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There was no possibility Robard would ever put himself in the same, or similar situation for his parents, or a bride. He knew, even if his father wouldn’t accept it, that the estate was dying rapidly; there being far too many things to fix and not enough money left after socialising with which to fix them. His father had spent his life looking after said estate, but it had drained him just as much as it had depleted his finances. As such, he wasn’t the vibrant, barrel-chested, boisterous man he had once been. Instead, his father was a hollowed out shell of someone he once was who was apt to go along with his wife’s dictates just to shut her up.
“I have my own home and have no interest in taking over the family estate. That can go to any cousin stupid enough to take it on because I certainly don’t want it,” he murmured.
Indeed, he had amassed his own wealth from nothing using his own intellect, connections, and financial dexterity. It had been possible because of his lack of a demanding wife and family. He suspected his family didn’t know about his fortune. That had been kept entirely private and would remain so.
“Have you been back at all?” Sam asked quietly.
Robard shook his head. “As soon as I answer their summons, I have little doubt that my mother will begin to click her fingers and expect me to go chasing after her like my father does. I won’t allow it. I won’t put myself at anybody else’s beck and call.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Rufus murmured, lifting his tankard toward Robard in a silent toast.
“So, what are the stakes?” Myles asked. “I think it is only fair that we all put something in. That way, if all of us win, and nobody marries, we just take back what we put in. That’s fair. If someone loses, then they hand over whatever they put in to those who are left. The last man standing at the end of the year gets the lot.”
“I will hand over fifty guineas,” Robard announced quietly.
“That’s a Hell of a lot of money,” Rufus murmured. “Are you really that confident you can win?”
“I know I can,” Robard declared with an air of confidence that made everyone grin.
“The navy is my mistress,” Rufus declared loudly. “I am the most likely to win given that I am likely to be at sea for several months at a time. I know I have a good crew, but I don’t find any of them appealing enough to marry.”
They all groaned because they knew this would give Rufus an unfair advantage.
“Yes, but every woman loves a sailor,” Myles retorted. “You have said so yourself on many occasions. I know many of the women you meet when you first come ashore are tavern doxies and women you wouldn’t marry. However, you have to go home at some point, you know. Those women fall for a man in uniform, you know they do. All it needs is one determined mama, and you will get captured.”
“Yes, but the uniform also stands in their way. I use my seafaring nature as a reason never to wed,” he replied knowingly. “I make it clear to all and sundry that the sea is my mistress, I am away from home for months, even years at a time, and have no interest in curbing my wanderlust. It generally puts them off.” He sigh a smug smile of self-satisfaction. “No, gentlemen, I am afraid that on this occasion you are all doomed to failure. I am the one able to avoid matrimony quite easily. I can go out to sea, and am doing so in just a few weeks as a matter of fact.”
“When will you be back?” Myles asked, unsure now if the odds were all that fair.
“We will be away for about four months. We have a special job to do,” he replied carefully.
Myles read that closed expre
ssion on Rufus' face and knew his friend would tell them more if he could. Deciding not to press, he shook his head.
“I am afraid you are too arrogant, my friend,” Myles murmured. He threw his friend a smirk. “You see, I know that you only just managed to avoid the careful calculation of a determined matchmaker not but a few weeks ago. That Smallsworthy chit?”
Rufus’ groan said it all. He smiled in spite of himself and shook his head ruefully. “I narrowly avoided that one.”
“If it wasn’t for the fast talking of my father, you would be the one married today,” Myles informed him tartly.
Rufus didn’t deny it.
“Rumour has it that they still haven’t given up hope of persuading you – in any way they can,” Myles informed him. He hid his grin behind his ale cup when Rufus choked on his. A determined glint lit his friend’s eyes.
“No way in Hell,” Rufus growled.
“Still think you can win?” Myles taunted, his grin widening when Rufus squinted at him with a teasing hint of seafaring determination in his eye.
“I know I can,” Rufus smirked.
Myles leaned forward and squinted back. “I am going to put down my Scottish lodge into the pot then,” he drawled.
“Are you sure?” Elijah asked.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Sam added.
“I won it in a bet, don’t forget. It seems fitting that I should risk losing it in a bet. I have only been there once or twice in the past three years anyways. It is more of a one bedroom shepherd’s hut, but it has good hunting nearby,” Myles shrugged. “I don’t mind losing it, should any of you actually beat me, which I sincerely doubt.”
