To Wed a Wild Lord (35 page)

“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.

“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

“A
ll 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 thought 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.

“My offer still stands,” Pierce said. “If you want to rent and run the place once it passes to me, I’ll happily give you a long lease.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said, with a squeeze of Virginia’s hand, “but we’d rather have a place of our own. If we can ever afford it.”

“Why wouldn’t you, once you get your inheritance from Mrs. Plumtree?” Mr. Masters asked. The barrister had come over from London for the day at his wife’s request.

Gabriel snorted. “Unless someone I don’t know about is planning on offering for Celia, I doubt any of us is going to inherit.”

All eyes turned to Celia. She blinked. “Now see here, are you saying that I
can’t
get a husband?”

“No one’s saying that, I’m sure,” Virginia said.

“Oh yes, they are. Gabe is, anyway.” Celia glared at him. “You think I can’t get a husband. You think no one will marry me!”

Gabriel shrugged. “There’s four months left in the year and I don’t see anyone but Devonmont at our door, and Virginia says you’re too clever to fall for him.”

Pierce lifted an eyebrow at her.

Gabriel continued, “By all means, tell me if you have someone else waiting in the wings. But I won’t wait around hoping for a slew of suitors to appear. I’m making my own plans for the future, since Gran seems determined to hold to her ultimatum.”

Celia rose to plant her hands on her hips and survey the rest of the family. “Is that what
all
of you think? That I’m incapable of finding a husband? That no one would ever offer for me?”

The women murmured reassurances, and the men blinked like startled deer—except for Gabriel, who kept staring at Celia with his taunting smile, and Mr. Pinter, who was watching Pierce with a shuttered expression.

Celia colored deeply. “To hell with all of you. “I’ll have a husband by Christmas—you’ll see!” She hurried from the room.

Virginia jumped up and ran after her, but she’d barely reached the stairs before Gabriel caught up to her. “Leave her be, sweetheart.”

“You don’t understand. Now she thinks that we all believe her to be unmarriageable.”

“Good.”

“Gabriel! That’s cruel!”

“No, Celia has a contrary side. When Gran said we had to marry to inherit, that made her dig in her heels and say she would
never
marry. Someone had to push her in the opposite direction. Now that she has a challenge to rise to, she’ll kill herself trying to meet it. If she says she’ll be married by Christmas, I promise you, she’ll be married by Christmas.”

Virginia stared at him. His grandmother was famous for such manipulation, but she’d never seen it in him. “Is the money so very important to you?”

“No, but my sister is.” He drew her into his arms, lowering his voice to a husky murmur. “Gran has been right about one thing all along—none of us would have pursued love if she hadn’t pushed us. And now that I know what love is, I want nothing less than that for Celia.”

Those words made her heart soar, but there was one more thing she wanted to know. “Do you ever miss the racing, my love?”

He stared solemnly down at her. “The truth? I don’t. Racing is for the young and foolish, for those who have nothing to lose.” He brushed a kiss to her lips. “These days I have far too much to ever risk it for something as stupid as a horse race. Watching my Thoroughbred run a race course with you at my side is plenty enough excitement for me now.”