Juliet stared at the man seated across from her. The gray hairs threaded through his sideburns were nearly white now. Why she was noticing such a detail at this time, she did not know. He also breathed loudly, as if he were the one to receive shocking news. And then Juliet realized that it was her breathing she was hearing.
"How much?" she whispered.
Lord Stratford's mouth turned down, and he seemed to be considering whether he should answer her question.
"How much?" Juliet asked in a louder, clearer voice. "How much has he lost?"
Stratford exhaled and blinked before speaking. "I do not know an exact number, but he has not paid any creditors in over six months. If I had known, I would have never sent him my horses."
Juliet nodded. "I thank you for bringing this to my attention." She felt as if she'd been hollowed out. She hoped to high heaven Lord Stratford was misinformed, but the emptiness spreading through her told her that he was not far off the mark.
"If there is anything I can do for you," Lord Stratford began.
She lifted her hand. "Say no more. I will write to my brother directly and ask him when he intends to pay for your horses."
"If it won't be too much of a burden."
It was too late to worry about burdens-they were already upon her.
His gaze again dipped, although she was wearing a highly modest dress. "Lady Juliet, for some time I have been wondering if you would be opposed to a match between us."
Her mouth dropped open, but no reply came out. Was he . . . proposing marriage? She could not fathom what to say to this man in this moment.
He blinked rapidly as he smiled. "I see that I have startled you. There is no hurry to make a decision, and I would have to speak with your brother in any case. I run a profitable estate, and I will give you a comfortable life." His smile broadened, turning almost greedy. "If we have a son together, then all the better."
Mrs. Campton came into the room, carrying a silver tea tray.
Juliet stood and clasped her trembling fingers. "Lord Stratford was just leaving."
If he was shocked at her rudeness, he didn't show it. Lord Stratford simply stood, bowed before her, then said with a suggestive wink, "I look forward to your reply."
Embarrassment burned through Juliet.
Mrs. Campton stared after Lord Stratford as he left the room, then she looked at Juliet. After a moment, the housekeeper set the tea tray on the low table without another word.
When Mrs. Campton had vacated the room, Juliet crossed to the windows. The clouds were heavy, and sure enough, rain sprinkled the road leading to the house. She needed to finish the letter to her brother right away to make the afternoon post. But right now, she felt numb all over.
She didn't know which angered her more: a marriage proposal from Lord Stratford or the news about her brother's imminent ruin. If she weren't a woman, she would make the trip to London herself to hunt down her brother. As it was, she was well and truly stuck, dependent upon a brother who was apparently gambling every bit of their money away. And Lord Stratford's offer brought her no comfort. She'd rather be a spinster than marry him.
Were those the only choices in her life? Spinsterhood and poverty or marriage to Lord Stratford? The raindrops increased, driving now against the windowpanes. She pressed her hand against the cool pane and felt the cold travel along her arm to her chest until it reached directly into her heart.
"Your money's gone," Victor told Southill in a flat voice. "You need to excuse yourself while you still have a few pounds to hire a carriage to take you home."
They'd been playing for more than three hours, and Victor was leading the night. Southill had won a few hundred pounds in the third round, but now he was reduced to his last ten.
"I've my own c-carriage," Southill slurred after downing another shot of brandy. "I'm the Earl of Southill, you know."
"We know," Hudson muttered.
Southill turned to face the older man. "What did you say?"
Victor leaned forward in his seat. "We're tired of you speaking of your earldom. No one at this table cares, especially when you're lousy at cards and have run out of money before midnight."
Southill's blue eyes focused on Victor. "I have plenty of money, I'll have you know. My carriage outside of White's is b-brand new."
"We don't barter goods in high-stakes games," Hudson cut in.
"Why not?" Southill asked. "I mean, y-you could take my carriage and sell it for nearly what I paid for it. I've only had it two w-weeks."
Victor took the bottle of brandy and poured some into Southill's glass. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he'd pass out and stop his infuriating attempt at bartering.
Southill picked up the glass and sipped. "Maybe y-you're the one who's out of funds. Does the duke keep your purse strings tied?"
Victor wouldn't rise to the insult. He took a sip from his own glass of brandy that he'd been nursing most of the night. Two drinks on gambling nights was his limit. He and alcohol had a checkered past. The last thing Victor wanted to do was end up a drunkard like his father.
"Or maybe the value of my carriage is more than your pea brain can calculate," Southill continued.
Victor clenched the hand resting on the table. He was tired of Southill, and Victor was tempted to take the man for all he was worth just to get rid of him. After Victor was done with him, Southill wouldn't dare show his face in London again.
Victor tapped a long finger on the rim of his glass. "If everyone at the table agrees that your carriage is a worthy barter, then I'll accept the terms. But it's all or nothing." He looked to Hudson, who nodded.
Hudson's agreement was followed by both Mr. Gilbert's and Lord Duncan's.
Southill grinned.
"Looks like you're either the luckiest man in London or unluckiest." Victor dealt a card to each man.
Gilbert took one look at his and said, "One."
"Three," Southill declared.
Duncan said, "Two."
Victor eyed his own card, then dealt one more card to each man.
"Fold," Gilbert said.
"I'm out too," Duncan added.
Victor looked to Southill.
The man was smiling, but it wasn't a friendly smile. Victor noted the streak of panic in Southill's eyes. If Victor lost, then he'd be out a good pile of money, but he would recover. If he won, well he'd just earned himself a brand new carriage. Not too bad for a few hours of gaming.
Southill laid out his cards, revealing two tens.
Victor waited a full thirty seconds before laying his down. Everyone stared at his two cards: an ace and a ten. "Vingt-et-un," he said.
Southill released a hissing breath. "Cur!" he growled, then slammed his palm on the table.
Victor flinched, but he forced himself to stay seated and let the man ride out his emotions.
No one moved as Southill ran his fingers through his hair then clenched fistfuls of it. "Unbelievable. My sister is going to kill me!" He groaned and rubbed his face. Then his gaze settled on Victor. "One more game. Give me a chance to win it back."
Even if Victor liked Southill, giving into him would be akin to cheating. If Southill had nothing to barter, no new game could be played.
"Let this be a lesson, Southill," Victor said. "Go home and get yourself cleaned up. Settle your debts, and never, ever pretend like you can beat me again."
Southill's face flushed. "I have more to barter. All or nothing. You have my carriage now, but I still have my sister's dowry."
Victor barked a laugh. "The sister you just said was going to kill you for gambling away your carriage? What do you think she'd say about you betting her dowry? No one can touch that but her husband."
Southill swallowed, but his gaze remained focused. "Then marry her. Whoever wins this hand marries my sister and gets her twenty-five thousand. If I win, I get my carriage back, and my sister can marry some other poor sop."
Victor blinked. Southill couldn't be serious. Or if he thought he was serious, then he was drunker than Victor thought.
"You can't wager your sister's hand in marriage or her dowry," Victor said in an even voice. "It's illegal, and if there's anything I'm a stickler for, it's keeping the law."
Southill scoffed and finished his brandy. He reached for the bottle and poured his own glass. Drank that one too.
The man could hold his liquor.
"I think you're afraid," Southill said. "I think you've been cheating, and if we get rid of your friends here, we'll see who's the best card player in London."
Victor didn't want to react, but heat spread across his neck.
"Every story I've heard about you is suspicious," Southill continued in a cutting tone. "You strategically lose a little, but you always win big in the end. There's no way someone can be that lucky. Night after night. Week after week."