Gabriel had washed his hands of both of them when he was barely seventeen. He had discovered no pleasure in the scandalous parties his father had hosted, nor the dubious characters who had clung to the fringes of his father’s society. In truth, he was heartily shamed by his family’s hedonistic lifestyle and unable to bear the sight of the noble house tumbling into disrepair while the tenants suffered more desperately each passing year.
Perhaps cowardly he had chosen to enter the army rather than watch the painful decline of the proud Faulconer name. He wanted no part of the inevitable plunge into poverty that would destroy literally hundreds of lives.
It had never occurred to him that his feckless father and brother would be taken from this world together. And that he would be left to face the disaster as Earl of Faulconer.
The truth had not struck until he had returned to an empty Falcon Park with no one to greet him beyond a desperate Aunt Sarah and a hundred resentful tenants who looked to him to restore the glory of Falcon Park.
Gabriel gave a small shake of his head, his lean features tanned from the hours he worked in the fields hardening to grim lines.
He had been shocked and terrified to discover the sheer depth of his father’s folly. Not only had he bled the estate dry, he had sold every piece of jewelry and work of art that might have bought Gabriel time to consider the mess he was in. He was well and truly on the dun without hope of seeing a return on the estate unless a large influx of cash appeared with which to plant the fields and replace the tools that had fallen into disrepair in the nearly collapsed barn.
Beyond that had been the ghastly state of the manor house and numerous cottages not fit for the rats, let alone his tenants.
He had to act.
And he had to act swiftly.
Which is precisely what he had done.
His grim features became even more grim as the late May sunlight glinted off the rich copper highlights in his auburn hair.
Like any fine gentleman in dire straits, he had hurried himself off to London and wooed the most likely heiress he could discover. It was the only respectable means of restoring his estate. Especially for a gentleman with no skills beyond the battlefield. And in short order he had achieved his goal.
He had wed the wealthy Miss Beatrice. Chaswell and in just a few short months his entire estate had seen the benefits of her vast fortune.
The cottages were newly repaired, the fields were being planted, and even the manor house was being completely restored.
It had all worked out precisely as he had desperately hoped it would.
And he had never been so miserable in his entire life.
Realizing that his aunt was regarding him with an expectant expression, Gabriel thrust aside his dark broodings and forced the muscles of his countenance to relax.
He had made his choice and now he must accept the cost.
“Good morning, Aunt Sarah,” he managed in neutral tones.
“I suppose all that knocking and banging woke you up as well, poor boy,” the older woman chattered as she moved to the sideboard and began filling her plate.
“Actually I have been up for several hours. I am told the hay is sweeter when cut in May, so we have been doing our best to complete the task.”
“Indeed? How nice. I see there are no eggs again this morning. Ah, well, I shall simply make do with toast.” Aunt Sarah heaved a mournful sigh, then managed to load her plate with ham, kippers, and a vast assortment of other delicacies before taking her place at the table. She gave a delicate wince at the distant sound of metal scraping against metal. “Really, Gabriel, all that noise. It cannot be good for your digestion. Perhaps I should speak with Beatrice? Just to put a small flea in her ear that you would be better satisfied—”
“No,” Gabriel interrupted sharply.
The older woman was clearly taken aback. “Pardon me?”
“It pleases Beatrice to seek out the latest inventions. I will not have her disturbed.”
With a self-depreciating flutter of her hands, Aunt Sarah gave a weak smile.
“Oh, no, certainly not. And I must say, Gabriel, you are a wonderfully indulgent husband. Not many a gentleman would so generously allow his wife to pursue such an odd fancy.”
Gabriel felt the familiar twist of pain as he thought of his wife. Before their marriage she had regarded him with such a glow of happiness. She had been so sweet, so trusting. And he had been so determined to ensure that she never be disappointed in him.
But, of course, fate was never so kind.
They had barely exchanged their vows, when she had managed to overhear the whispers of his desperate straits. She had suddenly understood his insistence for their swift marriage and determination to sweep her to Derbyshire with all possible haste.
And with that understanding had come a deep, unwavering hatred toward her new husband.
A hatred that had in no way lessened over the past weeks.
“Oh, yes, I am quite indulgent,” he said in dry tones.
Aunt Sarah gave a delicate sniff. “I do not believe Beatrice fully appreciates her good fortune in having you as her husband.”
Gabriel gave a humorless laugh. “I assure you, Aunt Sarah, that Beatrice fully realizes her fortune in becoming Lady Faulconer. Which is precisely why I wish to indulge her. A wife should receive something from her husband.”
“How very droll you are this morning, my dear,” the older woman retorted, as always blithely indifferent to the knowledge that it was because of Beatrice she had food to eat and a dry bed to sleep in. “As if Beatrice isn’t honored by becoming a countess. It is, in truth, more than she deserves with her grandfather being in trade. Not all gentlemen would overlook such an unfortunate connection.”
Gabriel abruptly rose to his feet, his nose flaring with distaste at his aunt’s snobbish tones. Lucifer’s teeth. They had been living hand to mouth until the arrival of Beatrice and her grandfather’s money. It was outrageous to pretend they had done the young maiden some great favor in dragging her to a shabby home with a leaking roof and no servants.
“You are wrong, Aunt,” he said between clenched teeth. “There were literally hundreds of gentlemen desiring a connection with Beatrice.”
Oblivious to the edge of warning in his tone, Aunt Sarah smiled in a complacent fashion.
“And you cut them all out, did you not? Such a clever boy.”
“Oh, yes, I am all that is clever.” He gave a half bow. “Excuse me. I must meet with my steward.”
Thoroughly annoyed with his obtuse aunt and himself for allowing his rigidly controlled emotions to be ruf fled, Gabriel strided out of the room and down the long hall.
For once he did not shudder at the tattered carpeting or faded tapestries. Instead, he attempted to focus his thoughts on the vast amount of work awaiting his attention.
When he had been in the army he had never considered the difficulties of being a farmer. To his mind you dropped a few seeds in the ground and allowed nature to take its course.
Now he could only laugh at his naivety. Not only was farming grueling labor and constant worry, but he had discovered the estate was woefully behind on the latest techniques. Over the past months he had diligently sought to teach himself the best methods of improving production and protecting his land from being drained of its nutrients, but he knew he was still lacking in experience.
It was frustrating to consider the years he had wasted upon the battlefield. Had he known what would be expected of him, he would have devoted himself to learning all that was possible of land management. As it was, he was constantly struggling not to appear a complete buffoon.
With a click of his tongue at his futile wishing, Gabriel headed down the stairs, only to come to a startled halt at the sight of his wife.
Although it was still early, her sensible gray gown was already streaked with dirt and the trim at her hem dangled upon the polished oak stairs. Even the soft honey hair had managed to escape the knot atop her head and curled ab
out the sweetly rounded face.
Gabriel swallowed a smile of amusement at Beatrice’s disheveled appearance. She could never claim the traditional beauty with her numerous curves and plain features, but he found a decided charm to her air of blithe indifference to fashion.
This was a rare woman without vanity or a slavish devotion to fashion. Her thoughts were consumed by far more important matters.
His brief amusement, however, was swiftly squashed as the dark amber eyes hardened at the sight of his lean form.
“Beatrice,” he murmured, knowing she was quite likely to sweep past him without ever acknowledging his presence. Since arriving at Falcon Park she had managed to avoid him with splendid ease. Only the undoubted changes throughout the house assured him that she had not bolted long ago.
Coming to a reluctant halt, she regarded him with a stiff expression.
“Good morning, my lord.”
There was no mistaking the sudden chill in the air, but Gabriel gamely sought to reach out to his stubborn wife.
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Not as yet.”
“I would suggest you avoid the breakfast room,” he generously warned. “Aunt Sarah is in rare form.”
She gave a faint shrug. “I am just to my room to change. I promised the vicar I would call upon Mrs. Patton.”
A frown gathered on Gabriel’s brow. Although he rarely saw his wife, he was well aware she was a frequent visitor among the tenants. So frequent that he feared she was pressing herself far too hard to make life better for others.
“You mustn’t allow him to run you ragged, my dear,” he said in careful tones. “I am certain one of the footmen could easily take a basket of food to the widow.”
“It is my duty, my lord,” she retorted in icy tones.
Gabriel felt himself stiffen at her deliberate barb.
Duty.
Oh, yes.
He had endured a stomach full of duty.
It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
“Of course. We all have our duty, do we not?”
She flushed at his mocking tones. “As you say.”
“I will not keep you.”
“Good day, my lord.”
Instantly regretting the knowledge he had once again wasted the opportunity to break through the ice between them, Gabriel laid a hand upon her arm.
“Beatrice.”
She firmly backed from his touch, but she halted to regard him with a lift of her honey brows.
“Yes?”
“Will you join us for dinner this evening?”
“Are there to be guests?”
“Not that I am aware of. However, it would be a nice change to have my wife at the table.”
“I prefer a tray in my room, my lord.”
Gabriel battled his flare of impatience. He remembered a time when she had rushed to be in his presence. When those amber eyes had sparked to sudden life when he simply walked into the room.
She could not have completely buried those feelings for him, could she? Somewhere deep inside her she still had to care.
Why must she make this so bloody unbearable for both of them?
“How long do you intend to play this game, Beatrice?” he demanded. “Surely I have been punished long enough?”
Her gaze abruptly narrowed. “It is no game, sir.”
“Of course it is. You hide from me like a petulant child.”
“You were the one who desired this marriage. Please do not complain now that it is not precisely as you envisioned it to be.”
His lips twisted as he recalled his foolish dreams. In his imaginings Beatrice was a loving wife who never discovered his need for her fortune, while he gallantly devoted himself to her happiness.
Foolish dreams that had been ended before they could even begin.
“I recall that you were more than eager for marriage as well, my dear.”
Something that might have been pain fluttered over her pale features until she rigidly schooled her expression to stern lines.
“Yes, but unlike you, I have learned to accept what a ghastly mistake it was.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “It need not be a mistake. We could make this marriage as comfortable as any other. More comfortable than most with a little effort.”
“A marriage based on lies can never be more than a hollow mockery.”
He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I never lied to you, Beatrice. You may not lay that upon my door.”
She remained unimpressed by his strict diligence in avoiding any direct lie during their swift courtship.
“Did you not, my lord? At the very least you misrepresented yourself.”
He narrowed his hazel eyes. “And how did I misrepresent myself?”
“You pretended to care.”
Gabriel flinched at the dark accusation. “And how can you be so certain that I did not?”
She abruptly averted her face to regard the dark paneling that lined the staircase.
“Had you cared, you would have told me the truth from the beginning.”
His hands clenched at his sides. He had gone over the courtship in his mind a hundred times. On each occasion he had questioned what he could have done differently. And on each occasion the answer had been the same.
He had done the only thing possible.
“And you would never have allowed me to even approach you again,” he said in flat tones.
“At least we would have been spared this disaster.”
He longed to reach out and shake some sense into her. How could she desire to live in this uncomfortable fashion?
“It is too late for regrets.” He reached out to gently turn her to face him. As always, he was startled by the soft satin of her warm skin. So smooth and utterly tempting. “We are wed and should make the best of the situation.”
She was swift to jerk from his touch. “Easy for you to say, my lord. You have what you desire.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Do you think so?”
“You have your fortune.”
“And what is it you desire, Beatrice?”
“To be left in peace. Excuse me.”
With determined movements she turned to continue her ascent up the stairs. Gabriel allowed her to retreat, knowing from bitter experience that it was impossible to force her to listen to his words of sense.
He had done everything possible to make Beatrice comfortable at Falcon Park.
He had allowed her to choose her suite of rooms far from his own.
He had encouraged her to begin meeting with various inventors around the countryside who hoped to gain her patronage.
And most important of all, he had never pressed her to provide him with his husbandly rights to her bed.
Not that she had shown the least gratitude for his efforts, he acknowledged darkly.
She had labeled him the enemy and he was beginning to fear that nothing would change her mind.
* * *
Much to her disgust, Beatrice realized that she was trembling as she entered her chamber and closed the door.
Saints above.
It had been months since she had discovered Gabriel’s treachery.
Why could she not meet with her husband without feeling as if her heart were being ripped from her bosom?
Because you possessed the poor taste to tumble into love with the man, a voice mocked in the back of her mind.
She winced as she paced across the refurbished room she had decorated in a pale yellow and ivory.
What a fool she had been.
For years she had realized that she was destined to be the target of fortune hunters. No maiden could be heir to such an embarrassing legacy without attracting the attention of unwelcome scoundrels. Especially a maiden who so clearly lacked the grace and beauty to capture the heart of a gentleman in the position to wed for love.
But perhaps arrogantly, she had believed herself far too intelligent to be swept off her feet by a common
rogue.
She was no simpering debutant to be charmed by sweet words and practiced kisses.
Oh, no, Beatrice Chaswell was far too clever for any fortune hunter.
She abruptly closed her eyes as a shudder racked her body. Gabriel had taught her that she was not nearly as clever as she believed.
It was easy to be alert for insincere flattery and the usual ploys to lure her into a compromising situation. How could she possibly have prepared herself for a gentleman who claimed to be her friend?
Beatrice reached the window overlooking the neglected garden, when a soft knock on the door had her absently smoothing the stained skirts as she moved back across the room. She rarely took notice of her appearance, since no amount of lovely gowns nor elegant coiffeurs were going to improve her lack of beauty. Besides, she could hardly study the variety of machines brought for her inspection without becoming a bit grubby.
Opening the door, she discovered the downstairs maid waiting for her in the hall.
“Pardon me, my lady.” The servant dipped a small curtsy.
“What is it, Hilda?”
“There is a gentleman to see you.”
Beatrice gave a small frown. The household staff had been well trained to ensure that the numerous inventors eager to gain her patronage were seen only during the early morning hours.
“Did you tell him that I only see tradesmen by appointment? Have him speak with Mr. Eaton,” she commanded, mentioning her highly efficient secretary.
“He is not a tradesman, ma’am. It is a Vicar Humbly,” Hilda corrected her mistress.
Beatrice widened her eyes in surprise. “Vicar Humbly?”
“I believe that was the name he gave.”
A warm rush of pleasure raced through Beatrice. Dear, sweet Mr. Humbly. Until that moment she did not realize precisely how much she had missed his amusing bumblings and odd flashes of insight that came without warning. Although older than her own father, he was one of the few people she felt thoroughly comfortable to be around.
Perhaps because she never felt as if he were judging her and finding her wanting. Or because he truly appeared to appreciate her talents, which were far from maidenly.
Whatever the reason, Beatrice could not deny a deep sense of pleasure at the thought of seeing him again.
Love and Marriage Page 20
