“By accident — that is so true,” Humphrey said. “You and me, Gus and Monty… even Carrbridge, if you consider the matter, for Connie, for all her charm, was not bred to the ton. Reggie is perhaps the only one of us— but no, for Robinia is not exactly all the crack. Very straight-laced, but terribly provincial.”
“Not as provincial as Gen,” Gil said. “A physician’s daughter. Father would not have approved. Lord, Humphrey, I hope you deal me better cards when I visit this gaming house of yours. If you treat all your patrons so shabbily when you are an ivory-turner, you will be as rich as Croesus.”
“I shall never be an ivory-turner,” Humphrey said huffily. “My establishment will be a place where a man may play high or low, as he pleases, and without any fear of being fleeced, I assure you. Are you playing or shall we have a look at the stables? I acquired a few of Gus’s horses when he decided to sell, so I am very well set up now.”
But the stable yard brought a surprise — several of the grooms were gathered about a mud-bespattered and ill-favoured horse that had clearly just arrived after a long journey. Its rider, a roughly dressed young man, looked tired.
“There ’e is,” one of the grooms said, pointing at Gil. “That’s Lord Gilbert.”
The rider turned to Gil, his face brightening. “Milord! I’ve brought your ’orse.”
“My horse? This is not— Wait, where have I seen you before?”
“Blue Parrot, Bishopsbourne, milord.” Then, seeing Gil’s mystified expression, he added helpfully, “Kent, milord. You ’ired an ’orse, an’ it got lost in the snow so you paid for ’im. Paid ’andsome, too. And then ’e turned up in some farmer’s barn, right as ninepence. But ’e’s yours, milord, so Mr Caton tol’ me to bring ’im to you. Went to Lunnon, you wasn’t there. Then to that place like a palace. You wasn’t there. Tol’ me you was ’ere, and ’ere you are, milord.”
“Good God,” Gil said. “I never thought to see that horse again. Or you, either. Let me see… Robbie, I think.”
“’S’right, milord,” he said, with a pleased smile. “Fancy you rememb’ring.”
“Well, thank you very much, Robbie. I shall write directly to Mr… erm, Caton to thank him for his honesty. You will have five guineas for your trouble, and the fee for the mail coach back to… somewhere in Kent. But first, I expect Lord Humphrey’s men can find you some ale to drink, and a hot meal.”
They agreed to it cheerfully, and Humphrey, with no more than half a dozen sighs and a barely suppressed shudder, agreed to allow the rundown hired hack to be stabled alongside his own prime horseflesh.
~~~~~
Dinner was rather more haphazard than Gil was used to. There were two courses, although he suspected that some dishes from the first course had been sent out again to serve duty on the second course.
“Do not expect such a sumptuous repast every night,” Lady Humphrey said. “Kennet is a bit scatter-brained, so one does not quite like to push her to her limits.”
“So long as there is a good joint of meat and some soup, I do not much care about the rest,” Humphrey said. “But you may tell Kennet, if you please, that turnips are not comestibles, no matter how fancy the sauce, and she may leave off serving them. And those fruit tartlet things. Quite disgusting. Some more game would be pleasant.”
“I shall try for game,” Lady Humphrey said, “but Ben Gartmore is still at Drummoor. If you see Monty, Humphrey, let him know that we should like some more pheasant or pigeon or partridge, whatever may be had, just as soon as Ben is back. That is the only disadvantage of this house — we do not have our own coverts. The farmers round about are very generous, but one cannot send a man out with a gun. Instead, one must smile sweetly and express one’s gratitude for yet another gift of rabbits. I hope the servants like to eat rabbit, for I am sure I do not.”
“Why is Ben still at Drummoor?” Gil said.
“One of the lawyers is staying on to talk to him,” Humphrey said. “They want his life history, and whatever he can remember of his mother.”
“I thought we were not pursuing the matter?” Gil said sharply. “We do not want them persuading him to claim the title.”
“No, no, the fellow has a very clear brief not to offer any advice on that subject. This is just precautionary — looking for any holes in the story that might break it right away. Gus vouched for the lawyer — he knew him in Northumberland, that business with the duke. Willerton-Forbes, his name is. And he is to take Lady Gil’s father south with him when he goes. Dr Hamilton seemed reluctant to travel with anyone with a title.” Humphrey smiled at Genista. “Your father is quite a character, Lady Gilbert. We are surrounded by sycophants, so it is salutary to have a man of strong principles around to induce a little humility in us.”
Genista looked up from her soup, but she said nothing to this well-intentioned speech and her head soon lowered again. She ate from most dishes, drank a little wine and answered any questions that were asked of her very readily, but she volunteered nothing. It was Humphrey, Lady Humphrey and Mrs Andrews who carried most of the conversation, with the ease of familiarity. Gil joined in when he could, but mostly he was content to listen and to be with Genista.
He watched her avidly. She wore the same blue gown as for the dinner with her father, although tonight her hair was piled on top of her head in its usual plain style, and she wore no jewellery. Such simplicity only served to emphasise her delicate beauty, and the rippling candlelight set her hair aflame. He was entranced.
When the ladies withdrew, and the port had been poured, Humphrey said with a teasing smile, “Sleeping in the dressing room, Gil? You are swift enough to slip between the sheets with other men’s wives. I would not have expected you to be so reticent with your own wife.”
Gil laughed, not offended. “Ah, but other men’s wives know exactly what they are doing. They give me signals in a language I understand very well. Genista and I are in very different country, with no language in common. We cannot understand each other. We started well, but I made a mull of it in London and now it will take time for us to reach an accommodation. I intend to take it very slowly, very gently, and wait until she is quite ready.”
“How will you know when she is ready?”
“She will tell me.”
“You could just ask her,” Humphrey said. “She seems like a sensible little thing.”
“That is just what I cannot do,” Gil said. “She would give me whatever answer she thinks I want, just as she did with her father. I had no idea of it at first. When she nursed me back to health, she was everything that was open and amiable and charming. Her father’s presence subdued her, but once she was away from him, I imagined she would be herself again. But she is not, and she is such a sweet creature, that I cannot bear to see her cowed like that, Humphrey! Above all else, I want her to be happy, and not afraid of me, and I will wait as long as it takes before thinking of my own happiness.”
“Well, she has wrought a great change in you, and that is commendable,” Humphrey said. “But do consider, Gil, whether perhaps her happiness may already be interwoven with yours.”
“You think…?” But he could not say the words.
“I do indeed think that your wife may be more than half in love with you, so perhaps you need not be so hesitant. Shall we rejoin the ladies?”
Lady Humphrey was playing the pianoforte when they returned to the drawing room, while Mrs Andrews and Genista were hard at work on their sewing. After a couple more songs, Humphrey, Lady Humphrey, Mrs Andrews and Gil formed a four for whist.
Genista sat on by the fire, her needlework on her lap, her head bent over it, and the needle flying back and forth. Sometimes, when he could spare his attention from the game, Gil looked across at her purely for the pleasure of seeing her there in the room, admiring the curve of her neck and the ever-changing colours in her hair. And once or twice, his eye caught hers. Then she would blush and look quickly down at her stitchery, and he could not tell whether she was embarrassed to be
caught watching him or angry with him for looking at her. Her face told him nothing. He wished he knew. Was it possible that Humphrey was right, and she was in love with him? All he knew was that he had never in his life been so drawn to a woman as he was to Genista.
After a few rubbers, Lady Humphrey declared her intention of going to bed. One by one they all drifted away. Humphrey offered to play on with Gil, but he made his leg the excuse and Humphrey made no demur.
Davy was waiting in the dressing room, and undressed him wordlessly, for which Gil was grateful. His mind and his heart were too full for casual conversation with his valet. When Davy had gone, he sat on the edge of the low bed that had been brought in for him, and wondered how he was ever going to get through the night, with his head so full of Genista.
As Davy had left, the draft from the door to the corridor had pulled the connecting door half open. Gil could hear the two female voices from the bedroom, Genista’s, light and soft, almost inaudible, and Holland’s deeper, more strident. She said something and Genista giggled, making him smile. What a charming laugh she had! If only he could make her laugh so.
He got up and carefully stepped nearer to the door, hoping to hear her laugh again. But then he stopped, mesmerised. Through the open door he could see Genista sitting at her dressing table in her nightgown and robe, and her hair, that wondrous mass of hair, was uncoiled and hung all the way to her waist. Holland, on her knees, was engaged in brushing it vigorously.
The lure was irresistible. One step, two, then a third. He pulled the door further open, and she must have seen the movement in the looking glass on the table in front of her.
“Gil?” she said, without turning, watching him in the mirror.
“May I… do that?” he said, his voice oddly hoarse. “I have always wanted to.”
“If you wish,” she breathed.
Holland rose to her feet, and silently handed him the brushes. Her face was inscrutable. “Do you require me to stay, my lady?”
“Oh… no, thank you, Holland. Good night.”
“Good night, my lady.” With a curtsy, she silently withdrew.
Gil knelt down, with only a slight wince as his leg protested. Then, hesitantly, he began to brush. It was so soft under his fingers, so soft and fine, and yet so much of it! And it was surprisingly hard to pass the brush through.
She giggled. “You need to work the brushes really hard. It’s so thick, you won’t get through it otherwise.”
“Ah… I see.” He tried again, a bit harder. That was better. He laughed. “You have the most amazing hair, have I ever told you that?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “Do you really enjoy brushing it?”
“I do. Shall I plait it for you? That is how you like it when you sleep, is it not?”
A nod. “Do you know how to plait hair?”
“I have plaited many a horse’s tail, and this is much the same.”
That made her giggle, and he gloried in that simple little sound. Such a small thing, but it pleased him beyond all reason to hear her happiness. So he brushed until the hair was smooth as silk, and then he deftly plaited it and tied the end with a ribbon. And then, with a heart so heavy he could barely move, he kissed her bare neck and bade her goodnight and made his way back to the dressing room.
He shrugged off his robe, blew out the candle and sat on the edge of the bed, willing his rapidly-beating heart to still. That glorious hair! He had never encountered its like before, nor had the delight of touching it, letting it ripple through his fingers. Even when he had shared Genista’s bed in Sittingbourne and in London, it had been chastely plaited, and he had not liked to ask her to loose it for him, not then. One day, he would. One day, when she invited him back to her bed, then perhaps he might ask her for that pleasure. But for now it was enough to have seen it loose, and brushed it, and plaited it. He smiled as he remembered, and climbed into bed.
Through the gap under the connecting door, he saw Genista’s candle move as she made her way from the dressing table to her bed, then he heard the slight creak as she sat on the edge. He waited for her to blow out the candle. The thin line under the door shone on. Perhaps she liked to sleep with a candle burning? Perhaps she disliked the dark? Another thing to discover about her. He knew so little about his own wife. He closed his eyes, ready for sleep.
A sound. It was very slight, just on the edge of his hearing. There it was again. His eyes shot open. She was crying.
He was out of bed in a moment, feeling his way across the room to the connecting door, guided by that thin strip of candle light. Then he hesitated, but only for a moment. He could not leave her alone and miserable. Swiftly, before he changed his mind, he turned the knob and opened the door.
She was sitting in her nightgown on the edge of the bed, the flood of tears on her cheeks glittering in the flickering light of the candle.
“Gen? What is it?” He crossed the room to sit beside her, arms around her. There was no conscious thought to it at all, but he could no more stop himself than he could cease breathing. “Gen, darling, whatever is the matter?”
With a sob, she threw herself into his arms, buried her face in his chest and reached one arm to grab hold of his shirt.
“Hush now,” he murmured, into her hair, her soft, sweet-smelling hair. “Tell me what troubles you. Hush now, my love.”
She turned her face up towards him and he could not help himself, for she was quite irresistible. He planted little kisses all over her tear-stained face, her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her mouth… Her warm, sweet mouth… so soft, so yielding. He was aflame for her, and it took all his self-control to be gentle with her and restrain his passion.
And she kissed him back with a fervour that took him wholly by surprise. He pulled away, just an inch, looking at her. And she gazed back at him and then, quite deliberately, stretched nearer and kissed him again, gently at first and then even more passionately than before. He wanted her so much… but he dared not assume.
Again he pulled away. “Is this what you want?” he whispered, his throat so tight he could barely speak.
For answer she kissed him again, and for a long time they clung together, unwilling to break apart. Every part of him pulsed with joy at the hot touch of her lips.
Even then, doubt remained, and he had to be certain. With a little groan of sorrow he pulled back. “Do you want me to stay with you?”
“Yes!” she said fiercely. And then, so intensely that he could not possibly misunderstand, “Please!”
A bubble of pure happiness rose in him. “Thank you, darling Gen,” he murmured.
19: A Perfect Day
Genista woke the next morning to the clatter of the fire irons. No matter how carefully the chambermaid crept into the room to relay the fire, Genista was so unused to a servant in the room that she invariably woke. Today she didn’t mind. As soon as the chambermaid had gone, she slipped out of bed, put on her nightgown and robe, and then pulled a chair nearer to the bed so she could admire the countenance of her sleeping husband.
At last he was back in her bed, and it hadn’t seemed at all the dutiful attention of an unenthusiastic husband. She smiled at the thought of it, watching his face as he slept. The face of an angel, with those blue eyes and the impossibly long lashes, resting now on his cheeks. And he was her angel. The thought gave her such a rush of pleasure that she almost giggled from sheer joy. Dear Gil! He’d been difficult to know with his London friends, but since her illness he’d been nothing but solicitous of her wellbeing.
He stirred, half woke, rolled over and went back to sleep again. Now she could admire the back of his head, his dark hair, his strong arms and broad shoulders. There was a small scar on his back, rather ragged — not a sword or knife cut. Perhaps a fight with his brothers when he was a boy? Or had he fallen out of a tree once? He’d always been up to some mischief or other, she knew that, and his carefulness now was only a temporary respite. She was not stupid. She knew she was too uninteres
ting to keep a man like that at her heels for long. He would go back to London, take another mistress, get into fights again, she understood how it would be. But for now, for this short time, he was hers and he was truly an angel.
She’d seen him give the cut direct to Lord Wetherbourne. Creeping through the dark upper corridors to the minstrels’ gallery, and finding it empty, she’d stayed there, wrapped in a shawl, watching the colour and movement of the dance below. She’d seen Gil at once, resplendent in his uniform, and then his brothers, and although she hadn’t heard any of what was said, she’d realised what was happening, and had gloried in it. The baron had stood there, quite still, for some time, then he’d marched away and she’d lost him in the crowds.
She had no trouble seeing Gil. He’d danced for a while with a young lady in pink silk, and her heart ached to see him limping through the steps. He must have been in such pain, yet he hadn’t shown it. Then she’d wondered what it would be like to dance with him, to hold his hand and twirl and jump about like that. The young lady had seemed quite at her ease, chattering away, and Gil had talked to her, too, but Genista couldn’t imagine dancing in that public way, in front of so many people. After that, Gil had disappeared with his brothers, and she hadn’t seen him again. Eventually, she’d crept back to her room and gone to bed, but for a long time she’d lain awake, hearing the faint pulse of music in the distance and wondering what Gil was doing.
He turned over in bed again, and this time those blue eyes flickered open. He smiled. “Good morning, wife.”
“Good morning, husband. I’m afraid the chocolate isn’t here yet.”
“Who needs chocolate, when I have you?” He lifted himself up so that he was leaning against the backboard, his chest exposed. “Will you come back to bed for a little while? I should like to talk to you.”
Blushing a little, she climbed in beside him, and he wrapped an arm around her in the most comfortable way imaginable. She sighed with pleasure, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Thank you for letting me stay with you last night,” he said quietly.
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 18
