The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” Zach admitted. “But I can’t seem to help it.”

  Kate leaned back and crossed her arms, her voice changing once again, this time into tones of authority. “Well, it seems t’ me, Wickham, that what ye canna work out in yer head, ye got t’ work out in yer heart! But ye canna do it by yerself. Ye’ve got t’ let Gabby help ye. I’m not a romantical miss. I’ve had me eyes open since I was no higher than me da’s boots. But by my way o’ thinkin’, Wickham, love is the cure fer what ails ye. And it’d be a damned shame if’n ye lost another woman ye love ’cause o’ fears, when all ye’d need t’ do is let ’er help ye face ’em. Now I’ve said all I’m goin’t’ say.”

  Kate’s words profoundly stirred Zach, and it was a good thing she didn’t seem to expect a response to her little speech, so ably delivered, because he was unable to speak a word. She leaned back against the soft squabs of the carriage and eyed him for a minute or two, then sighed softly and turned her head as if settling to sleep. She slept a lot, but Blake had assured Zach that it was perfectly normal for a girl in Kate’s condition to require naps during the day, as well as several sound hours of sleep each night.

  He watched her eyes drift shut and her lips part slightly in a dainty snore. He thought of Kate’s husband and pitied him for losing her, though he hoped mightily that the loss was not permanent, that Douglas McKeen could be cured of his weakness for drink and the resulting erosion of his finer character traits—the traits that could keep him from beating his wife when he wanted to lash out at life. He hoped Douglas could be reunited with his family.

  The carriage traces jingled as they climbed their way up the Mound to High Street, past St. Giles to Carruber’s Close. Zach thought about everything Kate had said. She was wise in her way, her wisdom earned harum-scarum on the streets of Auld Reekie. She’d said that love was the cure. He remembered how he’d felt that night at the brothel when Gabby had first brought on a phobic attack, then soothed it away with her loving caresses. Love was the cure. She’d also said that it would be a shame if Zach lost another woman because of his fears. Yes, maybe he’d not lost Tessy through death. Maybe he’d lost her long before that. Maybe Kate was right about a lot of things…

  Chapter Twelve

  The Murrays and their guests were invited for the evening to a musical soiree at the Garrisons’ townhouse at Heriot Row, and Gabrielle was in the process of dressing for it. Her abigail had just finished Gabrielle’s coiffure and been dismissed. Now, all alone in her bedchamber, Gabrielle studied her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table. It was vitally important that she look her best tonight, because she doubted that she had much time left to try to break through Zach’s wall of emotional resistance before he went flying back to the safety of Cornwall, or, worse still, got himself leg-shackled to someone quite unsuitable, someone who was not the love of his life—which meant anyone who was not Gabrielle Tavistock.

  Gabrielle had seen him with the mystery girl again today at Duddingston Loch. She was sure he didn’t know that she’d spied his carriage partially hidden by that overgrown clump of rhododendron bushes. Where Zach was concerned, Gabrielle had an uncanny way of sensing his nearness. Never mind that she’d failed miserably at detecting his nearness when she’d hit him over the head with a vase at Mother Henn’s brothel! She supposed she could blame that little slipup on dulled senses, due to the small dose of laudanum she’d swallowed. But tonight there must be no slipups. She wanted to look beautiful. She wanted to make Zach ache to hold her, as much as she ached to be held by him.

  She and Rory had agreed to continue the engagement charade and to act besotted with each other. After all, though she had admitted to Zach that she and Rory had entered into the engagement without intending to see it through, she’d also told him that there was a chance that Rory might want to make the engagement a bona fide betrothal. Since Zach had been watching them at the loch, he was probably wondering about their relationship and maybe even feeling jealous. Tonight Gabrielle meant to reinforce that jealousy.

  Gabrielle had chosen a most becoming gown of white tulle, trimmed with gold embroidered flowers at the hem, a gold rose at the center of her bodice where it made a provocative dip above the full mounds of her breasts, gold trim on the off-the-shoulder sleeves, and with a gold tasseled rope tied around her cinched-in waist. She wore white gloves, white slippers, and gold earrings with pearl teardrops.

  She’d parted her hair in the center and wound two thick braids around her head in a simple, elegant style. As a finishing touch, she’d had her abigail artistically arrange a string of pearls on her crown, something like a halo that had slipped a bit and was skimming her forehead. It was a rather sophisticated style she’d seen in a French fashion magazine. She thought it made her look decidedly grown up.

  Pinching her cheeks to encourage a blooming complexion and biting her lips to redden them, she took up her fan and a small pearl-seeded reticule and moved toward the door with a determined stride. She’d tried telling the truth to get through to Zach, but since that hadn’t worked, she wasn’t above resorting once again to deceit. She would do anything to convince Zach that their love was worth fighting for.

  Two carriages were required to transport the party to the Garrisons. Aunt Clarissa rode with Rory and Gabrielle, and Zach and Regina rode with Lady Grace and Sir George.

  Due to this arrangement, and because Zach didn’t come down till the last minute to board the coach, Gabrielle still had not exchanged one word with him since the night before. The memory of their closeness, both emotionally and physically, made Gabrielle long to see him, speak to him, and touch him again.

  The drive to Heriot Row was filled with inconsequential chatter, but fortunately for Gabrielle’s burning impatience to see Zach the drive was short, and in less than ten minutes they were alighting from the carriage and walking up the steps to the Garrisons’ front door. The Murrays had arrived just before their own carriage, and the two couples had already been relieved of their winter wraps and were making their way into the drawing room to mingle with the other guests. Gabrielle could see the back of Zach’s golden hair and his broad shoulders as he escorted Regina through the moderate-sized crowd.

  The Garrisons were very select about whom they invited to their musical evenings, and therefore this social event would not be a crush like so many other parties. Gabrielle was familiar with the routine; they would talk a little, drink a little sherry, eat a little cake, then at precisely ten o’clock, they would be politely invited to be seated in a semicircle round a dais, occupied by a pianoforte and with room to hold other instruments and the musicians who played them. During the evening, the Garrisons’ guests would be entertained by the various compositions of such luminaries as Bach, Mozart, and Vivaldi.

  The Garrisons were working their way around the room, welcoming and chitchatting briefly with everyone. Presently they were talking to the Murrays, Zach, and Regina. Much like the Murrays, the Garrisons were a distinguished pair. They were gracious hosts and, though Mr. Garrison held no titles and was only related distantly to peerage, both sides of the family were impeccably pedigreed. The couple were considered artiters of good ton in Edinburgh, and held this lofty position without being snobbish. In fact, the Garrisons frequently sponsored poor fledgling musicians and, by inviting them to perform at their soirees, provided them with the exposure they needed to promote their careers.

  Ordinarily Gabrielle looked forward to these musical evenings because she liked the Garrisons and she loved the music. But tonight she was distracted from her usual anticipation of pleasure because she was consumed with wondering how Zach would react when they were finally face to face. She hoped he would admire her. In fact, she wished he would admire her so much that he would lose control, sweep her off her feet, and—

  “Gabrielle, would you like some sherry?” Gabrielle hadn’t noticed that a servant had been standing—possibly for a long time—at her elbow with a tray of crystal glasses filled
with the delicate nutty-flavored Spanish wine. Rory was smiling down at her with a wrinkle between his eyebrows and an arch in one brow which could only mean he was amused. She must have been obviously lost in a world of fantasy.

  “Yes, thank you, Rory,” she finally managed to say, lifting a glass from the silver tray and taking a sip of the warming liquid.

  As the servant walked away, Rory whispered teasingly, “I don’t think we’re going to convince anyone that we’re in love with each other if you stand about in a daze, lass. You’re supposed to be paying rapt attention to everything I say!”

  Gabrielle smiled nervously. “I know. But I haven’t spoken to Zach since last night, and I’m dying to—”

  Rory was looking past Gabrielle’s shoulder. Still whispering, he said, “Well, here’s your chance.”

  Gabrielle turned and saw Mr. Garrison and Zach approaching them. Quickly she caught hold of Rory’s arm and trilled a laugh, as if Rory had just said something immensely diverting. Though he was holding conversation with Mr. Garrison, Zach’s eyes were on Gabrielle. She felt that familiar thrill of awareness, of anticipation, of yearning.

  Even while standing next to one of the best-dressed, most distinguished men in Scotiand, Zach did not suffer by comparison. He wore a jacket in the fashionable new color of night green. It wasn’t precisely green, nor was it nearly dark enough to be labeled black, but it was somewhere in between the two. His cravat was simply tied, but blindingly white. His trousers were a smooth fit of black fabric that all too perfectly accentuated the lean strength of his long legs. Due to his abundance of hair, the knot she’d given him with the vase was hidden from view. And his eyes were warm, lucid, amber-bright.

  “Miss Tavistock, Lord Lome, how do you do?” said Mr. Garrison. Bows and the usual polite inquiries were exchanged. “Meeting Mr. Wickham has pricked my memory, Miss Tavistock. I knew your father.”

  Gabrielle smiled. “Indeed, sir?” She darted a flustered glance at Zach. She’d loved her papa dearly, but with Zach so near, it was hard to concentrate even during conversation about her father. “H-has Zachary been talking of Cornwall, then?”

  “Aye, he has. Tavistock is a common enough name, but when he mentioned you were family friends, that his estate, Pencarrow, marched with yours—Brookmoor—I instantly made the connection to my old school chum, Benjamin Tavistock. He was a good lad. ’Tis a shame we never met again after the wedding. Mr. Wickham thought you might enjoy hearing something about our experiences together at Eton.”

  Gabrielle felt gratified by Mr. Garrison’s kindness, and equally pleased that Zach had initiated such kindness. “Thank you, sir. I was very young when he died. I would truly enjoy hearing anything about Papa.” Mr. Garrison smiled and touched Gabrielle’s elbow, guiding her to a quiet corner of the room where a settee and two armchairs were grouped for conversation.

  Gabrielle threw a look over her shoulder at Zach that was half reproach and half gratitude. She wanted to hear Mr. Garrison’s stories about her papa, but she also wanted to talk to Zach. She threw him a mute appeal. Won’t you join us? But he ignored her, shifting his gaze to Rory. Aunt Clarissa, who’d had her nose quite close to a Constable landscape which hung on the wall, in rapt inspection of the verdant colors, noticed that Gabrielle had sat down with Mr. Garrison and dutifully joined them.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Gabrielle saw that Zach immediately engaged Rory in conversation. A few unsmiling words were exchanged, then they walked away together, out of the room. Gabrielle’s curiosity was enormously aroused. Somehow she didn’t think they were retiring to a private location to finally fix a date for their proposed bow-hunting excursion. It was all she could do to sit still and make the proper responses while Mr. Garrison related a half-dozen anecdotes about her father’s schoolboy antics.

  Fifteen minutes later Mr. Garrison regretfully excused himself, saying he’d neglected his other guests far too long and that Mrs. Garrison would be in a pucker, particularly since he had abandoned her for such a lovely young woman as Gabrielle. Gabrielle smiled and thanked him for sharing memories of her father. He bowed gracefully over her hand, then took himself off to do his duty as host and to placate his wife.

  Gabrielle looked across at Aunt Clarissa. The sherry and the soothing baritone voice of Mr. Garrison had put her aunt to sleep. Gabrielle saw this as an opportunity to get away to look for Zach and Rory. She quickly exited through the same door Zach had led Rory through and found herself in the main hall. The two footmen standing sentry there gave her cool glances, but did not presume to ask her if she needed anything.

  Trying to appear as though she knew exactly where she was going, she started down the hall. As soon as she was out of sight of the footmen, Gabrielle began testing doors and peeking inside. So far the rooms had been dark and the fires unlit. Finally, after she’d rounded a corner and was at the very end of the hall, she opened the door to candlelight. There wasn’t much of it, but enough to faintly illuminate the figure of a tall Adonis in a night-green jacket as he stood with his back to her, gazing out a tall window. It was just one of many windows that took up the entire east wall of the room. Zach stood in a small conservatory surrounded by potted palms, hyacinths, and geraniums.

  Gabrielle closed the door behind her and walked a few steps into the leafy, loamy-smelling interior, her skirts swishing noisily, before Zach turned and looked at her. A three-tapered brace of lighted candles had been placed on the mantle of a large rock-hewn fireplace. There was no fire, and the chamber was cold. Gabrielle registered the chill, but she didn’t actually feel it. She was too caught up in the thrilling novelty of being alone with Zach.

  “What are you doing here, Gabby?” His voice was as chill as the room. “Where’s your aunt?”

  Gabrielle put her hands behind her, where Zach couldn’t see them, and squeezed her fingers tightly together. She attempted a light tone of voice, saying, “My aunt’s asleep. ’Tis impossible for her to unlearn the habits and disposition of a lifetime simply because she is suddenly my chaperon.”

  Zach grunted, resigned to the truth of what she said.

  “As for myself,” she continued, “I saw you and Rory leave together. I thought you might have gone off to play billiards, and I wanted to watch.”

  He moved into the nebulous circle of candlelight. Her breath caught when she saw his eyes. She couldn’t decipher the essence of that look; she didn’t know which passion or passions might have created such intensity of expression. Hate? Jealousy? Love? Desire? Patent disapproval? All five? She couldn’t tell.

  “You’re lying again, and you know how I hate lies.”

  Instinctively she defended herself with a counterattack, childish but effective. “Then you’re being hypocritical, Zach. You tell lies all the time!”

  His mouth twitched. She saw his jaw tighten, become more square and sharp-angled with the strength of his anger. “If you are referring to our adventure in Old Town, I had to lie about that to protect your reputation.”

  She took another step closer. His gaze dropped to where her slight advance had stirred her noisy skirt. They were separated now by about six feet. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about all the secrets you keep and all the lies you tell yourself every day.”

  He lifted his chin slightly, peering warily from under drooping eyelids. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Another step, another swish of tulle skirt and taffeta petticoats. “I’m talking about that woman you spend time with in Old Town. That’s a secret you’ve kept.”

  “And will continue to keep. She’s none of your concern.”

  “And what about your ’business’ there? Why won’t you talk about it?”

  “Again … none of your concern.”

  “I can accept that, but—”

  “Ha! That’s a clanker! You have to know everything! Your curiosity is appalling and has caused us both a deal of grief!”

  Gabrielle bit her lip, feeling the heat creep into her che
eks. “It’s a failing of mine, I know. I control my curiosity better now that I’m older, but everything about you interests me, Zach.”

  He remained silent, watching her with the same wary expression.

  “Isn’t it my concern to know whether or not you love me?” she blurted out.

  “This is a threadbare topic, Gabby,” he said sternly. “Of course I love you, but not the same way you imagine you love me.”

  Up went Gabrielle’s chin, defiant. “That’s a lie.”

  He blew a huff of exasperation. “If it’s a lie, why should I feel bound to tell the truth, when you don’t feel similarly impelled?”

  “Because you don’t like it when I tell the truth!” she shot back.

  Zach raked a hand through his hair and began pacing, his shoulder stirring the fronds of a large fern. “You’re wrong, Gabby! I hate the way you dally with Rory, thinking it’s a way to get to me. I hate your sham betrothal. I hate your lies to the Murrays, to your mother, and to all of Edinburgh. And as for Rory, I know you don’t love him, and since you don’t, marrying him would be just another huge, colossal lie! And during my conversation with him just now, I realized that if you were willing, he would marry you, which would be the biggest mistake of his life!”

  “Why, Zach?” she demanded, frustrated, close to tears. “Because I would bring him a ’deal of grief’?”

  Zach strode quickly over and gripped her arms, bending to look straight into her eyes. “Because, you little idiot, Regina’s in love with him!” He let go of her and resumed pacing. “Can’t you see the torture you’re putting her through with this stupid charade? If you left him alone, quit dangling that tantalizing carrot of ’will she or won’t she,’ I know Rory would realize that he loves her, too. But to help enlighten the fellow, I told him what a dolt I thought he was, dancing after you when he’d a woman so devoted to him as Regina. I’ve given him something to ponder, I’ll wager.”