Wedding Wagers(43)

"You're not titled." Eli gripped the handle harder.

"Someday I will be, and that's all that matters."

"You're wrong," Eli said. "Who a person is inside is more important than  any title." His mother had been telling him that since before he could  walk. "I'm a good person. Emily will see that, and she'll want to marry  me."

"I bet she doesn't even know your name." Sherborne stooped to pick up a  rock. He tossed it into the mud puddle he'd landed in earlier.

"Not yet," Eli admitted. "But she will."

"Maybe." Sherborne seemed inclined to let the matter drop. He walked to the old stone fence and leaned against it.

Eli breathed an inward sigh of relief, told himself to take more care  with his words, and returned to the task of filling the hole.

"What say you to a wager about it?"

Oh no. Eli glanced at Sherborne-boots crossed, arms folded, smug expression.

Eli shook his head. "I don't have anything to wager."

"Not now." Sherborne picked up another rock. "But when you're older you will."

Eli frowned. No good could come of this. Sherborne was nothing if not  tricky. Eli had seen him in action over the winter holiday-always  managing to come up with this or that item that had belonged to someone  else. No doubt he'd been honing his swindling skills these past months  at school.

"We'll call it … the wedding wager." Sherborne pushed himself onto the  wall then swung his legs up and jumped to a standing position. "Be it  known that Mr. Eli-" He paused, then glanced down at Eli. "What is your  surname?"

"Linfield." Eli dumped the dirt in the hole, then leaned into the shovel for another scoop. "Eli Alex-Linfield."

"We have almost the same middle name." A grin spread across Sherborne's face.

"Almost."

"Mr. Eli Alex Linfield has proclaimed his intention to someday marry Miss Emily Montgomery, daughter of-"

"Quiet!" Eli threw down the spade and marched over to the wall. "I don't want anyone to know."         

     



 

"I doubt Pegasus will tell." Sherborne jumped down a second before Eli reached him.

"I shouldn't have told you. Forget I said anything." Eli followed  Sherborne, half-expecting him to go running off, shouting his secret to  the world.

Sherborne stopped suddenly and wheeled about, facing Eli. He stuck a  hand out. "I, Sherborne Alexander Rowley, do hereby make a wedding wager  with you, Eli Alex Linfield. If, when you are both grown up, you marry  Miss Emily Montgomery I will give to you … " Sherborne's mouth twisted.  "What do you want? My flint-lock?"

Eli shook his head. "It'll be old by then. There will be better rifles probably."

"How about if I just say I'll give you my best weapon?"

"No." Eli saw the loophole in that right away. There was no qualifier  for what was "best," and no doubt Sherborne would judge that himself and  in fact give the poorest of the lot to Eli. "I don't want a rifle or  any other weapon."

"Suit yourself. Hard to hunt without them, though."

As if I have time for hunting. He never would so long as he had to  continue working like this. And Sherborne was right, though Eli hated to  admit it. Emily would never marry him, not so long as he continued to  be the boy who dug posts and shoveled horse dung and did every other  menial and unpleasant task-all for very little pay. He needed what  Sherborne had. Not his title, or even the grand income that would be  left to him. I need an education-and property.

Claymere.

"Say that you'll give me Claymere if I marry Emily, and I will wager."

Sherborne's hand dropped and he backed away. "You're mad if you think  I'd agree to that. That's father's favorite place in the world. I've  heard him say so more than once-as must you have to know of it."

Why is it his favorite? "Why doesn't he ever go there?" Eli challenged.

"I don't know. It's far, I guess. And Mother doesn't like the country."

Eli laughed. "We're in the country now."

"I won't wager that property." Sherborne folded his arms across his  chest. "What if you married Miss Montgomery and Father was still alive.  What would I tell him?"

"I'd go with you to speak with him," Eli promised. "We would tell him  together." He imagined the satisfaction such a conversation would bring.

"Perhaps it can't be wagered at all-even if I wanted to offer it up."

"I heard your father speaking to his steward. Claymere is freehold, and  he wishes to keep it that way. It will be yours someday, so wager it if  you want. Unless …  you're worried you'll lose."

"I'm not," Sherborne said a little too quickly. "It's impossible for you  to marry a Montgomery, so I shouldn't be worried at all."

"Not at all." Eli wiped his hands on his pants again, this time in preparation for the deal that was about to be struck.

"Still, if I'm going to offer something so valuable, you ought to do the same."

Eli realized he hadn't been as clever as he'd thought. He should have  known better. Sherborne lived for winning, whether he really wanted what  the other person had or not.

"But you don't own any property."

Of consequence. Eli didn't say anything. He'd not be swindled out of the one home he might someday return to.

"What do you have?" Sherborne asked, sounding exasperated.

"Just myself." Eli held out his hands. "No weapons. No horse. No money."  The last wasn't entirely true. He had a bit. Enough to live  on-barely-if it came to that.

"That's our wager, then," Sherborne said, smug as he stuck out his hand  once more. "If you do not succeed in marrying Emily Montgomery, then you  must work for me, with no income paid, for a period of ten years."

"Ten! Now you think I'm mad."

"Claymere has been in the Rowley family for generations. I'm not about to wager that against nothing."

Ten years of my life. Eli swallowed uneasily. What were the odds that he  would actually be able to marry Emily Montgomery? He had no doubt his  feelings toward her would remain the same. They might never have spoken,  but he knew that, like him, she loved horses and the out of doors. And  she was friendly, the way she always waved to him each time she passed.  He could tell, even from afar, that she was beautiful, too. Years from  now he would still want to marry her, but would he actually be able to?

"I knew it," Sherborne said. "You were just bluffing."         

     



 

"I wasn't," Eli said. "And I'm willing to bet ten years of my life on  it." Nearly as long as I've lived. He reached for Sherborne's hand and  clasped it firmly in his before either could change their mind.





Fourteen Years Later



Sherborne leaned a shoulder against the timbers framing the entrance to  the stable, eyes narrowing as he watched the approaching rider. The man  sat tall and proud, cutting a fine figure. There was something familiar  about his posture and bearing, almost suggesting he belonged on the  grand horse-or felt he did. Sherborne frowned, his irritation growing.  His steward had told him the man was a groom of the Montgomerys. Who'd  no business taking out my horse.

"Want to tell me what the deuce you think you're doing?" Sherborne  demanded a minute later when man and beast came galloping into the yard.

"Exercising your horse, since you don't." The groom, who could best be  described as broad shouldered and scruffy, with a beard of outrageous  proportion covering much of his face, dismounted, then gave the mare an  affectionate pat. "Good girl." He began guiding the horse away just as  Sherborne strode forward to take the reins.

"Stop this moment," he ordered. "Who gave you leave to ride this animal? You don't work for me."

"Thank the heavens," the insufferable bearded man said and continued on  his way, the mare obediently following. "Sage may be your horse, but she  needs to be ridden far more than the half dozen weeks a year you deign  to be home. I've been riding her as a favor for your estate manager, who  at present seems somewhat overburdened and understaffed."

"He has plenty of staff," Sherborne grumbled, recalling Hawkins'  incessant badgering of late, requesting additional funds for the  management of affairs here.

He'll have them soon enough. Sherborne glanced in the direction of Baron Montgomery's estate.

The groom stopped at the watering trough, then released the reins so  Sage could drink freely. "What brings you home this time, Sher? Slow  season at the London gaming tables?"

Sher. Sherborne stiffened. Only one person had ever called him that. One  friend, long ago. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see beyond the  overgrowth of facial hair-a difficult feat, as the man was taller than  he. If the man would but speak again, or turn and face him instead of  continuing to lavish attention on the horse.