Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
In the hours since they had found the dropped ransom note—three neat lines of script naming Eliza, Blackwood Grange, and an obscene sum—Wayland had been a flurry of activity.
He managed to gather an astonishingly enormous sum of ready coin and gold remarkably quickly.
Though it was only a fraction of Ambrose’s demand, the twenty-five thousand Wayland assembled in a matter of hours was astonishing. Benedict hoped it would be enough.
Ainsley, the only one with a head on his shoulders amid the madness, insisted that Wayland travel with only five hundred—assuring them he would arrange a guarded transportation to follow with the other twenty-four and anything else he could gather when the lenders opened.
Still, the entire process took precious hours they did not have. A bundle of nerves, Benedict owned the weight of every single one.
At last, Wayland sat across from him in the finest carriage Benedict had ever seen. Ornate lace curtains blocked the afternoon light, and the seats were lined with plush navy velvet. Even the woodwork was a gilded mahogany.
Their journey had passed in silence for many miles at a pace that might have collapsed a lesser conveyance. Both men were too caught up in their worries to hold a worthy conversation.
A thought had been nagging at Benedict, refusing to leave even hours into the journey.
He’d stood there, watching with wide eyes as no one made a single protest while Wayland emptied the club of every valuable that wasn’t nailed to the wall.
Not only had no one complained, but those gathered had offered him every liquid asset at their disposal.
The women handed over every diamond and jewel—down to pocket change from the servants he employed.
Each was extended with only a word of prayer for Eliza.
“You cannot pay him.” The statement startled Benedict, even though it had come from his mouth. He hadn’t intended to give voice to it.
“I’m not excited about it.”
“They’ll put you in the fleet.”
Wayland turned from the window. “Possibly, but doubtful. I have generous friends and one or two family members in influential places.”
“You’ve shuttered your club, your life’s work.”
Wayland merely blinked at him for a moment. “Lizzie is my daughter. She is my life’s work. I would kill for her. Die for her. Wayland’s, it’s only a club.”
The speech was delivered with such a matter-of-fact, calm tone. It left Benedict reeling.
“Sinclair—Benedict,” Wayland said, drawing his attention back to the man seated across from him.
“Someday, if you are lucky enough to earn the privilege of being a father, you’ll understand.
Men like your father, like Juliet’s… There’s something broken inside them.
That he cannot love you and your sister as he ought is the greatest tragedy of his life, and more devastating still is that he doesn’t even know it. And I am sorry for my part in it.”
“You didn’t—”
“I didn’t force him, no. But I knew the sum would ruin him, and I upped the stakes anyway.
My only explanation is that I was young, reckless, and had nothing.
It’s easy to wager everything if you’ve never had anything of your own, if it doesn’t feel like yours.
The reward is far greater than the risk.
I hadn’t had time to grow attached to the sum, accustomed to it.
There was the possibility of returning to the same state—not poor, but certainly not wealthy—I’d been in before I sat down at the table.
Or the possibility of everything. I didn’t understand then the full weight of his wager.
No wife, no children, no home of my own.
I only thought in terms of pounds and shillings.
I didn’t consider the people, the life, those pounds and shillings cared for. ”
“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”
“Almost certainly. But if it had been someone else, your father might have won.” A cocksure grin crossed his face.
“How do you do it if you’re not cheating?”
“I’ve never been able to put it into words,” he paused, considering.
“Gaming, though, it’s all mathematics—probabilities.
Those have always come quickly to me. It’s particularly easy with card games.
The combinations aren’t infinite; there is a limited number of cards.
As they’re discarded, the probabilities change based on the cards still in play.
Even if I cannot calculate the precise odds, I just…
feel it. And there’s the human aspect of it as well, understanding your opponent, reading their face, their body, learning their tells—the little things they do when they’re pleased or disappointed.
Counting their drinks, learning their tolerance and encouraging them to skirt the edge. All that to say—I’ve no idea.”
Benedict considered the man for a moment. He had never experienced precisely what Wayland explained, but it made sense. “I box—with West. It’s how I’ve kept us from falling even further over the years. West is better at it, of course. But I think I understand what you mean.”
“I was knocked out by Johnson once,” Wayland said, conversationally.
“Nate Johnson?” Benedict asked, his brow hitting his hairline.
“The very same. Caught him planning to throw a match and interrupted his training session.”
“Surprised you survived it.”
“So was Augie. But it was the best thing that ever happened to me. That match— Juliet’s father was the one who tried to fix it. When it didn’t go his way… Well, it went mine.” His grin was a touch self-deprecating.
“You’re not at all the man I expected.”
Wayland regarded him for a moment, then said, “I imagine it would be quite difficult to live up to the expectations your father set.”
“No, it is only that I spent my entire life hating you, and you’re merely… a man. Albeit a rather rich one.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Benedict shook his head. “You are rather painfully throwing into sharp relief precisely how wretched my own father is. Quite without intending to, in fact.”
“Oh, I am plenty wretched. Did you know my daughter was recently abducted? And in my own club.”
A huff escaped Benedict’s chest. “I’d heard something to that effect, yes.”
Wayland’s eyes slipped shut on a heavy sigh. “I can bear it no longer. I must know what your father means to do with my Lizzie.”
Benedict’s jaw clenched at the thought, and he worked to unlock it. “My father is not physically violent toward women—save my mother. As far as I know, that occurred only the night Ainsley dropped him back on our doorstep, but I was young. It may have been more frequent.”
“God…”
“He threatened Bella plenty, but that was usually to ensure my compliance. Without me there, I doubt he will physically touch her. When we arrive… he may use her as a shield. Or he may think that beneath him. It’s difficult to say.
Best to assume that will be when Eliza is most at risk from him.
I think it probable he intends to try to humiliate you, emasculate you—the way he feels you did to him.
If I had to guess, that is why he involved Draycott. ”
Wayland’s head fell into his hands, elbows braced against his knees. “I need to know. We need to prepare,” he said with a go-on gesture from two fingers.
“The threat of Draycott is also a punishment for me. He likely suspects that I have feelings for Eliza.”
“How much danger is she in on the road?”
Everything inside Benedict revolted at the prospect of giving voice to the fears that whirled around and around in his mind. But Wayland was right. Better to prepare for the worst.
“There is probably some risk from whatever they drugged her with, however minimal. I don’t know for certain who Draycott has with him, but it may be a few locals.
Father probably promised them a portion of the ransom.
I know he was with them less than a fortnight ago.
They’re not bright, but they’ll be able to overpower her.
And Draycott is there to compensate for any deficits. ”
“Will they hurt her on the road?”
“Draycott… will probably prefer the time and comfort of a bed,” he whispered, bile pooling in his mouth. “The men—they’re lazy. Violence won’t be their first choice as long as she cooperates. Eliza is smart, and she knows you are coming. She won’t do anything risky.”
Wayland nodded at the floor. “So the time between her arrival and ours is when she is at greatest risk.”
“I believe so.”
“Describe the landscape to me, and the house.”
The next hours were chiefly occupied with strategy and preparations for contingency after contingency, long into the night.