He jumped from the horse, still watching her.
“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked.
“That game will not work, Miss Gilray. You may be in costume again, but I am sure your memory and eyesight are as good as they were in France.”
She raised a hand to her throat as if she had just recognized him. “But…”
“I told you I would find you. I told you I wanted answers.”
A woman came from the house. She was the one who spoke. “You also said ‘I will see beyond the costume you wear to the true woman you are.’” The woman came forward, a gun in her hand. “Apparently not, my lord.”
Oh yes, he thought with relief, there she is. He knew he should be at least a little worried about the gun in her hand, but the sense of triumph brought its own euphoria. He drank in the sight of her and stepped closer so he could recognize her scent. Not the spicy perfume Charlotte favored but a clean sweetness that was unmistakable. The simple hairstyle, the odd apron she wore made her look not much more than twenty when, by her own admission, she was closer to thirty.
She waved the gun under his nose.
“Lynette,” he said with feigned patience, “put the gun away. You are not going to shoot me.”
“Do not tempt me.” As she spoke she did lower the gun and then set it on the ledge of the potted profusion of flowers beside the door.
“Do you know this man?” the older woman—aha, her mother—asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh,” her mother said with keen new interest. She leaned forward as though a few inches less between them would give her all the answers she was looking for.
“I am Gabriel Pennistan, madame,” he said, giving an answer to one of them. He accompanied the self-introduction with a generous bow.
“Esther Gilray, Lynette’s mother,” she returned, bobbing a curtsy.
“As beautiful as your daughter, madame.”
Lynette shook her head. He was sure she was about to say something like “Stop acting, you are terrible at it,” but her mother was so clearly flattered by the compliment that her daughter settled for shooting him a nasty look.
“Lynette Gilray?” he asked, taking a step closer. Her mother matched the step as if to protect her daughter.
He stayed where he was, mentally trying the name out. He gave his attention to her mother once again. “Before I begin to think of her that way, madame, would you swear to me that she was born Lynette Gilray?”
“Isn’t that what I said, young man?”
“Yes, but you did not swear to it.”
“Swear, Mama. Or this farce will never end.” Lynette had folded her arms across her waist. She meant it to show disdain. It did. But it also emphasized her lovely breasts.
“All right,” Mrs. Gilray said with a puzzled shrug. “I swear that on her birth her father and I named her Lynette. I know it is not a conventional name, but she was named for my mother and my husband’s mother. It seemed to please them. To my mind it suits someone with her sort of artistic temperament. I will tell you, though, that by the time she was ready for her come-out I was not at all sure that it had been a good idea.”
“Mama does not need a weapon. There are times when she can talk people to death.” Lynette then turned to her mother. “You do not have to give him my life history.”
“Oh, but I wish she would. I can see you as a little girl with braids, and a paintbrush in your hand.” When Lynette looked surprised, he nodded to her smock. “I saw some of your work at my brother’s home.”
“What do you want, young man?”
“I want to talk with your daughter.” I want to lie with her. I want to know why she feels such guilt, such pain. I want to see her art and hear her dreams.
He spoke the first to her mother and told Lynette the rest with his eyes.
“I do not know what you hope to learn from her after all these years.” Her mother came closer, brandishing her finger as if it were a weapon. “Strauss was a devil in human form. He made her his wife and then ruined her.”
“Mama!” Lynette almost shouted. “No, Mama. Lord Gabriel is the man I rescued in France. He only knew me as Charlotte Parnell. That is why he wanted you to swear to my name.”
If Lynette and her mother had not both looked so distressed, Gabriel might have announced that the farce was complete. Instead he bowed to Mrs. Gilray. “My apologies for confusing you, ma’am. There is so much left unsaid between your daughter and me, it would ease my mind considerably if I could speak with her for a few moments.”
“No.”
It was not her mother but Lynette who spoke. Her tone made him glad that she had put the gun down.
“Aha, now I can see a bit of Charlotte in you. In the hardness in your eyes.”
“There is more than a bit of Charlotte in me, my lord. You would do well to remember it.”
“Happily,” he said with a smile that was as sincere as his words.
“I have no desire to see you,” she said, this time with desperate earnestness. She picked up the gun. “I do not wish to speak with you. And I am telling you to leave now.”
“As you wish,” he said, knowing it would surprise her. “I am staying with Mrs. Wilton and will be teaching the boys while their tutor is away. I am sure we will have a chance to speak often.” He raised his hat in farewell. “Until we meet again, ladies.”
They made no response, so he turned his horse and cantered down the lane, pleased if not elated by his success. He knew her name. He knew where she lived. It was enough for one day.
HE HAD FOUND HER. She wanted to be angry, tried to find a reason to be frightened. Something more than surprised. Even more worrisome was the little thrill of pleasure that she was doing her best to ignore.
Did he say he was staying with the Wiltons? What was Madeline thinking? What would the captain say? Once he was home Gabriel would be sent on his way. All she had to do was steel herself for a few days. He would not be there long enough to upset her life. Though if she were honest with herself she would admit that he already had.
28
MRS. GILRAY’S DAUGHTER is home.”
The three men at the rail looked up.
Gabriel sat at his corner table watching the reaction to the piece of news while ostensibly scribbling in his notebook.
“She brought another boy with her.”
“How many by-blows can one woman have?” This from a man well into his cups.
“Not hers, you dolt. She rescues them from whore-houses.” His friend eyed the others with a firm nod.
“Could be. Could be she is going to start a school.”
“For what?”
“For artists,” one of the others said. “Remember the harvest fair? She did those paper pictures of my boys. She is going to teach them how to earn a wage.”
“You can’t earn enough to live on with that rubbish unless you pick pockets on the side.”
There were nods and silence, as if the idea of a school for thieves was taking root.
“Now you’re all daft.” The barkeep shined the wood counter. “Her mum, Mrs. Gilray, would not be bound to anyone unlawful. She is a good mother to those little ones, a regular churchgoer, and brings my mother soup whenever she is too poorly to come to work for her.”
The others nodded and the barkeep continued, “The only odd thing is that there’s never been the sign of a gent around there. You think someone like her daughter, that Miss Lynette, would have a hard time keeping them away.”
One of the others laughed. The barkeep didn’t give him time to open his mouth. “You keep them thoughts to yourself, or I’ll not pour you another.”
“Aww, come on, Adams, she could have five men in her bed and you would find an excuse. All your women work for the Gilrays.”
The barkeep did not take offense. “As good a reason as any to keep a civil tongue in your head. And I’d be the first to know if anything was being done wrong there. She’s a strange one, I’ll give you that. Never kno
w when she will take it in her head to go on a trip, but she never give us any reason to think her wild.”
No one had an argument for that fact. Gabriel sat back and closed his eyes. Only in England could you find a village where the barkeep kept gossip to a minimum.
When the group was well into an enthusiastic discussion of a horse race three towns over, Gabriel left the tavern. It was a beautiful evening, warmer than spring ever was in Derbyshire. As dark settled, he walked the middle of the road, heading for the Gilray residence. It was as good a place as any to watch the stars and make sure that Lynette did not “take it into her head” to leave before he had a chance to talk with her.
Once there, he sat on the ground, his back to a tree, and noticed for the first time that it was too cloudy to watch the stars. It was only an excuse anyway. Gabriel waited as his eyes became accustomed to the night. Within twenty minutes he could see the house in some detail, as more than a shadow darker than the sky behind it.
His greatcoat was perfect for an evening cooler than the day, with a touch of damp. He wondered if it would rain. Even as he had the thought, the clouds scudded away from the waxing moon and the alley to the house was bathed in shadow and light. At that same moment, he saw someone come around from the side of the house. She moved to the front step and sat down there. He saw her reach for something and pull it into her lap and knew that it was Lynette, with a cat for company.
She did not look his way but rather raised her eyes to the moon and the stars glistening nearby.
He should leave now. It was clear that she had no intention of running away from him. At least not tonight. He did not move, but watched her, like a boy watched a woman he could not have, or a man watched a goddess who was beyond his reach.
All his questions faded. He had wanted to see her again, he realized. See her again. Sitting here watching her might be enough. Even though his leg was all pins and needles, he held himself still and wished he could tell if she was content or troubled. If she had missed him or was relieved to be done with the Pennistans.
He stood up, shook his leg and waited until he would not limp before moving toward the front door, down the center of the alley of trees so she could see him coming, thinking as he walked that freedom was an amazing gift.
LYNETTE KNEW HE WOULD be here tonight. Setting the cat on the cushion near the door, she stood up and walked out to meet him.
“I thought that I would be content to sit under that tree and watch you all night.”
“Apparently not.” She watched him rub his thigh and worried that he had exposed himself to more of the night air than was healthy.
“Freedom is an interesting concept, Lynette. When we are not constrained by a prison, we are still only as free as we allow ourselves to be.”
The absolute truth of his thought made her heart hitch. She might have nodded a little, because he kept on.
“I expect, my dear, that it is something we have both learned in the course of our unconventional lives. I could have stayed out of sight, but I chose to approach you. You chose to stand and greet me, not to turn your back on me and go into the house.” He came closer and held out his hand. “Now we have another choice to make.”
She stiffened. There was no pretending she did not know what he meant, what he wanted.
Instead of taking her hand he held his up. “I can see what you are thinking, but that is not what I am referring to. Not yet anyway. That choice will come, but the first of the choices is whether to be honest. Whether to tell the truth or pretend that we do not both want and wonder.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” she said, expecting him to scoff at her. He did not.
“When you explained about your cur of a husband?” He did not wait for confirmation. “I trust you did. Do you hear that? I trust that you told me the truth. That is the other half of honesty. Trusting in the answer.”
“You should have studied philosophy instead of science.” Even as she spoke, she considered what he said and realized that she had trusted him since that night in the tavern. When he did not take what he wanted but gave her what she needed.
“I know Charlotte Parnell, but I am honest enough to admit that is not enough. Now I want to know Lynette Gilray.”
Oh no, she thought. “That is asking too much, my lord.” She took a step back.
“At the moment, perhaps, but I am not asking for your soul, only some idea of your life here. Your family.”
He was not asking for her soul, yet.
“Will you tell me about your art while we walk?” He held out his arm. “Also, I must know what has become of Georges.”
“Do you think it is mid-afternoon and we are free to walk in the garden together?” She laughed a little.
“We are free to walk whenever we want. You can only imagine how happy that makes me.”
She took his arm and led him to a path of crushed white stone that led to a summer house. Lynette knew she was giving in too easily, but she was curious to see what kind of man Gabriel Pennistan was when his life was once again his to command. What did it mean that the first thing he did was find her?
It was either very romantic or absolutely terrifying. She patted her pocket, relieved that she had her small pistol with her. “Georges came back with me to England this last time. He went up to London, determined to find someone who needed a valet. He thinks he can resume his life as though the last four years can be put in some box and never examined.”
“Some men can do that. I think women must, or how could they ever have more than one child. Some try to make sense of it by talking about it,” he bowed to her, “and some, like my brother David, seem to want to solve all the mysteries of life on their own.”
“I want to ignore it, distract myself with my work and hope someday it will be forgotten.” She shook her head. It wasn’t working. “Georges wrote that he has found employment and gave me his direction should I ever need help. I think he has done quite enough. I almost wish he did not know where I lived.” That brought to mind a question of her own. “How did you find me?”
“The marvelous cut-paper transparency in the schoolroom at the Wiltons’,” he answered promptly. “I remember that last sunrise in Le Havre as clearly as you do.”
She nodded, wondering at the oddity of chance that led him to that room and led her to give the boys that scene.
“I started drawing when I was old enough to hold a pencil,” she began. “First on the walls and then on paper after Mama gave me a sound spanking. By the time I was fourteen I was doing small watercolors of family life.” Where were they? Did Mama still have them? “After I married Strauss, I needed to find something that used less space and was easier to move or to leave for long periods of time. The silhouettes and cut-paper transparencies were what I decided on. It helped that I love doing them.”
They had reached the folly, a small hipped-roof building with columns on one side and walls on two others so that it was protected from the prevailing wind.
There was only a chaise lounge for sitting. There was an easel as well. She had tried to paint here more than once, but could not, simply could not. They stood in silence. A not entirely comfortable one, she thought as she ran her hands up and down her arms. The fine cloth of her shawl was comforting. “How did you recognize me at the hearing?”
He nodded toward her arms. “Your hands are not still when you are nervous or worried.”
She clasped them in front of her immediately and he shook his head.
“Too late,” he said with a smile. “I assure you that you have nothing to be worried or nervous about. This visit is by way of making an end to one of the saddest chapters of my life.”
“If that was all, then you would have waited until tomorrow to call again.”
“There you see, Lynette,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “You are honest for me. Perhaps what I am looking for is a beginning as well as an ending.”
“I am not interested in a beginning. I enjoy solitude, or as much as yo
u can have with a houseful of children.” They were watching the clouds hurry across the sky. At least she was. When she turned to him she saw he was considering her as carefully as she studied a work of art.
“Could that be another reason that your art is all shades and shadows? You do not want to share too much of yourself.”
She had never thought of that before.
“One kiss is all it will take to prove there is nothing left for us to explore.”
“You will not catch me with that. I am not an untried girl, my lord,” she said, trying to sound as blasé as Charlotte would.
He nodded. Was he admitting the loss before he even debated the issue?
“One touch, then.” As he spoke he stepped closer, so close that they were not an inch apart.
She did not need the touch to know. This was enough. She could feel his warmth, his breath in her hair, see the line of his neck, dark against the white of his neckcloth. Her body was drawn to him, longing to fit herself in the curve of his shoulder, raise her mouth to his and brave the kiss. Though he blocked the moonlight, she saw pleasure in his eyes.
“You see,” he whispered, his words echoing her thoughts, “we do not even need to touch, much less kiss.”
He waited, which was her undoing. If he had moved to kiss her she would have stepped back, she was sure she would have, but he waited, watching her with an expression that made her feel cherished.
She laughed at the thought, though it came out more like a rather inelegant grunt. And still he did not move, his expression did not harden. “Gabriel, it is impossible.”
Then he did move. He framed her face with his hands, holding her as though she were as delicate as a paper silhouette. “As one who studies science, I can swear to you that nothing is impossible. As a man, I truly believe that what is behind us is not all we have to live by. As Gabriel Pennistan, I know that you and I are meant to be together. Tell me the truth, Lynette.”
Mary Blayney Page 22
