"Good Lord. The little fool. Why did she never tell me of this?"
Auberge shrugged. "She was young, she was afraid, and as we agreed, Carlotta is not one to think things through. She simply acts. She and I had grown to know each other, and I admit, I flirted with her and quite fell in love with her. So, when she came to me in trouble, I had no compunction against taking her away. For that, I am sorry."
"Dear God." I exhaled. "Poor Carlotta. She must have been terrified. And she did not feel that she could come to me." The knowledge hurt, even now. "But you made her happy, Auberge. She fled with you into safety, and you loved her."
Auberge nodded quietly. "We have been very happy."
"And she would not have been happy with me." I knew this to be true. "Not even in the absence of her father's threats, which were empty. She would never have had what she has with you."
Auberge sent me a warm smile. "You are a good man, Captain."
"No, I am not." I studied him for a time. "I have always wanted to hate you. But I have to admit that you are a good man in your own right." I shook his hand once more, deciding to begin my life again, free of the past. "Be well."
" Au revoir, " he said.
I bowed and departed, not returning his wish.
Two weeks later, a hired coach let me off before a spreading, graceful house, approached by a mile-long drive that wound beneath powerful and ancient oaks. The house, golden brick in the middle of Oxfordshire, welcomed me with promise.
A tall butler met me at the front door, bowed to me, asked how my journey was, and bade two footmen in full livery take my valise to my room.
"Her ladyship is in the gardens," he said. "She directed me to lead you there once you had arrived. If you need to refresh yourself, I can have a footman take you upstairs."
"No, thank you," I said. Lady Breckenridge had departed London a week ago, and I had missed her more than I liked to admit. "I will visit the gardens."
"Very good, sir."
The butler led me into a wide echoing hall, cool in the summer heat. Gilded frescos graced the ceiling, and a windowed rotunda far above let in soft light.
At the end of the hall, French doors led to a three-stepped terrace, and below this were the gardens. They ran for acres, cut into sections by wide walkways. Climbing roses blanketed trellises in scarlet and pink, and fountain after fountain played in the main walkway, lending a cool sparkle to the sun's brilliance.
At the base of the terrace, Lady Breckenridge waited, splendid in summer yellow, a wide hat over her dark curls. An older woman with a basket over her arm snipped roses from a nearby trellis. She had the same pointed features and dark blue eyes as Lady Breckenridge.
"So you've arrived, then," Donata said as I came off the stairs.
"Indeed." I bowed, leaning heavily on my walking stick. The ride had been long, the hired coach, cramped.
The countess, Donata's mother, looked up. "This is your captain, Donata?" She gave me the same sharp scrutiny as her daughter. "Yes, he'll do. We'll take supper in the blue dining room. It is the least stuffy."
So saying, she hoisted her basket and wandered off into the garden in pursuit of perfect roses.
Donata slipped her hand through the crook of my arm. "She has been asking me when we will wed."
"Has she?" I said. "This winter. New Year's, perhaps?"
She looked up at me, startled. She had been gone before my interview with Denis and Carlotta, and I had not written her of the details, preferring to discuss them with her in private.
Her expression turned suddenly warm, then thoughtful. "Yes, I believe New Year's would do very well."
I placed my hand over hers and met her gaze. "If you will have me."
Donata smiled up at me, and I realized that I loved her to distraction. "Yes, Gabriel," she said. "I will."
I kissed her, enjoying tasting her lips in the soft summer's light.
When we caught up again with her mother, she said, "Mama, Gabriel and I will be married at New Year's."
Without looking round, the countess snipped another rose. "Excellent, dear. A special license, I think, in the gold drawing room. It is the warmest that time of year."
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A Covent Garden Mystery clrm-6 Page 25
