More and more people emerged, and Phillip grew anxious. Had she already left? Had she decided not to attend after all?
Michael appeared in the doorway and paused midstep as he recognized Phillip. "How was your visit with the duchess?"
"Not as successful as I had hoped."
"You'll prevail." He offered a teasing smile. "Or I'll enjoy watching you muck out my stables."
"I'll enjoy watching you ride a mule," Phillip shot back. "Is she here?"
He glanced back. "I didn't see her leave, but then, I haven't seen her in the last several minutes. Ah, here she comes now." He descended the steps and moved behind Phillip. "You might not want to speak with her now. You smell of horse."
"I know, but I need to see her."
A soft chuckle came in reply.
The Staffords exited, followed by Meredith Brown, who walked with bowed head.
Phillip's heart surged in his chest, and it was all he could do not to rush to her side. "Miss Brown."
She lifted her head. Even silhouetted, her stiffened posture revealed something was terribly wrong. What could have happened? Surely Mr. Stafford hadn't forbidden her to see him after telling Phillip he could court her if he gained his family's approval. What else might have upset her? Had someone snubbed her?
As she passed between the columns flanking the door, he moved to her side. "What has happened?" He reached for her.
With barely a glance, she sidestepped him. His blood chilled.
"I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Partridge," she said, her tone icy.
This couldn't be the woman who had been so warm and willing in his arms only hours ago. "What do you mean?"
"Whatever game you are playing, it is over. I will not be the object of a wager."
"Wager?" The chill in his blood sank into his bones.
Next to him, Michael cursed under his breath.
"High stakes." She folded her arms. "I have heard of so-called gentlemen's wagers, but I never dreamed I'd be the object of one. Did you record it in that infamous betting book at your club?"
"N-no," he stammered. "Of course not."
"As far as I'm concerned, you both deserve to lose."
Aware of a growing crowd around them, including Mr. and Mrs. Stafford, who glared at him, Phillip said, "It's not what you think. Let's discuss this in private."
"There is nothing to discuss. We shall not converse, or even meet, again." She lifted her chin and strode past.
Mr. Stafford stepped up to him nearly nose to nose. "The answer is no."
The Stafford family drove away. Members of the ton who had once called themselves friends of his-at least, of his Suttenberg connection-gave him looks ranging from amusement to triumph to pity.
He turned away and grabbed Michael by the arm, walking with long, angry strides. "You told her," he snarled.
"I-"
"Was winning so vital that you sabotaged me? I didn't know you'd sink so low. I thought, out of everyone, I could trust you. But I was wrong. Everyone is so concerned with appearances, with doing what they think the beau monde expects of them, that no one can be a true friend or-heaven forbid-encourage someone to pursue their own definition of happiness!"
After a moment of trotting along to keep up with Phillip, Michael said, "Are you finished?"
"Yes. We are finished here." He pushed Michael's arm away as if it were diseased and crossed the street.
Michael. How could he? His oldest friend. Phillip never would have expected it. He'd lost his oldest friend. He'd lost the only girl he'd ever loved.
He walked and walked, and finally remembered he'd left his horse in the care of a servant at the house where the musicale took place. After retrieving his mount, he rode through the streets until he found himself at the Daubreys' house.
The couple, still dressed in their evening clothes from whatever entertainment they'd attended this eve, greeted him despite the late hour.
"Come in and tell us what has you so blue deviled this, er, morning." The normally stoic Lord Daubrey glanced at the clock. He handed Phillip a glass of something that burned as he swallowed it.
Phillip poured out all his troubles to the silent, sympathetic couple and then sat, exhausted, with head and hands hanging. The clocked ticked in the silent room. Lady Daubrey sniffed and dabbed at her eyes.
Lord Daubrey spoke. "You need to apologize."
Phillip lifted his head. "What?"
"If I've learned anything, it's that when she's upset with me, even if I think I've done nothing wrong, I apologize. Usually I discover that I have done something wrong, and then I can make amends."
Lady Daubrey smiled, still dabbing at her eyes. "He's right. If I'd found out about such a wager, I would be angry and probably suspect you had some other motive for making the wager in the first place."
He should have listened to his first instincts, the ones that shrank at the prospect of betting on a lady.
"Apologize to her," Lady Daubrey said. "Then to Mr. Cavenleigh. You may discover that you have misjudged him as Miss Brown has misjudged you."
Phillip hung his head. They were probably right. In his shock and panic at losing Meredith, he'd probably lashed out prematurely. Unfairly.
"As far as your family," Lady Daubrey said. "I have an idea. Come to dinner in four days' time, and we shall see what we can do for you."
By the time Phillip left his patient friends, the first rays of sun sent a silver shimmer over the horizon, silhouetting London buildings and bridges. After resting a few hours, he wrote a letter, then paid an early visit to Michael.
In his bachelor rooms, Michael eyed him with that urbane elegance he'd perfected as a youth. He raised a brow. "Breakfast?"
Phillip let out a weighted sigh. "Thank you."
Michael uttered a command to a servant and led Phillip to a small round table already set with fruit, coffee, sausages, and bread. Wearing a brocade banyan over his shirt and waistcoat, Michael took a seat and sipped his coffee, still eyeing Phillip.
"I didn't sabotage you," Michael finally said.
Phillip nodded. "I should have known better."
"She seemed to know about it already. Asked me to fill in details." He paused and a brow lifted faintly, the way it did when he was about to deliver a verbal jab. "What girl wouldn't want to marry into the family of the famous Duke of Suttenberg, wager or no?" He sent Phillip a gently amused expression.
Phillip couldn't make light of it. "I had hoped she might want to marry merely Phillip Partridge. Now . . ."
"She wouldn't be so hurt if she didn't love you."
Phillip closed his eyes. Michael could be right. If she were only after an advantageous match, she would have shrugged off the wager and agreed to marry him anyway-not that he had ever suspected her of being a social climber. "I vowed I'd never hurt her, but I have."
"Make it right."
"How? She told me she never wants to see me."
"When a woman says that, it means, ‘try harder to win me.'"
Phillip nodded slowly, turning over Michael's words. "I don't plan to give up."
When a servant appeared and put a place setting in front of Phillip, Michael gestured to the food. "Eat."
Phillip picked up his silverware. "For the record, I will muck out your stables whether or not she marries me."
"I have already purchased a mule to ride in Hyde Park."
They grinned at each other. His appetite restored, Phillip tucked into the food with a hunger that impressed even his friend. One way or another, Phillip would convince Meredith Brown that he loved her and that they belonged together. Somehow, he would prove to his relations that she deserved to be welcomed into the family.
Meredith Brown lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, more bereft than when her parents had sent her away.
Love would never again make a fool of her. Once she returned to Grandmother's house, she would marry the middle-aged vicar, harboring no silly ideals about love, and simply enjoy being the mistress of her own home. He was a quiet, honorable gentleman. As his wife, Meredith could more easily help parish members avoid making fools of themselves the way she had as an idealistic, naïve girl who believed the pretty words of practiced heartbreakers. Eventually, she would have children of her own to love and guide to adulthood. It would be enough.
Although she had been wrong about Mr. Morton, and it probably would have been best if she had stayed out of their affairs. Instead, she caused them both unnecessary sorrow. She had also been wrong about Phillip Partridge. Now she knew even more about the signs of which to be aware, and she would use the additional knowledge to help others.
If she ever overcame the heartbreak.
She pressed hand over her chest where the broken pieces of her heart cut her and left her to bleed. The loss and pain of her prior heartbreaks had been child's play compared to the agony knifing through her over and over. Meredith might never breathe again.