He must not reveal himself to her. He searched for her mouth one last time and gave her an inaudible promise. When he returned from France, kept well in body and soul, he would ask for her hand.
If she was still unmarried at that time.
Two years later
“I am not at home, Edward. Not for anyone.”
The Marquess of Cavanaugh glanced at his butler with a warning expression. He had been home for three days now – if this was how to refer to the de Vere’s townhouse in London, which Gabriel thought was completely replaceable – and watched Edward’s disturbing tendency to make arbitrary decisions. Gabriel could not even blame him for that, because, contrary to all manners and customs, it had been Edward who had held the de Vere household together in recent months. With the death of his father a year ago, his deceased elder brother, Elijah, and not a single reliable male relative, it had been left to the butler to manage the de Vere’s domestic affairs. Edward had done an excellent job and had even kept an eye on the statements from the asset manager in charge of the family estates and properties, however, Edward had failed in one point.
Had had to fail, Gabriel (who had still not completely gotten used to the title of marquess) corrected himself. He looked at the man whom he had burdened with too much, leaving the room to retire and giving a disapproving glare at the half-empty bottle of Port. When he had left for France two years ago as Lord de Vere and as a younger, insignificant son, his father was still alive. The old man had thought himself immortal and had taken no precautions in the event of his death. His careless nature that revolved purely and exclusively around his own needs had led to everything getting out of hand after his apoplectic seizure – or at least it would have gotten out of hand, if Edward had not intervened cautiously. Of course, there was no doubt about his succession, although turned out problematic. Elijah, the legitimate heir to the title and the lands, had disappeared in France three years ago. After his release from French captivity, when the dwarfish tyrant with haughty ambitions had to admit his final defeat, Gabriel had set out in search of Elijah. Just when he thought he had finally found a trace of his older brother, he was called back to England.
Although it hurt him, Gabriel had his brother declared dead. He had no choice but to accept the title and all the duties involved, if he did not want to hand over the administration of the Cavanaugh estate and everything related to it into the hands of strangers.
He eyed at the port but ended up pushing the bottle aside. He needed a clear head to deal with Henrietta. His sister had grown into a dark-haired beauty during his absence, who could not complain of a lack of opportunities to marry, but she knew nothing of words like “discipline” or “performing one’s duties.” She had used her obvious intelligence, along with a deceptively innocent smile to wrap her chaperone, Cousin Catherine, around her little finger, leaving her to do whatever she wanted according to her whims. Her friends were organising a perilous and illegal coach race in Hyde park? Henrietta would not miss it for the world. Perhaps one of her friends wanted to go to a cockfight in Whitechapel? Henrietta was the first to borrow a maid’s clothes and plunge “incognito” into the foulest of foul neighbourhoods. The list could go on indefinitely. The lack of restraint was inherited from her father, but while tolerated by men, it wiped out Henrietta’s chances of a decent marriage, and much thoroughly so. No man wanted a wife who exploited life, and everything it had to offer to the fullest.
Including himself.
Gabriel rang for his valet and wandered over to the window. He had refused to move into his father’s room, still hoping that one day Elijah would walk in and take over the title of Marquess of Cavanaugh and all the duties involved. Sliding the curtain to one side, he gazed at the familiar sight of the garden and the stables. As the second son, he had a rear-facing, fairly modest room, but he had never asked for more. He liked to watch the grooms and coachman taking care of his father’s magnificent animals and looking after and repairing the carriages when the bad road conditions once again took their toll.
He had to accept his legacy, even if it was difficult for him. Firstly, he should probably get his beloved little sister’s head in order and find her a husband. He pursed his lips and pulled the curtain completely back. The pale autumn sun lit up the black coat of his stallion. There were moments when Gabriel wanted nothing more than to swing up onto the back of this loyal animal and gallop far, far away. Raven was the only creature that had never disappointed him. He saw one of the stable lads hesitantly approaching the stallion to groom him. Raven, a wise and proud animal, sensed the boy’s fear and rose threateningly on his hind legs. Promptly, the boy backed away, holding the grooming brush in his trembling hands. Gabriel opened the window and was about to shout out that there was only one reliable way to approach the stallion without a backlash, namely giving him a fearless return stare, when Caspar, the most experienced of the stable lads, intervened and grabbed Raven’s mane. He seemed to appeal to the animal’s conscience, as the next time the youngster approached, he stood patiently and tolerated the boy grooming him.
“You have rung, my Lord?”
“Let me take a bath, Peters. Afterwards, I shall await Lady Henrietta in the parlour.”
“Very well.” Peters disappeared, only to reappear a little later with a veritable procession of maids balancing bowls of hot water in their hands. How many staff were there in this house? Gabriel added another point to the list of things he needed to take care of. Afterwards, he enjoyed the luxury of spending a few precious minutes washing himself in hot water and then letting Peters shave and dress him.
“Your Lordship looks very good now, if I may be allowed to say so.” Peters’ comment came as close to a reprimand as possible without overstepping the mark. On the surface, his valet expressed nothing but pleasure in the well-groomed appearance of his master, but underneath, an unpleasant truth lay hidden: Gabriel had let himself go in the three days since he had returned home. He had eaten what he had been given and drunk what his father’s cellar had to offer in vintage wines – and had tasted nothing. He had crawled into his bedroom like an injured animal and licked his wounds. He had tolerated Henrietta’s unusually hesitant visits long enough to list her character shortcomings, but he had done nothing to get her back on track.
“If your Lordship might allow another comment …” Peters put his hand on the tie knot again and avoided eye contact with Gabriel.
“Yes?” Gabriel took a step back. “Speak freely, Peters.”
“Allow me to send for your tailor. In the years that you have been away, not only has fashion changed, but so has your stature.” He pointed to the waistcoat that evidently stretched across Gabriel’s chest.
“Fair enough.” The look of relief on Peter’s face made the concession worthwhile. The man was right; even if Gabriel himself had not noticed anything apart from a slight restriction in his ability to move, he had become broader, especially in the shoulders and chest. As far as fashion was concerned, well, yes. He had never been a man who pranced around like a peacock and certainly was not that man now. Simple black trousers, spencers, coats of the same colour, and white shirts had always served him well and would continue to do so.
“Thank you, my Lord. I shall request Monsieur Bigarré for tomorrow morning.”
“What about Mr Hare, my old tailor?” To entrust his fate to a man whose name translated as “colourfully patterned” did not fill Gabriel with anticipation.
“Unfortunately, Mr Hare has died. I assure you that Monsieur Bigarré is the best men’s outfitter you will find in all of London.”
“Very good,” Gabriel agreed. “Tell Edward to serve tea in the drawing room. And sandwiches. And scones, with cream and jam, please.” Where did this sudden irrepressible appetite come from?” Please let Lady Catherine know that I expect her, as well.” His father’s distant cousin had not proved helpful in the supervision of his sister. Where had she actually lived, before she came here to serve as Henrietta’s chaperone?
“Lady Catherine is indisposed.” The tiny pause before the last word told Gabriel everything he needed to know.
“Is it the sherry?” He wanted to know.
“No, I am afraid Lady Catherine’s problem is of a more serious nature. You should talk to Lady Henrietta about it, my Lord.”
As he sat in the blue drawing room and stared at the mountain of delights that Edward had brought, Gabriel wondered what could be worse than cousin Catherine constantly sipping her sherry. Was there not at least one thing that had not turned for the worse? He wondered if his disillusionment caused by the war had made him feel oppressive about the present, or if he had been too blind two years ago to see the reality.
Henrietta entered the room and interrupted his gloomy reflections, but only until she unceremoniously threw herself on the sofa, lifted her feet (in dirty stockings, which he could not help noticing) onto the sofa, baring her ankles in the most unseemly manner. “For goodness sake, Henrietta, how about a little more decency? You are no longer a child who can be excused for ill manners.”
She grabbed one of the scones, for which he all of a sudden had no craving, dipped it in the cream, and bit off a tiny corner. “What do you want from me, dear brother? For two years, we have not heard a word from you, then you turn up and behave like the last moral apostle. I thought your stay in La France would have made you a bit more relaxed, but no.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth and silently counted to five. “I was at war, Henrietta, not on a grand tour,” he finally said in as calm a manner as possible. “I fought and saw the people around me die. If the frog-eater’s weapons did not kill them, they died of blood poisoning or cholera. Really, this is hardly the best way to relax, as you call it.”
She turned pale and, for a moment, stared at the pastry in her hand. Then she put it back as if she had suddenly lost all appetite and looked at him. “I am sorry,” she said softly at last, but with an undertone of severity that he had never heard before. “You have been gone for a long while, and times have changed. I am no longer the little girl who follows you at every turn and begs you to spend time with her, Gabe.”
Hearing the pet name from their childhood days tore at his heart. “I know that,” he said, more softly, leaning forward to wipe a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “You have become a beautiful young woman,” he added and managed a smile that was not entirely false.
Henrietta crooked her head. “Why do I have the feeling that this is a double-edged compliment?” A strand broke free from her dark brown hair and fell on her shoulders. He stifled the urge to put it back in place.
“Maybe because you know that, as a woman, you have a greater duty than just living for the day.”
She went pale. “You want me to marry.”
“Would you not like to run your own household and finally be independent?”
“What you call independent, I call a variation of slavery,” she countered and clasped her hands in front of her well-rounded tummy. Obviously, Henrietta had come so far as to not even bother wearing a corset!
“Nonsense,” Gabriel replied, feeling a vein begin to throb on his temple. “As the wife of a nobleman, you would have all the privileges you could wish for. Your own house. Jewellery. Beautiful dresses.”
Now, she threw her head back and laughed. “And you think that would make me happy?” She fell silent. “Jewellery and fashionable clothes are not everything.” She picked herself up. “Gabriel, if I marry, it will only be to a man I love and respect.”
He rose to his feet as well. “But that is what I want for you, too.”
She shook her head and put her hands on her stomach, her fingers still illusively folded. “What you want for me does not matter. I want to make my own decision about whom I spend the rest of my life with.”
Why did his sister’s words evoke a distant memory of a kiss he should have long forgotten? Deep blue eyes, golden hair, and the smell of lilies of the valley caused Gabriel’s eyes to close. “I know better than you, who is good for you.”
His sister looked at him in a strangely sad way, then put her hand on his cheek. “You do not even know what is good for yourself, Gabe.”
Chapter 5
It was the most important evening of her life.
Tonight, the whole world would find out that Lady Rose Carlisle was the woman whom Richard de Coucy wanted to become his wife. Rose was to get engaged to the man who had given her her first unforgettable kiss.
For days, Rose could think of nothing more than that she and Richard were soon to be married. It had been two full years since the kiss, and Rose had learned the meaning of the word “patience.” Not only did she recognise his thoroughly honourable motives, but they also touched Rose. Only a gentleman like Richard de Coucy could manfully keep under control what had happened between them on that magical evening. He had acknowledged she needed time for consideration, and once she was sure, she had eventually convinced him that she would not change her mind, and he had extended the time granted even further. “I do not want you to regret your decision at some point,” he had said, giving her a chaste kiss on the top of her forehead. Another argument that Rose could not refute was his financial situation. His father had insisted that Richard take a grand tour to Italy and Greece. As to why, remained a mystery to Rose, but when Richard returned and announced he was going to ask her father for her hand, the long wait was forgotten.
Soon, not only would there be more kisses like those in the dark garden, but everything that really meant love. Waking up with each other. Eating meals together. Theatre visits and the subsequent refreshments at Almack’s. Making calls as a couple and as the Earl and Countess of Barringham. The very thought of her future at the side of her wonderful husband filled Rose with a love for him that she would have liked to shout out for the whole world to hear. Tonight, not only should she be happy, but everyone should be happy with her.
Which they did, at least her parents. Rose took one last look in the small mirror and moved a few steps back. Was her dress right? Granted, the cut was a bit eccentric and, strictly speaking, not the fashion, including the colours: a combination of cream-and-gold tones with a deep-red undergarment. She wore the gown for Richard and not for her friends to judge. It was the same one she had worn on the evening of her first and only kiss. Rose could hardly wait to see his face when he saw her. It was the best way for her to tell him how much she loved him, and that she had not even thought once of giving her heart to anyone else.
There was a knock. Annabelle entered, followed by Felicity. “It is so nice to see you,” Rose said, embracing her as much as her physical size would allow. Both sisters were expecting and would soon give Rose a nephew or a niece – or both – for her to indulge to her heart’s content. “Thank you for coming in spite of your condition.”
“Condition? Oh, you mean the little Lady St. John,” said Annabelle, the eldest, sinking onto Rose’s bed with a sigh of relief despite her carefree words.
“Did the midwife tell you it is going to be a girl?” Rose had no idea if that was possible, but her sister sounded so sure when she spoke of her daughter.
“No,” Felicity intervened. She dropped ungracefully down onto the small sofa under the window and looked longingly at the bed. “She only says that to annoy Marcus. Our husbands have been betting amongst themselves as to who will be the first to hold their son and heir in their arms. Do not lie down,” she warned Annabelle, who was about to let herself sink into the pillows, “because if you feel anything like I do, you will not be able to get up until after the fun is over.”
For a moment, Rose was confused, thinking Felicity thought the fun was the birth, but then she realised that it referred to her engagement. “It might be fun for you,” she said, rather hurt, “but for me, it is the most important day of my life.”
“Come here, little one,” Annabelle said soothingly, exchanging a look with Felicity, which Rose did not like. She guessed what would happen next and shook her head. “Come on
, you too, Felicity,” enticed Annabelle and slid into the middle of the bed before patting both sides to her right and left. “Let us do what we used to do.” She closed her eyes and extended her hands. Rose softened and sat down next to her.
“I am sorry, I am not going to lie down,” she said, pointing to her dress. “If I do that now, I will need at least an hour to look presentable again.”
“That is the advantage of carrying a child under one’s heart,” Felicity interjected, failing to comply with Annabelle’s request. “When you turn up with a crumpled dress, most people do not even see the creases – they just stare at your belly.”
“But that is not why we are here, we are here because–” Annabelle said, interrupting her sister.
Rose let out a breath of relief. She loved her sisters above all else, but sometimes the constant chattering about children was quite strenuous, especially because she herself had not the slightest to contribute to the subject. “Because?” The single word from Rose’s mouth hung in the air like a threatening storm cloud.
“–because we want to know if you are really sure about what you are doing.” Felicity managed to sound both worried and reprimanding.
“I have told you that often enough,” retorted Rose. “Yes, I am sure. I love Richard de Coucy and cannot imagine anything better on earth than becoming his wife.” She turned her head to the window, refusing to look at either of them. But something about her sisters’ faces did not let her go, so, she asked the question she had always avoided. “What do you have against Richard?”
Felicity sighed as Annabelle gave a short, barking laugh before she sank backwards into the pillows and held her sides. “I thought you would never ask,” she gasped.
“If whatever you want to tell me is so important, could you not have told me without being prompted … and not on the very evening of my engagement? Anyway, it is too late now. The guests will be arriving in less than an hour. Richard has taken his mother’s ring out of the safe deposit box, and Mother and Father are overjoyed.”
An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series) Page 3
