Chapter 16
“Congratulations on your winnings, Your Grace,” Mr. Preacher stated, handing a stack of bills to Constantine.
Unlike his cheery nature from before, Mr. Preacher now seemed quite displeased over making their acquaintance. Though he was not sure why, Constantine was certain it was not just because Elara’s first-ever gamble was a success.
“Thank you, Mr. Preacher,” Constantine replied, pocketing the money.
Mr. Preacher gave a single nod and then turned to leave. Most of the crowd had already filtered out of the stands and taken respite under the white tents, leaving Constantine, Elara, and Mr. Preacher with a bit of privacy.
“Could you wait a moment, Mr. Preacher?” Constantine asked, boldly putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.
The man, obviously eager to leave, turned back to them with a disgruntled look.
“You wish to make another bet?” he asked gruffly.
“Not quite,” Constantine replied, taking a step closer. “I was hoping to speak with you more about my brother.”
Mr. Preacher’s eyes shifted from Constantine to Elara.
“Yours? Or hers?” he asked.
Constantine glanced at Elara just in time to see a look of shock take over her face.
“You know my brother, the Duke of Redgrave?” she asked.
“The late Duke of Redgrave, yes,” Mr. Preacher corrected.
He appeared disgusted, as if even saying Evander’s name was of great offense. Constantine watched as the beautiful flush on Elara’s cheeks drained away despite the day’s heat.
“One of my other clients saw you and told me who you were. Yes, he cost me quite a bit of money and trouble, he did,” Mr. Preacher continued, his tone bitter. “I was relieved to hear of his passing.”
Constantine’s grip tightened on Mr. Preacher’s shoulder immediately, and the man’s glaring stare shifted to one of surprise as he focused on Constantine.
“Must I remind you that you are speaking to a lady of high rank?” Constantine warned, tightening his grip on the man until he heard him grunt. “Your respect is demanded.”
A flare of anger alighted in the man’s muddy brown eyes, but after a moment, he dipped his head toward Elara.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said stiffly. “I do not mean to speak so unkindly about your family. It is just the late Duke caused all sorts of problems for all sorts of people, noblemen and laymen alike.”
He nodded toward Constantine.
“Especially for your younger brother, Augustus, Your Grace. If I remember correctly,” he gruffly added.
“I am aware,” Constantine stated coldly. “And speaking of Augustus, I want to know. Have you seen him? I was given information that he never misses this race.”
Mr. Preacher took a moment to glance around, as if making sure they were still alone.
“Mr. Harcourt was not in attendance this year as he has been exiled. But I am sure you know that better than I do,” he answered in a low voice. “However, he did send a messenger to place his bet on his behalf.”
“And?” Constantine goaded.
“And then the messenger left. Said he would find me later to collect your brother’s winnings. Only this year, Mr. Harcourt will receive no winnings. For the first time in a decade, your brother has lost all of his bets. He owes me quite a sum.”
Mr. Preacher said the last bit with a smirk, and Constantine let him go.
“Seeing as he is in hiding, I would wager that he will not readily be able to pay me what I am owed. It is quite shameful to be both in exile and in debt, would you not agree? Perhaps, to save your family from further embarrassment and trouble, you might like to go ahead and settle that debt now?”
The urge to punch the man square in the nose for being so smug was so great that his hands began to shake. Still, Constantine knew better. To cause a scene now would only draw more curious eyes and many more rumors. That was the last thing they needed.
“How much does he owe?” Constantine gritted out, reaching for his wallet.
“Why do you not just give me your wife’s winnings, and we will call it even?” Mr. Preacher said with a devilish grin.
“No,” Constantine growled, a surge of protectiveness taking over him. “Augustus is my responsibility. Tell me precisely how much and I will—”
Constantine stopped as he felt Elara’s hand wrap gently around his upper arm.
“Just give it to him,” she murmured. Immediately, he hated the defeated tone in her soft voice. “Please,” she implored, keeping her eyes to the ground. Even so, he could see them brimming with tears. “I wish to go home now. Please, just give him the money.”
Constantine sneered, but pulled her winnings from his pocket and handed them back to Mr. Preacher.
“You are quite the gentleman, Your Grace,” Mr. Preacher mocked as he placed the fat envelope back into his pocket.
“And seeing as you are so, I shall give you another tidbit of information. The messenger who placed the bet on your brother’s behalf was a young man.
Barely older than eighteen or nineteen, I suspect.
Blonde, shaggy hair, pretty-faced. Lean.
Blue eyes. Dressed not in a full suit, so I doubt he was a lord, but he wore a beige cap, matching trousers, and a white shirt. ”
“How generous of you,” Constantine said bitterly. Still, he tucked the information away. He doubted the young man was still in town. After such a loss, even if it was not his own, he probably left to avoid harm.
Mr. Preacher’s smirk widened as he shifted his gaze from Constantine to over his shoulder to Elara, who had stepped behind him.
“It was a great pleasure taking your wager today, Your Grace,” he said smugly. “Do come find me if you wish to gamble again. You seem to be a lady of luck.”
Constantine clenched his fist as he took a step toward Mr. Preacher, but again, he felt Elara’s hand on his arm, urging him to stop.
“Take me home,” Elara said, her tone so soft it broke his heart. “I want to go back to London.”
Constantine drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, using it to push down his rage. Without another word, he turned his back on Mr. Preacher. His gaze and expression softened the moment he took in Elara’s forlorn look, and he could not help but gently tuck her arm through his.
“Come along,” he softly commanded. “You are right. It is time to go. We shall collect William and our things, and I will have you back home in a few hours.”
“Not your home,” Elara clarified as she allowed him to lead her away from the track. “I want to speak to my cousin Caroline.”
The impulse to tell her no and insist she come home with him surged within Constantine. But as he saw the heartbreak in her eyes, he lost the desire to override her wishes.
“Very well,” he acquiesced, feeling more defeated than he had in a long time. “As you wish.”