Taking Beatrice’s hand before she could protest, Gabriel laid it upon his arm.
“I believe dinner is ready. Shall we, my dear?” Not waiting for her response, he began to lead her from the room, casting a glance over his shoulder as the vicar reluctantly allowed Aunt Sarah to regain her grasp upon his sleeve. “Do you intend to rescue poor Humbly from Aunt Sarah?” he questioned in low tones.
Beatrice desperately attempted to ignore the clean, warm scent that threatened to wrap about her.
“Perhaps.”
“He is looking distinctly harried.”
“Aunt Sarah has a tendency to make the stoutest soul appeared harried,” she said dryly.
Their gazes briefly met in companionable amusement. It was a glance they had shared numerous times during their courtship. A glance that said they understood precisely what the other was thinking without saying a word.
“Yes, indeed,” he said softly. “I should dislike, however, for the vicar to be run off too swiftly. It is obvious that you enjoy his company.”
Beatrice forced her gaze toward the shadowed hall, wishing her heart would steady its erratic beat.
“I do. Mr. Humbly is very kind and far more clever than one would suspect by his vague manner.”
Gabriel gave a dry laugh. “I had already suspected as much. Does it matter?”
She unconsciously tightened her fingers upon his arm. “He is bound to realize that all is not well between us.”
“He would not need to be particularly clever to deduce that, my dear. It is hardly a secret.”
“No, I suppose not.”
A thick silence descended, broken only by the swish of her satin skirts and the distant chatter flowing from Aunt Sarah. Then Gabriel reached up to cover her fingers with his hand.
“There is a simple solution to your dilemma, Beatrice,” he said in odd tones.
“Really? And what is that?”
“Make this marriage real.”
Beatrice stumbled as a rash of fear and excitement churned through her stomach.
“It is real.”
“No, it is no more than a shallow imitation,” he said lowly.
Her gaze abruptly lifted to stab him with a glittering glare. “Do you mean that you wish for me to allow you into my bed?”
The hazel eyes briefly flared with what might have been desire before he was drawing in a deep breath.
“It would certainly be a beginning, but that is not all I speak of.”
Disconcerted more by the clamoring ache deep within her than his smooth offer, Beatrice gave a sharp shake of her head.
No. She did not want to desire Gabriel.
Not now.
“No.”
His hand briefly tightened on her hand, then he was forcing a smile to his lips.
“Then we shall simply have to endure the undoubted curiosity of the vicar, will we not?”
Three
Gabriel polished off his third plate of ham, eggs, and toast with a satisfied sigh.
Thank God Beatrice had discovered such a treasure in the kitchen, he acknowledged.
Although a slender gentleman, he had always possessed a hearty appetite, and the long hours in the fields only sharpened his need for plentiful food.
The mere thought of fields brought a small groan to his lips.
Lud, he ached from head to toe. Not even the years on the battlefield had prepared him for the backbreaking work of cutting hay, repairing fences, thatching cottages, and restoring the outbuildings. His hands were callused, his back so sore he could barely move, and his feet blistered by the hours of wading through mud, hay, and gravel.
So much for the image of a gentleman of leisure, he sighed. The only leisure he enjoyed was when he managed to stumble to his bed and pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Of course, for all his aches and pains, he could not deny a sense of growing satisfaction. Much to his surprise, he discovered he enjoyed seeing the direct results of his labor. It was one thing to watch the tenants laboring in the fields or commanding workmen to repair the ravaged barns and outbuildings. It was quite another to climb upon a cottage and realize his hours of labor would ensure a family slept dry in their beds that evening.
Being so directly involved in the estate was weaving a bond with the land and people that would never have developed while sitting in an office or speaking with his steward. How could a man remain immune when he could see the immediate results of his efforts with his own eyes?
A pity hard work alone could not have saved Falcon Park, he thought with an uncomfortable pang.
He could have taken pure pride in reclaiming his heritage had he been able to save it with his own hands. As it was, he knew that his pleasure in his estate would always be shadowed by Beatrice’s sadness.
Almost as if his unwelcome thought had conjured the presence of his bride, Beatrice swept into the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of his lone form at the breakfast table.
She had clearly just left her chambers, as her soft cinnamon gown was not yet marred with dirt and her ribbons remained intact. Her honey curls, however, were already tenaciously slipping from the knot atop her head to play about her cheeks in a charmingly haphazard manner.
Rising to his feet, he watched in wry resignation as she hovered close to the door. No doubt considering the best means of escaping, he acknowledged.
“Good morning, my dear,” he murmured in determined tones.
More or less trapped for the moment, Beatrice absently plucked at the ribbon tied beneath the high waist of her gown.
“Mr. Humbly is not yet down?”
“Oh, yes. He has already eaten and been swept off by a very determined Aunt Sarah.”
“Oh.”
A small silence fell before Gabriel waved a hand toward the table.
“Will you not join me?”
She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps hoping for inspiration, or at least a timely reprieve.
“I am not really hungry,” she at last said weakly.
Gabriel clenched his hands in frustration. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, have a seat, Beatrice. I am not about to pounce in the middle of the breakfast room.”
She flushed at his sharp tone. “You need not snap at me.”
“Forgive me, but I fear the knowledge that my wife cannot bear to be in my presence occasionally strikes a nerve.”
“I simply prefer to avoid our unpleasant squabbles,” she protested in stiff tones.
Gabriel did not believe her.
Oh, not that she disliked the prickly tension between them. No one could wish to be forever at odds with another.
But there was more to her hurried retreats and icy demeanor than mere dislike, he slowly acknowledged. There was a hint of wariness that made him wonder precisely what she was hiding behind her icy defenses.
“Then shall we make an effort to avoid such unpleasantness?” he questioned in cautious tones. “With Mr. Humbly staying at Falcon Park we are destined to be spending at least some time together. Surely it would be better for all if we could at least manage to be polite to each other?”
There was a pause before Beatrice gave a restless shrug at his obviously sensible suggestion.
“I shall make the attempt.”
Emboldened by her agreement, Gabriel offered a faint smile. “It was once not such an effort. Do you recall the night we slipped from the Dunby ball and strolled through the gardens?”
He could see her visibly stiffen, but thankfully she did not scurry away as he had feared she might.
“I recall that it was cold.”
He moved around the table, careful not to make any sudden movements, as if she were some wary prey he was stalking.
“We walked for nearly an hour before we returned to the house. We had no difficulty getting along that evening.”
“Of course not. I foolishly thought that you desired to be with me because you genuinely liked me. Did it amuse you to pretend an interest in my childish babblings?”
His heart flinched at her rapier-edged words. Lud, but she knew how to strike where it hurt the most.
“Stop it, Beatrice,” he said in low tones. “I never pretended when I was with you. I have always liked and respected you.”
She waved aside his words with patent disbelief. “I do have one question, my lord.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth at her refusal to even consider the notion his emotions had been sincere.
“Gabriel.”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
“My name is Gabriel. As your husband, I believe that I have the right to at least have you use my proper name.”
“Right?”
“Yes. God knows I ask nothing else.”
A faint color stained her cheeks at his deliberate words. “If you insist.”
“I believe I must,” he commanded. “Now, what is the question?”
There was a moment’s pause before she tilted her chin to regard him with a steady gaze.
“Why me?”
Gabriel frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why me?” she repeated in tight tones. “The ton is littered with heiresses. Not all inheritences as large as mine, but certainly enough for your needs. Was it because you knew I was not likely to receive an offer from another?”
Gabriel suddenly felt as if he had been catapulted back onto the battlefield.
Blast it all.
She had to know there was no way to answer the danger-fraught question without wounding her further.
Disaster loomed all about him.
“For God’s sake, Beatrice,” he muttered.
“Will you not answer me?”
“What is the point of this discussion now?”
An indefinable emotion rippled over her pale features. “Because I wish to know.”
“Very well.” He unconsciously squared his shoulders. “I chose you because you professed a preference for living in the country. I knew the estate would demand a great deal of my time to save it from disaster, and I could not pander to a woman who preferred to be gadding about London.”
Her gaze never wavered. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that I had no other suitors who might warn me of your true intentions?”
Gabriel heaved a harsh sigh, raking a hand through his russet hair. “You demand your pound of flesh, do you not, my dear?”
“I simply wish the truth between us for a change.”
Gabriel searched the strong features, wondering why she was suddenly so determined to insist upon a conversation she had so diligently avoided for weeks.
Did she truly desire to clear the air between them? Or was she simply searching for further cause to fan the flames of her self-righteous anger?
He was no doubt damned either way, he ruefully told himself.
“Then, yes,” he reluctantly conceded. “It suited my purpose not to battle my way past dozens of admirers. I am a soldier, not a practiced flirt. I could not fool myself that I was capable of dazzling any woman with my wit and charm. My only hope was discovering a maiden who preferred a plainspoken gentleman to a well-versed rake.”
Her hands clutched at the skirt of her gown, crushing the soft fabric beyond repair.
“How delighted you must have been to discover an awkward, plain maiden who hadn’t the least notion of how to play the games of flirtation.”
Gabriel moved forward to grasp her shoulders in a tight grasp. Dash it all. She could brand him as the devil, but he would not have her mocking her own special qualities.
“You are not awkward or plain, but I was pleased that you were not a shallow flirt. I genuinely thought with your practical nature and dislike for society you would enjoy your life at Falcon Park.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Obviously I vastly overrated the shabby charm of my estate.”
Her gaze abruptly dropped. He was well aware that she could not deny any affection for Falcon Park. Not when she poured such passion into having it restored.
A passion he deeply envied.
“This has nothing to do with Falcon Park, as you well know.”
His fingers moved to absently brush back a honey curl. Her hair was soft with a beguiling scent of honeysuckle. He suddenly longed to plunge his fingers into those thick curls and tumble them about her shoulders.
“So, it is my own charms you find so sadly lacking,” he said in an effort to distract himself. Only the Lord above knew what would happen if he gave into his masculine impulse. A bloody nose, most likely. “I am wounded, my dear.”
“I see you find this a matter for jest,” she accused in husky tones.
Gabriel’s fingers moved to lightly cup her chin and tugged her face upward. Having her so close was reminding him far too forcibly of the few occasions she had readily allowed him to hold her in his arms. At the time he had gloried in the swift desire he could feel running through her body. He had known that their marriage bed would be one of utter delight for both of them.
Unwelcome stirrings deep within him made Gabriel clench his teeth.
No.
He had no desire for a bloody nose directly after breakfast.
“No, I find nothing particularly amusing about being tied to a woman who treats me as if I am the latest plague,” he retorted.
The amber eyes abruptly flared. “How did you expect me to react when I discovered the truth?”
“I had hoped you would trust me enough to realize I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“But you did hurt me, Gabriel.” Without warning she stepped from his touch, her expression unforgiving. “And I will never be so foolish as to trust you again. Excuse me, I must rescue poor Mr. Humbly from Aunt Sarah.”
Gabriel could do nothing as she turned and hurried away.
Nothing but curse the fate that had taken his father’s yacht and landed him with a bankrupt estate, a hundred starving tenants, and a wife who wished him in Hades.
Being Earl of Faulconer was certainly not all that it was cracked up to be.
* * *
Vicar Humbly had endured many trials during his lifetime.
During his childhood he had not only been poor, but already plump enough to be the focus of the neighborhood children’s teasing.
He had been emotionally blackmailed into becoming a vicar by his father when he desired to become a dashing soldier.
He had lost his true love when she had been forced to wed for money.
He had endured years of abuse from the crusty old squire who believed he was appointed by God to make Vicar Humbly’s life miserable.
But for all the tribulations he had faced and overcome, nothing had prepared him for Mrs. Quarry.
For nearly an hour he had sought to extract himself from her tenacious clutches.
He had lagged far behind her brisk pace. He had complained of his feet aching. He had even briefly pretended to be struck by a pang in his stomach until the widow had made it clear she intended to see him to his chambers and personally oversee his recovery.
With a shudder Humbly trailed his way behind the woman as they made their way down the hall.
Dear heavens, he had traveled to Derbyshire to help sweet Beatrice, not to be tortured by a marriage-mad widow. Shouldn’t such a good deed be rewarded, not punished?
It appeared not, as the shrill voice of Mrs. Quarry floated endlessly through the musty air and Humbly gazed longingly out the arched windows at the inviting sunlight outside.
He could leap, he acknowledged wryly. Goodness knew that a broken leg or two would be a small price to pay for blessed freedom.
Perhaps at last hearing his fervent prayers for salvation, God softened his heart toward his poor servant and Humbly watched in desperate relief as Beatrice suddenly stepped in the hallway like an angel from above.
The vicar could quite willingly have kissed her there and then.
“Mr. Humbly.” She greeted him with a smile.
Scurrying toward her with indecent haste, Humbly reached out to grasp her hand.
“Beatrice, my dear.”
“I trust I am not interrupting?” she demanded with a knowing glance at his flushed companion.
“No, no. Not at all. Delighted to see you.”
“I thought perhaps you would wish to join me this morning. There is a gentleman with a particularly interesting device.”
“Yes, indeed,” he breathed in relief. “I cannot conceive of anything I would enjoy more.”
Suddenly realizing she was about to lose her captive, Mrs. Quarry rushed toward them with an anxious expression.
“But, Mr. Humbly, we were just about to view the gardens.”
“Perhaps later, Mrs. Quarry,” he said in vague tones.
“Surely you cannot be interested in those horrid inventions,” she protested with a sweet voice that managed to scrap a gentleman’s nerves with hair-raising effect. “So noisy and unpleasant.”
“I am very interested in all innovations. They are such an intriguing glimpse of the future.”
A hint of annoyance rippled over the thin face before the widow forced a smile back to her narrow lips.
“How very romantic you make them sound, Mr. Humbly. I can tell you possess the soul of a poet.”
Humbly gave a choked cough. “Oh, no. I am nothing more than a plodding vicar with few talents and a desire for nothing more romantic than simple peace at my small cottage.”
The widow batted her lashes. “Now, now. There is no need to be so modest. A plodding vicar, indeed.”
“Come along, Mr. Humbly.” Beatrice thankfully rushed to the rescue. “We should not be late for our appointment.”
Humbly was more than eager to allow himself to be led down the hall and away from the persistent Mrs. Quarry. A glance at his companion’s countenance, however, made him give a loud harrumph.
“Do you find something amusing, Beatrice?”
She allowed the laughter she had valiantly restrained to echo through the vaulted hall.
“I was just thinking that you will have to be far more blunt if you wish to distract Aunt Sarah from her pursuit.”
Humbly grimaced. “She is a very determined lady.”
“Very determined.” Beatrice steered them toward a narrow flight of stairs that led toward the back terrace. “You will have to be upon your toes if you desire to avoid becoming entangled in her web.”
Love and Marriage Page 23
