The racing enthusiasts have returned home and we were just heading in to celebrate. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, but first I should tell you my news.”
Virginia felt the instant tension vibrating through her husband. He’d told her about the investigation into their parents’ deaths, but nothing much had happened in the past month. Mr. Pinter had been busy trying to hunt down various old servants, as well as retrace Benny May’s steps in Manchester.
“Is this about Benny’s death?” Gabriel asked.
“No, I’m still working on that,” Mr. Pinter said. “I’m headed back to Manchester now.”
“Then what’s your news?” Jarret asked.
“When we began all this, I asked the constable for a chance to examine the gun used to kill your parents. He said it had been moved into storage in town somewhere, and it would take him a while to hunt it down. He found it yesterday, and I got a look at it.” Mr. Pinter paused, as if to be sure he had their full attention. “I know for sure that your mother didn’t kill your father.”
“How?” Gabriel asked eagerly.
“Because that gun did not kill them. It had never been fired. Clearly, it had been taken down from the wall where it hung and placed near their bodies, so it would look as if it were the weapon. The killer must not have realized it was only ornamental.”
At last, the Sharpes had confirmation that their parents had been murdered. All these years, they had lived with what they thou
ght was a domestic tragedy. They’d borne that shame together, shaped their lives around it, lived daily with the painful knowledge that their mother had killed their father. To learn otherwise was monumental.
“You’re certain?” Oliver asked with a quaver in his voice.
“Yes.”
“But why didn’t the constable notice it hadn’t been fired?” Gabriel asked.
Pinter eyed him askance. “Constables aren’t trained in such matters—they’re regular citizens who serve a turn as peace officers for one year. No doubt that particular year’s constable wasn’t experienced with weapons. Or perhaps he didn’t even examine the weapon closely, since your grandmother paid him to keep quiet about the night’s events. When she told him what had happened, he might have just taken her at her word.”
Mrs. Plumtree colored. “I should never have interfered. But at the time it seemed obvious who’d killed whom, and I only wanted to protect my family.”
“It seemed obvious to me, too,” Oliver said. “This is the first concrete evidence we’ve had that it was not Mother who shot him!”
They all began to talk at once, questioning Pinter, revising former theories, telling each other that they’d been sure of it all along. Oliver herded them inside so they could be more comfortable for the discussion. But after discussing it for some time without coming to any conclusion except that Mr. Pinter should investigate further, the conversation eventually returned to the races and the wins.
“So what are you going to do with that gold cup?” Oliver asked Gabriel. “Melt it down so you can buy another Thoroughbred?”
“Bite your tongue,” Gabriel said. “It’s going on display at Waverly Farm, until Virginia and I can buy our own stud farm.”
Their own farm. The words had such a nice ring, she thought. And who’d have ever guessed she’d be sitting here amid the people she’d once hated, next to the man whom she’d once considered her enemy? Now she couldn’t imagine life without him. And she liked to think that Roger would approve.
To Wed a Wild Lord Page 27