by Gabriel
Lady Hartle scooted to the edge of a green brocade sofa. “If you’re going to harass me regarding enforcement of Marjorie’s legal rights, you will be gentleman enough to desist until my solicitor is present.”
“You can afford to have him down from Town, then?” Gabriel sipped his tea, letting the question linger in the air. Over this fireplace hung a portrait of the first marquess, a properly stern fellow, considering the gravity of the proceedings. “Perhaps I can save you the expense. My own man is here to answer a few informal questions.”
“And I can’t stop you under your own roof from interrogating your own solicitor,” Lady Hartle said. “Marjorie, you must know all I do, I do with your best interests in mind.”
“Lady Hartle”—Gabriel’s voice became lethally soft—“you will not suggest your actions are motivated by motherly love, not when your own daughter, of age and more than sufficiently articulate, has asked you to desist.”
“She’s only trying to be agreeable to you Wendovers,” Lady Hartle retorted, eyes glittering. “She’s a good girl, and she deserves—”
Gabriel held up a hand. “Kettering, attend me. I’ve lost patience with this farce and would see matters set to rights.” And then he would find Polonaise and assure himself she had not fled the premises entirely.
“Farce, indeed.” Lady Hartle started out of her seat, only to be tugged back down to the sofa by George Wendover’s hand on her wrist. “Marjorie was betrothed to Gabriel Wendover, who is not and never has been dead.”
“Marjorie was betrothed to me, true,” Gabriel said, regarding the young lady who sat tucked right next to his brother. “I recall the occasion when the contracts were signed. She brought her doll downstairs to join us for tea, then proceeded to gallop around the parlor while the adults congratulated each other and I tried not to fidget.”
“I cantered,” Marjorie said, “in deference to the solemnity of the occasion.”
Gabriel toasted her with his teacup. “In any case, Marjorie has since attained her majority, rather splendidly, one might say.” Particularly now that Polonaise Hunt had revealed the charming young lady lurking behind a girl’s insecurities.
“What has this to do with anything?” Lady Hartle spat. “As Marjorie’s only surviving parent—”
George gently slid a hand over Lady Hartle’s mouth. “Hush, Harry.” Likely sheer surprise achieved his aim, for when he withdrew his hand, Lady Hartle remained silent.
“Realizing that my brother’s wife is now of age,” Gabriel said, “I took the liberty of procuring a special license, which license I put at my brother’s disposal. Aaron, I trust congratulations are in order?”
“I have the lines right here,” Aaron said, withdrawing a folded paper from an inside pocket. “Vicar assured us it isn’t bigamy if the same people marry each other again, though he did account us a sentimental pair.”
“A family trait,” Gabriel said. “So you see, Lady Hartle, if the marriage was fraudulent before—which notion, I find ridiculous—it’s valid now. More valid than ever. I trust you will call off your lawyers accordingly.”
“That is preposterous.” Lady Hartle seethed. “George, for God’s sake, say something. You cannot allow this… You know I was supposed to be the marchioness.” Her gaze slewed around, coming to rest on the portrait of the late marquess. “I was to be the marchioness’s mother. Tell them, and be quick about it, as this grows tedious.”
Gabriel held out his teacup, a civilized gesture that compelled Marjorie to look at him rather than at her mother, but it was to the older woman Gabriel addressed his words. “Lady Hartle, if maternal devotion does not compel you to withdraw your petition, then may I suggest you consider doing so before your pet weasel bankrupts you with a frivolous suit.”
Lady Hartle’s mouth and eyebrows moved in a disjointed symphony of outrage, while Kettering stepped figuratively into the breach.
“He has the right of it, legally, my lady,” Kettering said. “Though your own solicitor must of course advise you, the matter was so simple I missed it, until Hesketh started asking very particular questions. The courts do not look favorably on frivolous suits, and you do not want to end up paying my bills in addition to Mr. Erskine’s.”
“But Erskine said…” She rose, then sank down again slowly, her expression pinched. She turned to George, seated at her left. “This is your fault. You might have reasoned with these two, and now you’ve ruined everything.”
“I’m preventing you from ruining things,” George shot back. “Again, Harry.”
“We did not suit!” Lady Hartle fumbled for her handkerchief, only to have George thrust his into her hand. “We would never have suited.”
“We suited well enough that that girl could well be my daughter,” George replied. “And if you weren’t going to see to her happiness, I was. Yes, I had Gabriel detained in Spain so Marjorie could spend time with Aaron while he recuperated, and yes, they ended up married, which is how it was meant to be.”
“Meant to be?” Lady Hartle reared back, ready to fire all seventy-four cannon, but George trapped her hand in his.
“Harry, please, please cut line.” George’s tone gentled. “You meant well, you always mean well, but Marjorie has always preferred Aaron, and even if you couldn’t have the man of your choice, your daughter should have some happiness on this earth.”
“You speak utter foolishness. Marjorie, tell them you support my petition. It’s your future we’re trying to protect. I’m sure we can have this latest little ceremony annulled.”
Marjorie reached for Aaron’s hand. “Mama, I love you for trying to fight this battle on my behalf, but I do not support your means or your ends. I love Aaron and I hope I am carrying his child. If the union wasn’t valid before, I assure you, it is valid and consummated now.”
“Consum—consum—?” Lady Hartle put her face in her hands and crumpled over against George, who obligingly put his arm around her and patted her back.
“Come, Mama.” Marjorie rose. “I’d like to show you my plans for the nursery.”
Lady Hartle looked up, dry-eyed, a hound catching a fresh scent. “There’s to be a child? But I thought Aaron was being difficult and there wasn’t—”
“Aaron could never be difficult. Come with me, Mama. I’ve expressed my disapproval of your schemes, and I think no more need be said on the matter. Perhaps you’ve some ideas for names?”
“Names?” Lady Hartle blew out a breath.
“Come along, Harry.” George rose and drew the lady to her feet. “You always were knowledgeable about the family archives, and I’m sure you’ll have lots of ideas.”
“George.” Gabriel’s voice cut through the clucking and fussing directed at Lady Hartle. “You will leave the ladies to their errand and have a seat, please.”
George complied, though nobody said a word until the ladies were gone.
Aaron spoke first. “That woman implied Marjorie was carrying Gabriel’s child when she was carping at me to marry. That’s how she forced my hand, George, but you allowed it, likely knowing it couldn’t be true.”
“Carrying Gabriel’s child?” George looked nonplussed. “I knew Harry was determined, but that tops just about everything.”
“Not everything,” Gabriel said. “It doesn’t top having me detained in Spain, George.”
“Yes, well…” George ran a finger around his collar and produced his flask from a vest pocket. “As to that…”
“You wanted to see Marjorie married to Aaron,” Gabriel supplied, “so you had assassins set on me, with predictable results. And do not try to dissemble here, George, because nobody in England knew I was injured with a saber thrust. As far as all my English connections knew—Aaron included—I took a knife to the back—a lethal knife.”
“Not assassins, and not lethal,” George said, rising and pacing. “I merely wanted you kept in Spain for a bit, so Marjorie could get her hooks into Aaron. She’d always preferred him, and I didn’t want to see Marjorie s
tumble down the same path her mother had.”
Kettering obliged with the necessary question. “What path would that be?”
“Putting duty and station before all else,” George said. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said Marjorie could be my own daughter. Harry was determined to marry your papa, who’d already lost two wives. His lordship got wind I harbored a tendresse for Harry and told her he wouldn’t poach on my preserves. Decent of him, because I was only a poor relation and she was mad to have his title.”
“She must have been mad to get her hands on something of yours,” Gabriel pointed out dryly.
“Only the once, because she fancied me in some way.” George’s wistful expression suggested the fancy had been mutual—or perhaps still was. “A week later, Hartle came sniffing about, waving his papa’s earldom under Harry’s nose—I didn’t stand a chance. The banns were cried posthaste, and Marjorie showed up eight months later.”
“And this justified killing me?”
“It did not!” George took a pull on his flask and tucked the thing away. “I only wanted you detained, and thought I paid enough coin to have my directions followed. Detained, you know? Your horse put out of commission, your papers reviewed at length, your passage held up for a few weeks, your coin taken. Detained, only detained.”
Aaron’s expression became considering. “How much did you pay for these well-intended troubles?”
George named a ridiculously generous sum.
Aaron shook his head. “In Spain, where the war has left little in the economy functional, nobody would believe you were paying that much for mere nuisance tactics.”
“I know that now.” George took his flask out again, then stuffed it back in his pocket. “Goddamn it, don’t you think I know that? I miscalculated and damned near got my own cousin killed. When I heard no one had seen the body, I began to hope, and then I started listening at tap rooms and asking around, and my hope grew.”
“You hoped,” Gabriel said levelly, “while I could barely walk and suspected Aaron of the most heinous crime imaginable.”
“And I,” Aaron interjected, “suspected Marjorie had gotten rid of Gabriel’s child to save me the embarrassment of raising my brother’s posthumous offspring.”
Gabriel looked at his brother in consternation. “Holy Infant Jesus in His celestial nightgown.”
Aaron nodded once, angrily. “I resented Marjorie bitterly for that, and hated you, and hated myself for leaving you in Spain, and all along, I should have been hating George.”
“It’s worse than that,” George said wearily. “You’re a damned fine hand with the land, Aaron, better than I ever was. You’ve a genius for it, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”
“So you kept inflicting nuisances on him too,” Gabriel surmised. “Driving the cows into the pond, wetting the hay, and so forth, on the off chance I’d get wind of it and come home to investigate.”
“It worked,” George said. “Aaron married my Marjorie, and you came home. In the end, it worked.”
Aaron’s expression suggested both sadness and amusement. “And here I thought it was all my wild living that brought him home.”
“The duels?” Gabriel guessed.
“Over nothing,” Aaron said. “My fellow officers were complicit with my request for the usual show of drama, but nobody fired anywhere except into the clouds. I had hoped to gain my wife’s notice, while she was in London buying frocks she did not want and trying to gain mine.”
Had it happened in another family, Gabriel might have found the situation humorous. “What a lot of bother.”
“I’ll sign a confession,” George said. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll swing for it, though I don’t like to think of Marjorie having a felon for a father.”
“Are you her father?” That from Kettering.
“Stubble it, Kettering,” Gabriel said. “It matters not whose daughter she is. Aaron married her very properly here in the village.”
“It matters,” Kettering said. “It could invalidate the betrothal contracts.”
George grasped both lapels, like an actor preparing for his great soliloquy. “My daughter might be a woods filly, but I’ll not see her or Harry disgraced for my lapses.”
“Continue with this line of inquiry, Mr. Kettering,” Aaron added, “and I won’t be firing into the clouds.”
“Very well.” Kettering straightened the crease of his trousers. “Where does that leave us? I doubt George can be convicted of a crime, because he lacked the requisite intent, but there is all manner of civil liability and a significant breach of his duty to Hesketh.”
“I had a duty to my daughter,” George said. “A parent can’t know how their best efforts will come to naught, or worse than naught, but as long as Marjorie is happy, I’m content.”
“Your sentiment does you credit,” Gabriel said, finding a faint resemblance between George and the old marquess about the chin, “and you are family, but a punishment must be devised.”
“I’ve a suggestion,” Aaron said. “You offer for Lady Hartle. Put right what went wrong two decades ago, George. Take Tamarack in hand and show Dantry how to go on.”
“Marry Harry?”
“I think she’ll have you. Particularly if she wants to see her daughter and grandchild with any sort of frequency. You’ve looked after Marjorie in some backhanded sense, now you can look after Harriette, hopefully with better results.”
“I like it,” Gabriel said. “Particularly because your tenure as steward here has to end.”
“It does,” George agreed. “I made a proper hash of things.”
“Not entirely.” Though George’s honesty did him credit. “You put another duty before your duty to Hesketh. I don’t fault you for that, but your methods…”
“He’ll pay,” Kettering said. “If he’s to put Tamarack to rights, he’ll need considerable coin, and it will be hard work. Erskine says Lady Hartle is all but pockets to let.”
“Thanks to Pillington,” George muttered. “Little shite needs to be hounded from the shire. And I have the coin.”
“You will transfer half your Hesketh acreage to Aaron’s keeping,” Gabriel said. “Perhaps he’ll hold some of it in trust for his firstborn, but that’s a matter I leave to him and Marjorie. Kettering, you’ll see to the deeds?”
“Of course. Are we done here?”
“Not quite.” George rose, bringing Aaron and Gabriel to their feet. “It remains for me to apologize. My plans went awry, and I’m sorry for that. I’m not sorry to see Marjorie get the man she wanted.”
He extended a hand. Gabriel considered a moment, then offered his own. “Forgiven, George, but it will not be forgotten.”
“I understand. You’ll give me some time?”
“As long as you need. Lady Hartle will require some wooing, if she runs true to form.”
Aaron shook George’s hand. “Give her the words, George. Grovel and flirt and tease and tell her.”
“It didn’t work twenty-some years ago, but she’s older and wiser now, and I’ve considerably more wealth than she suspects.”
“So be about it.” Gabriel gestured to the door, and George strode off in the direction of the stairs, reaching for his flask as he went.
“What on earth was in that flask?” Kettering asked.
“Courage,” Gabriel said. “Aaron, you really thought I got Marjorie with child then left her?”
“How was I to know Lady Hartle would lie about such a thing?”
“How did you figure it out?”
Aaron gave him a look of humor blended with incredulity: I swived my wife.
Who, Gabriel realized, would have been a virgin, and Aaron was savvy enough to comprehend that.
“We’ve both had near misses,” Gabriel said. “Don’t suppose you’d like to take on the stewarding of all of Hesketh?”
“Don’t suppose you’d like going up to Town every time Parliament farts, and dealing with the likes of old Kettering here on a daily basis
?”
“I’d rather do that than confer with old Danner on whether horse shite or cow shite makes the turnips grow.”
“Horse shite,” Aaron said decisively, then grinned. “I’d best go rescue my wife from her mother.”
“Aaron?” Gabriel rejoiced to see snow once again coming down outside, heavily enough to deter Polonaise from any spontaneous inclinations to travel. “My thanks, for everything.”
“Right.” Aaron’s grin softened to a smile. “All’s well?”
“Well enough.” He left, and Gabriel settled back into his chair, while Kettering looked handsome and pensive in his comfortable seat. “What?”
“He tried to have you killed,” Kettering observed.
“He tried to ensure his daughter’s happiness. I cannot fault him for that.”
“Most would.”
“Yes, well… I do too, but not enough to censor him publicly.”
“So you’re happy with this outcome?”
“For Aaron, yes.” And even for George and Lady Hartle.
“What about for you?”
Gabriel was silent for a moment. One’s lawyers were bound to hold client admissions in confidence. “You recall what I said about the greatest of my challenges?”
“Winning the fair maid. Who is packing to leave as we speak, I believe.”
“She is.” Gabriel rose, because the snow could stop at any moment. “And hell-bent on marrying St. Michael, who isn’t a bad sort, but I’ll have to kill him if he goes through with it.”
“Pity. He’s a good client.”
“He’s a good man.” Gabriel headed for the door. “Polonaise is stubborn, tired, scared, and not thinking clearly. Parents bent on protecting a child can seldom see clearly what is right in front of their faces. You’ll excuse me?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.” Kettering reached for a sandwich. “She’s a valuable client, and I wouldn’t fire into the clouds either, Gabriel.”
“Understood.” Gabriel didn’t smile, and neither did Kettering.
Gabriel meant to find Polonaise, to tell her to unpack whatever she had packed, for now that lawsuits and death threats were dealt with, he fully intended to deal with her.
