Page 107 of A Gentleman's Wager
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Vaughan
“Ah, Charles,” Vaughan remarked, coming upon him in the Stag Parlour, where the fellow was settled in one chair with his feet up on another. A bottle of claret sat empty at his feet, and a second was tucked between his body and the side of the chair. There was no need to enquire as to how he’d spent his day.
“Pennerley.” Charles blinked up at him, eyes rheumy and his faculties obviously impaired. “Have you come to join me?” It took him a moment to locate the bottle, whereupon he popped the cork and took a swig, before offering it up.
Vaughan waved him away, of no mind to wrap his mouth around a bottleneck. The taste of pussy was still on his lips, and he was of half a mind to smear it over Lucerne’s when he returned. See what Viscount Marlinscar made of that.
Vaughan was no fool. He understood perfectly what Lucerne’s excursion was about, and it was not anything to do with making pretty with the neighbours, rather all about the journey. The betrayal hurt, if he were honest, and in a manner that no amount of deflowerings would compensate for. Still, Louisa had afforded him more pleasure than he’d anticipated. Usually, he avoided virgins. Inevitably, they were squeamish, and their lack of skills made them dull.
Charles, clearly delighted to have found some company, procured a piece of parchment from beneath his arse and began smoothing the dogears from it. “I’ve been working on a new piece, should you like to hear it. It’s not so light-hearted as the last. Rather macabre, all spectres and ghouls, and lonely places. I thought you might like it, given your love of looming and lurking in shadows and whatnot.”
“I resent the notion that I lurk, Charles.”
It was curious to watch the cogs in the fellow’s mind work as he attempted to fathom a way out of his apparent faux pas. Like a timepiece in need of winding. Rather quickly he determined he was not of a mind to linger that long. “I sought you to let you know that our wager is won.”
“Our wager. What? It is?” Charles’s bushy eyebrows knit. He entirely forgot the paper on his lap. “Since when?”
Vaughan consulted the mantle clock “Since three quarters of the hour.”
“But… but…” The man was piteously overwhelmed. “Bella’s out with Lucerne.”
Vaughan waved aside his blustering with an elegant turn of his wrist. “Bella… All of that was managed weeks ago. I have spent a pleasant afternoon in the company of Miss Stanley as you insisted.”
“Well, I didn’t… It wasn’t that I…”
“We shook on it, Charles. Did we not?”
Charles planted his feet on the floor. “Aye,” he admitted. “Aye, we did. Not that I supposed you would apply yourself so diligently.” He hefted himself from the chair with the aid of the arms and hobbled over to the fireside. Here, he set about adding coals to the already roaring fire.
“When can I expect my winnings?”
“Hm, well...” Charles scratched his rear. “Here’s the thing, Pennerley, I’m… You know, I’ve only your word for it. Where’s the corroborating evidence?”
“What do you want, Charles, the blood-stained sheets, signed affidavits? My word ought to be enough, or do you question my integrity? I’m sure you cannot mean for me to call witnesses, for you could not possibly value the word of a groom more highly than those of a marquis. Perhaps you mean to ask the ladies themselves for testimonials?”
“No, no, of course not.” Charles’s jowls wobbled as his blustered. “But you could, by God, make some petition as to how it was accomplished.”
“I do not recall that being a provision of the matter. My methods are not for other’s ears. I will not have my actions used as entertainment for society gossips. The fact of the matter, Charles, is that you owe me sixty guineas. This I require to be paid by Saturday. It is that clear?”
“What is?” Lucerne asked, joining them from the direction of the billiard’s room. He had clearly just arrived home, evidenced by the high colour in his cheeks, his windblown hair and the footman trailing at his heels, arm’s outstretched in readiness to take his coat and gloves. “Is something afoot?” He resorted to the use of teeth to pull off his gloves.
“No,” Charles barked, much as if he were a lad caught guilty of figging purses.
“Sixty guineas, by the week’s end, Charles.” Vaughan drawled.
Sweat beaded across the ruddy fool’s brow, which he diligently mopped with his coat cuff. “It’s too soon, I tell you. I can’t possibly have it all by then. Tell him, Marlinscar.” He sallied towards Lucerne as if a petitioner before a judge.
Lucerne reared backward; his hands raised. “Oh, no. I refuse to get involved in whatever nonsense I’ve stumbled upon. The aftermath of a wager, I suppose. Do not enlighten me as to the details. The less I know the better. I’ll have no part in it.”
“But you must have him see reason.” Charles clasped the sleeve of Lucerne’s coat. “Can’t you? It’s not that I’m not good for the sum, only that I can’t conjure it out of thin air. What sort of person keeps such a sum about themselves?”
“Then arrange it, my good fellow. I believe in a pinch you might try Wakefield’s usurer, Denning’s his name.” Lucerne glanced affectionately over the top of Charles’s shoulder at Vaughan. “That’s my advice. After all, we’re all acquainted with the stories, and I would prefer not to have to pick pieces of you up off the floor to ship them back to your mother. That would be dreadfully qualmy.”
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Louisa
