Gabriel's Lady (Leisure Historical Romance)

by Charlotte Hubbard

  That struck him in the gut. He stood up. Looked out the window into the twilight, to compose himself.

  Maybe he should tuck the diary away, before his feelings frayed even more. So many details he considered social and petty—gossipy snippets about her mother’s friends or the domestic help—always circled back to her. And while Gabe understood this—Letitia had written these entries believing other eyes would never read them—he felt even more inconsequential now than when she’d been alive.

  He exhaled harshly. Yes, his dear wife had been good at making him—and everyone but her mother—seem extraneous. Merely present to meet her needs.

  There was no reason to read more, to make himself feel even worse—except a mid-December entry caught his eye. Not because it concerned anything of consequence, but because Letitia’s handwriting looked looser. Loopy and irregular. Gabe held his breath, skimming accounts of that Christmas ball…the holiday dinner at her parents’ house, where his wife had burst into tears because the peignoir he’d bought her was so “indecent,” she’d been embarrassed to hold it up in front of her father.

  Her writing became erratic after that…reports of going to bed at midday…feeling overwhelmed by the burden of holiday activities and events.

  It struck him like a lightning bolt: she’d conceived by then. Had she not known it? Or had she not told him? Letitia had always kept to her room so much, her condition in December was no more an enigma to him than it ever was. She went to bed early, before he’d read his newspaper, and arose after he’d left for the law office…had spent many days last winter completely shut away from him.

  And once the doctor he’d brought home had confirmed her pregnancy, Letitia’s emotional health—and her handwriting—declined noticeably. She’d fretted about needing bigger clothes. Showed no interest in preparing the nursery. He’d been terribly worried, but what could he have done? She confided only in her mother, so Gabe had left Henrietta to counsel her distraught daughter—it was best for women to handle this ultimate female mystery, wasn’t it? All he knew about pregnancy was the excitement of becoming a father, at last!

  Except Letitia became so distant she refused to speak to him. When her parents’ or guests’ presence demanded it, however, she acted as though nothing were amiss, to keep others from suspecting she and Gabe were at odds—and to keep them from guessing she was with child. And what a fine actress she’d been…. tightly corseted and artfully painted whenever she ventured out in public.

  Gabe dabbed at his eyes to keep his tears from splotching the handwritten pages. By his rough calculation, this meant Letitia’s pregnancy was at least five months along when she died—and no one outside the family had guessed! Why hadn’t he asked someone for help?

  But who? And why do you think she would’ve listened?

  He came to the diary’s final pages…several days often passed between entries at this point…and his wife’s words looked as if a different woman had written them. His poor Letitia had been far more distraught than she’d admitted—and dammit, her mother had kept that from him, as well! It was the final entry, written two weeks ago, that nearly choked the life from him. His heart hammered as he deciphered the garbled sentences, but her desperate tone wouldn’t let him stop reading.

  Dear Diary, I am at wit’s end. This simply must stop. Why must I sacrifice my very self—my very soul—for the infernal child growing within me? I never wanted it! I was powerless to prevent it, after a foolish failure to cleanse myself. Gabriel looks as happy as a love struck puppy, while I want to curl up and die! I shall never show myself in those loose, ugly gowns he bought me.

  And she hadn’t. Letitia had spent her last month barely getting out of bed, claiming her nausea flared at the least movement.

  But she’d so despised his child…she’d wanted to curl up and die! Gabe let out a loud sob, and buried his face in his pillow. Then he composed himself…sat up again to read to the bitter end. He’d gone too far to stop, and only a few lines remained before smooth, empty pages filled the rest of the book.

  I have ordered a packet of infallible French female remedy, and when it arrives I shall be done with this agony once and for all! Then I shall return to my life. I shall be happy again! Meanwhile, Gabe will mourn the lost child and I shall act properly dejected. Perhaps my salvation will come in the mail today.

  Gabe stood up so suddenly the diary hit the floor. He was no doctor, but it sounded like Letitia had bought a mail-order abortifacient from a newspaper advertisement. And if she’d washed it down with laudanum—probably a larger dose than usual, so she’d sleep through any cramps or pain that would alert them to what she’d done…

  Was Henrietta an accomplice? Had Henrietta suggested the “infallible French female remedy” to alleviate her dear daughter’s turmoil?

  He would never know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Now that his wife was dead and buried, the matter was a moot point, wasn’t it?

  “You’re very quiet this morning, Gabriel. May I help you with something?”

  He glanced up from the plate of eggs he’d been picking over, into Agatha Vanderbilt’s legendary, all-seeing brown eyes.

  “Forgive me,” he murmured, failing badly at a smile. “The full force of Letitia’s passing has struck, now that the burial details and severed family ties are behind me. I-I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “I can’t imagine your pain, dear man.” The headmistress stroked his shoulder with a trembling hand. “Perhaps you should talk with Miss Malloy. She listens in a way that uplifts and—”

  “Begging your pardon, but I can’t put myself through that right now. Lily so closely resembles my wife, I was struck dumb when she expressed her condolences yesterday,” he confessed in a tight voice.

  Miss Vanderbilt adjusted her rimless spectacles. “I…I never thought of—but you’re absolutely right. The resemblance would be uncanny if Letitia had allowed herself another inch or two around the waist.”

  “Or if Lily became gravely ill—which we pray will not happen!” He turned his head quickly, even though it would be no disgrace to display his shattered feelings.

  But he could not reveal what he’d read in that diary. To anyone.

  “I’m going for a walk,” he murmured, despising the self-pity in his voice. “The fresh air and spring flowers might bring me comfort.”

  “A much better idea than haunting these halls, avoiding the girls’ curious eyes and questions.” Miss Vanderbilt gathered their dirty dishes from the small table. “Things are very difficult for you now, Gabe. Please let me know when there’s anything I can do for you.”

  He sighed and stood up. “You’ve already provided a place to stay—and a job offer so I could part company with Arthur Bancroft. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  “You’re quite welcome, dear. Come and go as you please,” she added, pulling a skeleton key from her skirt pocket. “This unlocks the service entrance in the kitchen. The girls’ curfew hardly applies to a grown man, after all.”

  He gratefully slipped the key into his trousers pocket. And as he stepped outside the grand mansion’s back kitchen door, where the alley lined in lilac bushes led to the street, Gabe sensed he wouldn’t be at the school long: a teaching position wasn’t really the answer to his deep, dark needs, was it? But the Academy for Young Ladies was at least a place to land. Any port in a storm.

  He wandered down the street with his hands in his pockets, feeling uneasy and lost. When had he last worn his shirt collar open, and left his suit coat behind? When had he strolled along a residential row with no destination in mind? Gabriel Getty, attorney at law, had been so busy making a name for himself—making a living for his wife and an uneasy peace with her parents—that he’d forgotten how to do absolutely nothing.

  He ambled toward the park where he’d spent many a pleasant Sunday afternoon as a student. Maybe he’d find the same shady bench where he’d studied so avidly…pondered the cases and precedents in his textbooks, and practiced telli
ng Arthur Bancroft he wanted to marry his daughter. A breathtaking array of red and yellow tulips bloomed on either side of him while purple lilacs scented the breeze. His feet followed a long-forgotten path: during their early courtship, he’d driven Letitia here with some of the younger girls, who’d conveniently scattered with their sketch pads to work on their art assignments.

  He let his tears roll freely down his face. How Letitia had loved those afternoon strolls! How eagerly she’d slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow as they walked along…eyes like blue crystal had glistened up at him, in a face radiant with happiness.

  Where did that happiness go? How, in six short years, had such a lovely young woman slipped into such darkness?

  Gabe knew better than to torture himself with these questions…he knew no one else—not even her mother—had the answers, either. Just as he realized that their courtship at the academy had been the only time Henrietta Bancroft wasn’t exerting her overbearing control over her daughter.

  Letitia had gotten along just fine without consulting her mother about every little thing. She’d excelled at hostessing teas…had read poetry aloud with such expression, he’d bought her volumes of Longfellow, Poe, and Byron to hear her bring this literature to life.

  He slipped onto his favorite bench beneath the same flowering crab tree he’d enjoyed years ago, swiping at his eyes. For the first time since her passing, he could hear his wife’s voice in his mind, reciting her favorite lines of poetry: she’d loved Edgar Allan Poe’s sense of drama and bleak hopelessness…had put special emphasis into such ringing phrases as “ ‘Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.” ’ ” and the wistful ending lines of “Annabelle Lee.”

  Gabe sighed. Should he have realized her penchant for the dark and dreary even then? Should he have foreseen her descent into a solitary madness, much like Poe’s drug-induced dementia?

  But how she’d loved bringing those poems to life! How she’d relished the praise of her audience, who’d often sketched whatever came to their minds from the imagery Letitia lifted from the printed page. What horrible things would they have drawn, had she read aloud from her diary?

  Stop this! You should’ve left the damned thing in her drawer.

  Ah, but he hadn’t. His perennial search for the truth—the motivation behind his wife’s behavior—had backfired. It was one thing to analyze the written testimony witnesses gave during his court cases, and another thing entirely when he was the judge, the jury, and the man who’d just hanged himself.

  He was startled out of his reverie by the sound of a sweet voice.

  “Please tell me if I’m intruding, Gabe. I was reading my morning devotional across the way, and I saw you sit down.” His heart clenched and the air rushed from his lungs. Here in the blinding sunshine, where her blond hair shone like a halo and she demurely clutched her book, it seemed Letitia had stepped out of his imagination…out of his fondest memories of her, to read him some poetry.

  Gabe attempted a smile. This was Lily, he reminded himself, not Letitia. Lily couldn’t help it she looked so much like his dear wife. “Miss Malloy. How nice to see you out enjoying this day.”

  “Please call me Lily,” she said with a heart-wrenching smile. “We’ve known each other forever.”

  “Old habits die hard.” Gabe squinted at her from beneath his hand. He desperately wanted her to leave—wanted her words of comfort and counsel about as much as he’d relish a verbal trouncing from Henrietta Bancroft right now.

  But she was only being kind. Lily didn’t have a mean bone in her body, and the glow of her smile might make him feel a lot better, if he’d let it.

  “Please—sit down if you’d like,” he rasped, gesturing toward the other half of the bench. “Forgive my lack of manners, not standing up to—”

  “Nonsense. I caught you off-guard—and I really must return to the academy for the Classical Rhetoric course at ten, followed by ‘The Bible as Literature.’”

  He hoped his smile didn’t give away his relief. “I admire you, Lily, for taking on such responsibilities as Miss Vanderbilt’s assistant. You could be out making your way in the world.”

  “Oh, but I am following God’s plan for me, Gabe.” She nodded with the conviction of these words, her blue eyes ablaze. “Just as Billy’s sister, Christine, made her mark by designing new uniforms for the school, I’m leaving a legacy of better Biblical understanding for—”

  “Christine Bristol,” he mused with a sentimental grin. “A spitfire who’d probably have wandered far astray, had it not been for Miss Vanderbilt. Last I heard, she was in San Francisco with her husband and family, designing fine gowns for the upper crust.”

  Lily tilted her head in that too-familiar way. “Have you told Billy about Letitia’s passing? I’m sure he’d want to know.”

  “Hadn’t even thought of it,” he admitted in a small voice. “Just goes to show how wrapped up I was in the details of—”

  “May I write to him? I’m sure that would be a painful letter for you.” Lily’s gaze wandered to where his rolled-up shirt sleeve revealed a jagged scar. “I recall being somewhat horrified—but fascinated—as a child, by the way you boys cut yourselves to become blood brothers.”

  “We believed we could save the world. Rid it of the evil Indians and Border Ruffians who’d shattered our families,” he murmured. His heart raced like a nervous bird’s. How many heinous criminals had he convicted in the courtroom? Yet the prospect of writing to Billy Bristol struck terror into his soul. “Thank you for thinking of that. And, yes—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  “None at all, Gabe,” she replied warmly. “The telegraph office is just a few blocks away, and I’ll go after classes dismiss. Billy would appreciate hearing the news.”

  Lily’s face lit up with this new mission. “I really must get back,” she insisted, “but take your time here, Gabe. I feel closest to God when I sit amid His splendid springtime flowers, in this park or in the garden back home. I’ll see you later, all right? I hope you’ll come to vespers this evening.”

  He nodded, not quite meeting her brilliant blue eyes. Lily Malloy harkened from a more angelic realm than he could ever aspire to, and she was obviously pleased to do him this favor. Someday he’d find a way to repay her kindness.

  Right now, however, he sighed and slouched on the bench. Then he hunkered with his elbows on his knees, to avoid making small talk with passersby. In this position, he clearly saw the scar running up the inside of his forearm like a jagged bolt of lightning. What a fearsome thing it was when he and Billy first scratched these wounds open with a hired hand’s knife! His Aunt Rachel’s outcry still rang in his ears after these twenty years. His cousin Emma had rolled her eyes every time she laid eyes on it.

  But his aunt had died a horrible death during the grasshopper plague. And after Billy left Emma Clark at the altar, she and Uncle George had moved away from the Kansas farm that had been his home after his family died….

  All were gone now: his birth family, and then the aunt, uncle, and cousin who’d taken him in, and now Letitia. Though Gabe detested dwelling upon such morose thoughts, it struck him that at twenty-seven he was once again homeless. Just as he’d been at seven, when his family was massacred by savages while he’d witnessed the whole ordeal.

  He stood up too fast. His head thrummed with the return of that dark desperation—it had struck him mute back then, and by God it would not shut down his soul again!

  Chapter Three

  Four mornings later, Gabe looked out the window of his room feeling as black and bleak as the clouds that shrouded the city with a promise of storms.

  He’d visited with some lawyers in this neighborhood and delivered letters of application to others, but he hadn’t received a single job offer. Just lots of counsel about taking time to grieve his wife’s untimely passing.

  How long would this last? How long could he continue this claustrophobic existence, lingering on the details of his wife’s demise? Soon he’d be red
uced to reading newspaper advertisements and applying for jobs he didn’t really want.

  “Mail for you, Gabe.”

  Bless her, Miss Vanderbilt continued down the hall without quizzing him. He retrieved the letter she’d slipped under his door, hoping it was from a local law firm—except that irregular handwriting could only belong to one man. The miracle was how quickly he’d gotten this response to Lily’s telegram—yet hadn’t he known Billy Bristol would write to him immediately?

  He ripped the vellum envelope and let the letter slide out. There was no letterhead—no formalities before getting to the point. It was just Billy speaking to him from the page, in a voice he fondly recalled from their childhood.

  Dear Gabe,

  When we got Lily’s message about Letitia’s passing, I was struck dumb. It’s God’s providence that you could return to your room at the academy so Aunt Agatha can cluck over you.

  I can’t pretend to know how awful you must feel, so I won’t belabor how sorry we are to hear your sad news. Lily didn’t pass along many details—not that they would matter.

  Consider coming here for a while, if that suits you. It’s been way too long since you and I spent time together! Eve and I are doing well, but life is busy with Olivia, Owen and now Bernadette to look after. Their smiles would lift your sorrowful heart, because they won’t ask any of those bothersome adult questions!

  Please come! Even just to escort Gracie here, to her new position as our governess. Don’t go thinking we’ve taken on grand airs. Believe me, Eve needs help with the three children so she can paint—and because Asa and Beulah Mae aren’t getting any younger.

  We’d be so glad to see you, Gabe. You’d share Owen’s room, but otherwise you’d have the run of the farm. The fresh air and spring flowers would make you feel a dang sight better than the busy streets of St. Louis.

  Gabe smiled. Billy Bristol was a horse man to the core, and would never appreciate the conveniences of living in a large city. Still, the prospect of spending time with Billy’s family made him picture faces he hadn’t seen since he married Letitia…far too long, where good, solid friendship was concerned. The only men he knew now were connected to his law practice. And if he accompanied Grace Malloy to Richmond, he’d be repaying Billy’s favor ahead of time, wouldn’t he?