He turned toward the cliffs.
The wind whipped the hem of his greatcoat up and tossed the branches of the nearby trees around. Leaves fell and lifted up into the air like whirling dervishes, and below him waves crashed across the sand and onto the rocks, sending spray up to where he stood. Was it this sort of day Hester had defied him and sailed to her death? Gibb honestly had no recollection. Every day had seemed like a stormy one when they had been together. There had been no calm, no peace. It was no wonder they’d spent more time apart than together. He’d only been in Devon at her urgent summons.
Gibb stopped walking and stood at the top of the steep steps cut into the cliff side that made their tortuous way down into the bay, heedless of the way the wind threatened to make a sail from his coat and lift him upward.
Had Hester trodden those steps often? Gone out and defied the elements just because he’d forbidden it? He’d spent so little time with her here. His presence had always set up such demands he’d been happier elsewhere. Not that things were much better elsewhere. She had, he now realized, never accepted what she had allegedly agreed to. Never intended to be the sort of wife he wanted. She would never have been satisfied with anything and always would have demanded more.
Gibb stared down at his yacht, recovered and restored by his workers without telling him, and pondered his thoughts. It was a marriage that should not have happened. However, it had, and Hester had died during it.
Not because of him, but because of herself.
At last he believed that. Carefully he made his way down to the beach and trod across it to the vessel. His boots made deep footsteps in the damp sand as he squelched along. Twice he stepped over rivulets that blocked his path. Soon the tide would be on the turn and he’d need to keep an eye on it he could be cut off.
The Fairwind appeared just as it had all those years before. Neat and tidy, the trim picked out in blue, the hull wooden and smooth. The sails were furled and it looked…sad, Gibb decided. As if it were waiting for someone or something. Probably not him.
A halloo from somewhere behind him made him whip around and brush his hair out of his eyes. An old man, bow-legged and nimble, scurried after him.
“Oy, see you… Oh, your grace, I didn’t realize it was you.” He bowed as he reached Gibb and smiled. “I never thought I’d see the day. Now then, young Gibb, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Back for long?”
Gibb grinned at the man who looked after his craft. He supposed that to a man who must be in his eighties someone of almost forty was young. Worsnop, who was weathered and gnarled, and had the appearance of an ancient pixie, seemed to defy all the odds with regards to a man’s lifespan. If he was to be believed he had lived through three shipwrecks—one by a sea monster—several storms with waves as high as the cliffs or more, press-ganging and three wives. He’d told Gibb that he reckoned marriage to his second wife had been the worst out of the lot.
“Not for long, no. I needed to come and…” How did he explain himself? “For closure. To try and understand why.”
“There’s no understanding that, begging your pardon.” Worsnop spoke with the familiarity of an old retainer and didn’t pretend not to understand. “Some people are born miserable and can’t understand why others are not. Her grace was one of them. I reckon whatever you did would never have been good enough. She were a right termagant, she were. Nowt anyone did was right, and plenty wrong. We reckon she waited until you went to Exeter afore she went out and I’ll tell you again everyone warned her not to. But then, she never listened to any of us, acos we were servants.”
“Never servants, people who work for the estate,” Gibb said emphatically. He hated the way people used the title servant to intimate someone of little or no worth.
“Ah, to you mebbe. Anyroads, I think you’re ready to hear this now. She said more than once that if you weren’t prepared to do as she wanted she’d make sure you suffered.”
Gibb rocked on his heels. Hearing what he’d always suspected confirmed by someone else was balm to his senses. Another layer of ice melted away without him even noticing it. Warsnop had never been one to moderate his words, but neither had he or anyone else been so open before. “I’m glad you told me,” Gibb said. “It is time to move on.”
“It is that. You going to sell up?” The words were asked prosaically, the expression on the old man’s face was anxious. Gibb looked at the boat, the sea and the scenery, the few clouds scudding across the blue sky, and made his mind up.
“No,” he said. “No, I’m not. How often I’ll get down I don’t know but it stays in the Alford family. And you can pass that around.”
Worsnop beamed and looked more like a pixie than ever. “I’ll do that, your grace. Now, are you wanting her made ready?” He nodded at the boat.
Gibb shook his head. “Not today. I’ll just look her over. You go on to the house and put people’s minds at rest.”
He waited until Worsnop made his way up the steps and disappeared from his sight, gauged the incoming tide and decided he had time to do what he needed. Slowly he climbed aboard the Fairwind and stood by the wheel.
This would have been the last thing Hester touched.
Poor, deluded, unhappy Hester, whom he had never been able to help or make happy. For the first time since she died, Gibb sank to his knees and wept for her.
* * * *
After a couple of months, Evangeline decided London was dull. Her papa had asked her not to carry on with her performances and Evangeline had refused. It was too soon, their involvement too new, and whatever he said to the contrary, she needed time to come to terms with the fact that this gentleman was her father. Reluctantly he accepted her insistence, plus the other edict she decreed. Their involvement in any manner or form was not to become general knowledge. Not until she was sure she would accept her place as his daughter. For some reason she wanted to wait.
To see if Gibb returned? That was folly. She had sent him away almost two months before, the season was almost at an end, Parliament was about to rise for the end of the session, then no doubt he’d be back in Scotland.
A nasty sensation of spiders crawling over her increased her misery, but what else could she have done? He wouldn’t let himself care and she needed more than lip-service attention. So it was an impasse. Better to have made the break.
By the third week, she’d tentatively agreed to accompany her father to Rutland within the month. By the fifth week they’d settled on the following Thursday, two days after her final booking. She owed it to them both to get to know him, and give him the opportunity to learn all about her. The decision made, somehow life seemed clearer.
Her final evening performance looked to be somewhat boring, she decided as she scanned the couples who stood on Lady Preston’s lawns and sipped champagne and chatted. No one seemed over-interested in the announcement that her show would start soon, and she needed a partner. Evangeline scrutinized those who were now drawing nearer and almost groaned aloud. What on earth was Denby Crowe doing here? Gibb had warned him to leave the capital, hadn’t he? But Gibb wasn’t here, and Crowe must know it. For the first time since Gibb left, Evangeline was apprehensive about the performance ahead. And afterward.
She took a deep breath. With luck, Crowe would watch and not interfere. It seemed luck was not going to be on her side. Crowe smirked as she put out her plea for an assistant and took several steps in her direction. “I—”
He got no farther. A disturbance behind him made him look round and Evangeline and several others craned to see who or what it was.
A tall, blond-haired man shouldered his way past several of Crowe’s cronies to Crowe’s side. “I say, Crowe,” he said plaintively. “Not fair. You’ve had your turn, now it’s time to let someone else have a go. Mademoiselle Evangeline…” The wink was so brief that if she hadn’t been watching his face she would have missed it. “Let me be your assistant. I would be honored. Lord Henry Lawrence at your service.”
Gibb’s friend
who had been such a help in the past. Evangeline curtsied, as if he was not even a nodding acquaintance. “Thank you, I would appreciate that.” She turned to Lord Crowe who stood scowling nearby. “My lord, I think it only right that his lordship has his moment before the knives, don’t you?”
What else could Crowe do, other than acquiesce? He stood and stared at them both for a long moment then went back to his friends, folded his arms and showed no inclination to leave.
Evangeline twirled a knife between her thumb and forefinger as she looked at Henry.
He returned her gaze without expression, and smiled. “Be gentle with me, I’m not as brave as some and newly married,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be unmanned before I have a chance to father my heir. My beloved would never forgive me.”
His smile was infectious and Evangeline found herself responding to it with ease. “I’ll be careful. I only hit people when I want to. Did Gibb put you up to this?” she asked as they made their way toward where she wanted him to stand. “Is he in town?” Try as she might, the question didn’t come out as disinterested as she would have liked.
“He asked me to keep an eye open for Crowe whilst he was away, for we all thought he might try something without Gibb to keep him in check. Gibb wagered the bloody man would be back in town ready to cause trouble once he thought Gibb too far away to intervene. It took longer than any of us—Gibb’s friends—thought, but here he is. With regards to Gibb? As far as I know he’s not back yet but I expect him next week at the latest. He’ll be here for the last sitting of Parliament.”
That gave her a few days to decide whether to go to Rutland with her papa or not. Sadly nowhere near long enough, but it would have to do. Now she had to put Gibb and her thoughts out of her mind and concentrate on the here and now.
“I thank you, and let us begin.” She took a deep breath, threw three knives up in the air and juggled them as she ran through the show with Henry and explained what she needed from him. To his credit he didn’t flinch, not even when she told him just how close the knives would get to his skin, how he needed to stand and how to tuck his cuffs in.
“No going around in circles, though?” he asked with relief. “Gibb told me that was on your agenda. If we did that I might embarrass myself and vomit.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that with anyone without plenty of practice. We’ll just do some nice gentle tricks.” She caught all three knives in one hand, ignored the smatter of applause and someone’s coarse comment about how she knew how to play with swords, as long as they were tiny. The ribald laughter and how would she cope with a real man was cut off with an oooft.
Henry rolled his eyes. “And some of those real men don’t know what to do with any kind of sword.” He colored as he realized to whom he spoke. “Sorry.”
Evangeline patted his hand. “No need, their minds are as small as their…ahem…swords.” She pointed to the spot she’d marked out. “Ready?”
Gibb rubbed his knuckles. Perhaps there was a better way to silence Denby Crowe and his cronies, but the thump to Crowe’s jaw and the grinding noise that followed were oh so satisfying, as was the punch in the midriff to one of his cohorts. As the rest melted away when they saw Gibb’s expression and clenched fists, Crowe rocked on his feet, opened his mouth and rubbed his jaw. The other man Gibb had assaulted backed away. He didn’t take his eyes off Gibb, fell over a statue and scrambled to his feet. It was no surprise to Gibb that the man didn’t hang around to say or do any more.
Crowe touched his chin gingerly. “You’ve broken it.”
Good lord, the man is bleating.
“I should call you out,” Crowe said in a thick voice. “I should.”
“Better than your neck, but if you want that breaking I could arrange it. It would save the pistols at dawn scenario.”
“You wouldn’t…” Crowe blanched and shook his head in negation. “You would.”
“Oh, yes,” Gibb confirmed. “I seem to remember a promise I made to you not long ago, what would happen if I saw you in the capital again this season,” Gibb said menacingly. It was laughable how a tone of voice could affect the man in front of him. Crowe was almost in tears.
“You weren’t here,” Denby retorted. “And why should I go away? Do you know what it was like at home with my mama and sisters? It was hell. Mama is determined I marry our neighbor’s daughter. She has red hair and lisps. On purpose. So as you weren’t in town, I came to escape.”
His woe-is-me tone almost had Gibb in tears. Of laughter.
“Sadly for you, here I am, and if you value your skin you won’t be.”
“It’s not fair. Who gave you the right to… Oh.” Denby gulped as Gibb took a step closer to him. “I’m going.”
“Now,” Gibb said in a tone tinged with menace. “At once,” he added in case Crowe had not got the message.
“Now? But it’s almost midnight. It isn’t safe.”
“Your reasoning means nothing to me. You put yourself in this situation. It’s to be hoped you don’t meet too many footpads,” Gibb said with indifference. “Or perhaps that you do. Then society would be rid of you for good. Vermin is always best stamped out.”
Crowe opened his mouth and shut it again. “I need to say my farewells,” he croaked. It would be rude not to.”
Gibb shook his head. Lord, the man just didn’t know what was good for him and when to give up. He looked over Crowe’s shoulder and saw Evangeline throw three glittering stilettos in the air. With an insouciance he envied, she caught them and spun around so her hair became a dark cloud round her head and her skirts a shimmering mist of blues and greens. She grinned and laughed, her sheer joy obvious to everyone around them, then, so fast it was a blur, threw the blades toward Henry. They landed, quivering, around his head.
Gibb smiled. She was better than ever. He gave his attention to Crowe once more. “Unless you do them in the next five minutes, you don’t. Ah, Mr. Hislop.” He turned to the burly man who had approached. “Take him to the city boundary please.”
“Eh?” Crowe stared at him wide-eyed and terrified. “You can’t.”
“You think not?” Gibb shrugged. “Watch me.” He nodded to Hislop and stood back as the ex-pugilist lifted Crowe on to his tiptoes as if he weighed no more than a feather and marched him down the garden and away. Then Gibb turned his attention back to the show.
Henry was doing well. It had been a calculated gamble asking him to run interference if necessary and be Evangeline’s partner. Mary had laughed and nodded when Henry had, after a swift glance at his wife, agreed. Now, as Evangeline’s knife held Henry in place by pinning his cuff, Gibb made his way across the lawn to stand next to Mary.
“He doesn’t look too scared,” Gibb commented. “Dutch courage?”
“More like sheer terror,” Mary said with a laugh. Her composure and assurance had increased with marriage and she looked happy and amused. “You know a move and die sort of thing.”
“I have to thank you and say I’m grateful. Crowe was ready to do mischief.”
“I saw.” Mary glanced at him. “He’s a menace. Gibb, tell me if I am out of order, but I believe you care for her. Why not show it?”
He sighed. “It’s hard. For so many years I would not allow myself to have emotions. Now? Now I don’t know if I dare give in to them. What if she refuses to believe me? Or I can’t sustain them? What then?” Damn, did he sound as pathetic as he felt?
Mary smiled at him and daringly squeezed his shoulder. “Tell her how you feel. Do not give up before you even try.”
The cheers and applause brought his mind back to the scene in front of them. Henry and Evangeline were taking their bows as the exhibition had ended. After a few minutes Henry took hold of Evangeline’s hand and towed her across the lawn toward Gibb and Mary. She seemed to be dragging her heels. Because of him?
“I should be packing my things up. It’s not fair to leave one of Lady Hislop’s staff to watch over them.” Her voice carried clear
ly over the yards that separated them.
“Five minutes,” Henry said. “Mary wants to say hello. And”—he looked to where Gibb stood—“so does he.”
Evangeline abruptly stopped moving and rocked on her heels. To his delight, Gibb saw she was wearing her pretty, sparkling sandals. He fantasized about taking them off and…
“Gibb?” she said in disbelief. “You’re here?”
He nodded, relieved his erotic thoughts hadn’t run away with him. “As you see. In the flesh.”
“Why?” she asked. Her attitude showed nothing of her feelings. “I thought you wanted country life.” ‘And not me,’ her tone intimated.
Not a very promising welcome. Nevertheless he plowed on game to the last. “I have things to settle and discuss with certain people.”
She nodded. “Ah, I see.” Then she turned to Mary. “I return your very brave husband. Many a man has flinched at being part of my act, and he was cool, calm and collected.” She ignored Gibb.
That didn’t bode well. “Evangeline, we need to talk.” If looks had an effect on the weather, the grass would be frost-white.
“Why?”
Oh, hell. A reasonable question in the circumstances, but not one he wanted to answer in company. “I…I can’t talk here, may I escort you home?”
Mary nudged him. “Ask nicely,” she said under her breath. “A little humility, perhaps?”
It was galling to be reminded of how to behave. Nevertheless, Mary was correct. He needed to open up and give a little. “Please,” he added. How on earth can I project humility? It was not something he’d thought he had ever needed to do before. “I do have many things to explain.”
Evangeline scrutinized him with care. At last, she nodded. “If you say so, I’m ready to listen.”
Now all he had to do was fathom out what to say.
* * * *
Less than half an hour later, Evangeline sat in Gibb’s carriage and very properly tucked her arms across her middle and made sure her skirts covered her ankles. As good as it was to see him again, and to relish his nearness, her mind told her something was amiss. The clopping of the horses hooves sounded loud in the awkward silence that surrounded them, and spelled out her uncomfortable sensations. Why is he here? What have I done? What’s going on? A swift glance at Gibb’s shuttered face gave her no clues as to why he had sought her out. Eventually, she couldn’t stand it anymore. Better to ask now than worry longer.
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