Gabriel: Lord of Regrets (6 page)

***

Gabriel waited until the lady had fallen asleep, a warm, soft feminine bundle of heat, temper, and talent, and then let his lips cruise her temple. She smelled good—of spices, rose water, lavender, and Polonaise Hunt.

Even her name gave him pleasure—artistic, unique, and bold like her.

He should have told her the truth. When he’d gotten to Three Springs, he should have told her who he was and why he dissembled, but the idea that he could trust two women and a little girl to protect his interests had seemed laughable at the time.

He was the man; he did the protecting.

He’d learned differently.

As a steward, it hadn’t been lost on him that the mamas among the beasts did the protecting. The mares, ewes, nannies, heifers, and she-cats all defended their young, while the stallions, rams, billy goats, bulls, and toms enjoyed reckless liberty until the mating urge struck yet again.

Sara and Polly had done what needed to be done to protect Allie and each other, and gradually, their care had extended to Gabriel as well. He had been awed and grateful, particularly when he’d suspected even his own brother of trying to kill him.

Those women, and looking after an old woman’s estate with them, had changed Gabriel in ways he was only now coming to understand. He looked at Hesketh with new eyes, at the whole business of the marquessate differently.

And Polonaise Hunt appeared in the middle of this awkward adjustment as if Gabriel’s chronic longing for her conjured the lady at his side.

He should have shooed her up to her room, but he couldn’t stand to have her thinking their affections for each other had meant so little. She’d been a lifeline for him, pragmatic but kind, forcing food and rest and dry clothing on him when he’d been more inclined to work and work, and go back out in the rain, wind, cold, and mud, and work some more. She’d made him appreciate the small comforts—a cup of tea, a touch, a fresh, hot muffin slathered with butter, a smile—and made him realize that somewhere along the path to becoming the marquess, he’d missed the need to become Gabriel.

To her, he was simply Gabriel, and that had been precious. He feared it still was.

He carefully extricated himself from her warmth, secured the fire screen, and blew out the candles. By the light of the hearth, he scooped her up and carried her to her room. His back protested, but the warmth of the fire, and quite possibly Polly’s company, had eased some of the grinding ache.

When he laid her down on her bed, he tugged off her slippers, drew the covers up over her, and permitted himself to kiss her cheek.

“Sleep well, my love.”

She stirred but didn’t waken, so he forced himself to leave her and take himself to the cold comfort of his solitary bed. Why it should be harder this time than any other, he really couldn’t say.

***

Gabriel rose before dawn, as had become his habit when at Three Springs. He was surprised to find Aaron in the breakfast parlor, a mountain of eggs, bacon, and toast on his plate.

“You’re up early.” Gabriel looked over the selections and wondered if there’d be cheese in the scrambled eggs, a dash of salt, a pinch of oregano.

“Habit from the cavalry,” Aaron remarked between bites. “I’ve helped myself to most of the chocolate.”

“Tea will do for me.” Gabriel passed on the bacon, which wasn’t as crisp as he preferred, but took ham, eggs, and toast. “Where in the hell is the butter?”

“Here.” Aaron gestured with his elbow. “With a nice sprinkling of toast crumbs in it already.”

Gabriel took a seat on his brother’s right. “Marjorie doesn’t have you trained yet?”

“She takes a tray in the morning. Saves a lot of bother first thing in the day. I trust you slept well?”

“Well enough.” Gabriel tucked into his eggs. No cheese, not even a hint of salt or cream or chives greeted his palate. “You?”

“Not that well,” Aaron said, eyeing his brother fleetingly. “Your reappearance has sparked a few old nightmares, but they’ll fade. They always do.”

“I’m sorry.” Why hadn’t it occurred to Gabriel that a veteran cavalry officer would have nightmares? Aaron had participated in nearly the entire Peninsular Campaign, for God’s sake. “Is a wife an antidote to troubled slumber?”

Aaron paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “Little you know. Have you seen that wife’s millinery bills?”

“Not yet.” Gabriel took another dutiful bite of the most boring eggs he’d attempted in years. “Has she an allowance?”

“Nominally.” Aaron poured himself the last of the chocolate. “But she has a she-dragon mother telling her that being marchioness means always dressing to the teeth, never uttering an unkind word, and generally behaving like a beautiful saint with a number of useless flirtatious devils always at her side.”

“I was under the impression mothers were prone to such nonsense. The good ones, in any case. Haven’t we any jam?”

“I don’t care for it. Shall we send a footman?”

“I’ll manage,” Gabriel replied, though having servants about while he ate was one of the things he’d not missed in the past two years. “I did look at your estate book, however briefly. You’ve our father’s handwriting.”

“As long as it’s legible,” Aaron said, cramming a piece of bacon into his mouth. “Any questions?”

“If you’re game, I’d like to have a look at the mow where the hay went bad.” The ham was too salty—suggesting it hadn’t been allowed to soak—which was probably why there wasn’t any salt in the eggs. Gabriel managed by taking half a bite of each simultaneously.

“I haven’t looked at it yet,” Aaron said. “George claims rain gets in under the eaves when we get the right type of Channel storm.”

“You dispute the theory?”

“We’ve had storms all summer and fall, from every direction. That’s the only load of hay gone bad, and we have three hay barns, Gabriel. George’s theory simply doesn’t fit with the facts, but far be it from me to argue sense when he has tradition and stubbornness on his side.”

“He said you two butted heads from time to time.” Gabriel pushed his plate aside, deciding the meal was not worth the effort. His hunger was appeased, but the fare was pedestrian, at best. “Father went rounds with George, and with George’s predecessor all the time.”

“One forgets this, but it’s probably a good reason to have family in the steward position. You won’t get quite as much deference as you would from some lackey.”

“Valid point.” Gabriel settled for another dainty cup of tea, though he missed the sturdy, plain mugs Polly’s kitchen had boasted. “I’ll look over your estate book more carefully when I’ve more time. For today, I wanted to ride out, if you can join me?”

“I can.” Aaron smiled, the first such offering of the day. “You’re sure your delicate backside is up to it?”

“The worst thing for my delicate backside is inactivity,” Gabriel said, rising. “I’ll fetch my horse—”

Aaron gave him a vaguely concerned look.

“You don’t fetch your horse, Gabriel. You send word to the stables you want the beast, and he appears, groomed and under saddle, shortly thereafter. You can’t have forgotten that much.”

Gabriel sat back down. Yes, he could forget that much. Easily. A pang of homesickness went through him for the many fine discussions he’d had with his horse as they’d prepared for their morning ride.

“You were a cavalry officer,” Gabriel said. “How can you bear to let someone else groom your mount?”

“Now that you ask, it’s damned difficult, but it gets easier when I recall the uproar it caused when I first sold out and didn’t let the lads do their jobs. Then things went absolutely to hell when I learned you wouldn’t be following me home from Spain, and Papa refused to let me go investigate. I was too busy after that to even manage grooming and saddling a horse, much less idling around the property on one’s back.”

“So we won’t idle.” Gabriel pushed to his feet. “We’ll get our own damned horses because we please to, and then we’ll inspect the property.”

Aaron rose as well. “The harvest is in. What is there to inspect?”

“The livestock, the ditches and ponds, the lanes, the pastures, turnip fields and winter gardens, the sheep pens… there’s everything to inspect,” Gabriel said as they left the parlor. “I picked up some ideas you might be interested in.”

“I might,” Aaron allowed, “if I were the marquess, but as that’s not the case, why should I be filling my head with such things?”

“Because you’re legally the marquess for now and this is your home and you’re my heir should the title ever befall me again and because it’s a pretty day for a ride with one’s brother, perhaps the last of same for weeks.”

“You have a point.” Then Aaron stopped short and muttered, “Enemy approaching dead ahead.”

Lady Hartle, looking tall, handsome, and hell-bent on a mission, swept into the foyer, a nervous footman taking her bonnet from her hand.

“So it’s true.” She advanced toward Gabriel, smiling brilliantly, both hands extended. “The Lord has granted us a miracle, and you are returned to us hale and sound.” She kept on coming, so Gabriel took her hands and tried not to roll his eyes at his brother while the woman kissed the air on both sides of Gabriel’s face. “This is splendid, just splendid.” Lady Hartle retreated to arm’s length, but didn’t let go of Gabriel’s hands. “We must plan a celebration.”

“Greetings, Lady Hartle, and my thanks for your felicitations, but a celebration would be premature.” Also damned inconvenient. “Protocol requires we consult with the solicitors first and follow their direction regarding the title, the vote, succession, and so forth.”

“But what direction can they offer?” She smiled that smile again, conveying a world of tension. “You are Hesketh now. You must take your place accordingly.”

“We will parse through that soon enough. For now, may we offer you tea?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass,” Aaron said. “Press of business, you know. George was expecting me at the stables.”

Lady Hartle tolerated him bowing over her hand then waved him away.

“Perhaps you’d like us to summon your daughter, my lady?” Gabriel posed the question as he offered his arm, though he shot Aaron an I’ll-deal-with-you-later glower as well.

“Good heavens, no. She needs her beauty sleep, but with regard to this other, have no fear. She’ll do as I say, or I’ll know why.”

Gabriel heard the sound of a cannonball whistling over the bow of his figurative ship. “I own I am puzzled. I was under the impression you were instrumental in assuring Marjorie married my brother with great dispatch and no little ceremony. One would think she’d take her direction from her husband now.”

“Of course, of course. But in matters domestic, she receives guidance from her trusted mama. And this is quite the domestic matter, my lord.”

“This?”

“Why, your miraculous return,” she said. “I’m sure it will take some time, because you must take your seat, and we must figure out something for your brother, but Marjorie will honor her obligations under the betrothal contracts without a murmur of protest. You may depend upon it.”

Gabriel’s homesickness spread to encompass the nightly sessions philosophizing with the fair Hildegard as she and her piglets went at their scraps. “You expect your daughter to
switch
husbands
, my lady?”

Lady Hartle… tittered. God spare him, the woman was better than a decade his senior, and she was tittering. “Not switch husbands. Rather, become wife to the man she has long been promised to. Surely, you don’t intend to deny your obligation under the contracts drafted all those years ago, my lord?”

“Surely,” Gabriel countered, “what God has joined together should not be put asunder for the sake of mere legalities, but this is not the time or place for such a discussion, my lady.” Lest he himself be reduced to tittering. “Tell me how your property fares, and please accept my condolences on the passing of your late husband.”

She drew herself up, no doubt to insist that this
was
the time and the place, but Gabriel kept his expression somewhere between frigid and forbidding, and she apparently rethought her strategy.

“It’s been nearly two years,” she replied, and as if she were falling into a dramatic role, Lady Hartle’s visage went from Doting Mama-In-Law to Tragically Bereaved Widow Still Bearing Up Heroically.

Hildegard knew a thing or two about bearing up. She’d had litters spring and fall, and never once complained or tried to shirk her maternal duty—or tittered.

Gabriel bore up for a polite half hour of neighborhood gossip over the teapot, then saw his guest to the door and breathed a sigh of relief as he lit out for the stables. If his worthless deserter of a brother had ridden off without him, he’d…

Not do a damned thing.

“You’re going to berate me because I scarpered?” Aaron led out a big black gelding with a white star on its forehead, while a groom held Soldier over by the mounting block.

“I scarpered for two years.” Gabriel swung up into the saddle. “I left you with a great deal besides the mother of the bride to contend with. Let’s have a look at the hay barn.”

Aaron gave him a measuring look, then mounted and fell in at the trot beside Gabriel’s horse. “He’s a little unprepossessing, isn’t he?”

“Soldier?” Gabriel petted what was likely going to serve as his best friend for the duration. “He’s got sense and bottom and he was left for dead much as I was.”

“What did Lady Hartle want?”

“To ensure her daughter will continue to be the Marchioness of Hesketh, regardless of which insignificant fribble holds the title or beds down with her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That protocol will have to be observed, and solicitors consulted, but I’m telling
you
I’ll be damned if I’ll let the girl be passed from one of us to the other like some doxy.” The woman. Marjorie was a grown woman.

“What if she wants to be passed?”

The world would run mad before Gabriel could accommodate that foolishness. “Talk her out of it, Aaron. She’s been your wife for two years. I can’t think she’d prefer me over you.”

“Can’t you?” Aaron fell silent, as if choosing his words while his black gelding picked its way around a muddy patch of the lane. “I can think she’ll choose the title over me. Her mother has raised Marjorie to believe she has no value without it.”