A True Gentleman (Regency Love Book 2)

by M. A. Nichols

  “Where are you going?” she asked as he yanked on his jacket.

  “Out where I can get a bit of peace and quiet. For once.” And before she could say another word, he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

  Tabby gaped, listening to his footsteps tromping down the stairs. Nine months was all it had taken for their marriage to revert to what it had been. Not in its entirety, but Tabby sensed it coming. She had been down this path often enough to see the signs. This may have been Joshua’s longest period of contrition, but it had ended as disastrously as the others.

  And yet, this time was different. Sitting there, blinking at the door, Tabby waited for the ache and anguish that always accompanied this familiar battle, but there was nothing. She was hollow inside. There was nothing left to salvage between her and Joshua. They had tried, but there was no returning to what they once were and no hope of building something new with Joshua clinging to his destructive behavior; she could never love such a man.

  But perhaps he had been correct. Tabby had tried, but her heart would not let go of Captain Ashbrook. Though she never allowed herself to dwell on thoughts of him, he still lurked there in the hidden recesses. The captain had become an integral part of her life during her time at Gladwell House, and Tabby missed him. Their conversations. Their friendship. At times, the longing for him overwhelmed her.

  Even at their best, Joshua had been more lover than companion, and Tabby could not think of a single conversation in which they had spoken of anything meaningful. Her young mind had believed that they shared some deep connection, but it was nothing more than a fantasy dreamed up by a lovelorn child. Joshua was handsome, to be sure, and his manner pleasing. Engaging even. He had a way of making her feel like the center of his universe, and what girl could withstand such an allure?

  Perhaps it was not so surprising that things had fallen apart between them. Phillip was the only thing they shared in common. Not one of their interests or goals in life were aligned. For a brief time, Joshua had molded himself into the gentleman Tabby wished him to be, but it had been no more real than the garden follies that littered the British landscape.

  Not like what she shared with Graham. Tabby shoved away the errant thought.

  Little arms wrapped around her waist, pulling Tabby from her thoughts. Giving Phillip a kiss on the head, she helped him onto her lap, though he was getting too big for it now.

  “Sorry, dearest,” she said, rocking him. Placing another kiss at his temple, she hummed a tune as he relaxed.

  Happy thoughts. Those little blessings. Tabby’s mind turned to those and began listing off all things she loved about their life in London. There were plenty of things she missed, but they had a good roof over their heads. Though Joshua grumbled about it, he had a good position that provided far better for their family than Tabby. Things were not easy for them, but even with this regress, they were better off than they had been.

  And that was enough for her.

  ***

  Courting was no easy thing. Quite daunting, in fact. And doing so in front of an audience made it all the more difficult. But there was no helping the matter, so Graham sat on a sofa at an appropriate distance from Miss Amy Ingalls as her mother and his sister made polite conversation while pretending not to watch their every move. If it weren’t for his discomfort, it might even be humorous to see both matrons feigning aloofness while pinning all their hopes on this brief afternoon tea.

  Graham watched Miss Amy. She was a handsome young lady. A man would have to be blind not to notice such things. Her hair was the color of ripened wheat, gathered in an elaborate style that highlighted her natural curls. Her eyes were the color of cornflowers, and they sparkled as she spoke. Her figure was everything a man could want. Her complexion fair. Her lips so perfectly formed that they practically begged to be kissed. All in all, Miss Amy was about as close to perfection as one could wish for.

  If only Graham had an inkling of interest in the girl.

  “Do you care to hunt, Captain Ashbrook?” she asked with a sweet smile.

  “It is Mr. Ashbrook, Miss Amy,” he replied. “And I fear I never developed a taste for hunting.”

  The girl gave him a demure smile, batting her eyelashes with a titter. “You may no longer have claim to that illustrious title, sir, but I fear you shall always be Captain Ashbrook to me. It is far too dashing a name, and I insist on using it.”

  Graham’s lips twisted into something approximating a smile. Miss Amy needed more practice at flirting before she would achieve a natural air to it, and Graham feared he would be forced to give her that experience. Mina caught his eye, and they shared a silent laugh before returning their attention to their guests.

  “As you wish,” he conceded.

  “Though it is very disappointing that you do not hunt,” said Miss Amy. “The forests around our home have quite the best game in the area, and I am certain Papa would love to invite you to join him.”

  “He is too kind, but I must decline.”

  Miss Amy reached forward, placing her hand on his forearm. “Oh, dear. I fear I may have offended you, sir. I did not intend to call attention to your special circumstances.”

  Even her blush was lovely to behold, though it was wasted on Graham. He said nothing in return for it was far more polite to allow her to believe his refusal stemmed from physical incapacity rather than disinterest; though his leg had not the strength for such demanding sport, it was not the reason he had declined.

  Graham’s fingers tapped along his knee and struggled for a topic of conversation. In the few visits they had shared, it had become clear to him that they had little in common, though it did not deter Miss Amy and her mother. Luckily, the girl was keen on conversation and produced it in great volumes with little prompting on his part.

  And like it did every time he found himself in such situations where little was required of his attention, Graham’s mind wandered towards topics best left alone. Or rather, a single topic. A topic with eyes so dark and rich that a man could lose himself in them. And hair that held every shade of blonde, the hues blending together in a lovely array. A smile that so often held a hint of humor to it, especially when she was guaranteed to trounce him at a hand of cards.

  He fought for impassivity, but thoughts of Tabby filled him, and Graham found himself lost in answerless questions about where she was and what she was doing. His jaw tightened as he wondered if she was safe. If her husband was treating her the way she deserved.

  And Phillip. Graham couldn’t count the number of times he had awoken in the night with memories of the boy’s confessions about his father. The way the child had cowered away from a raised voice. One did not develop such instincts in a peaceful household.

  “It is so good of you to have called on us,” said Mina with an emphasis that pulled Graham out of his thoughts. She gave him a pointed look, and Graham returned to the conversation.

  “Yes, ladies,” he said, getting to his feet before they rose. “It is always a pleasure.”

  With a proper bow and a few more pleasantries exchanged, Mina ushered them to the doorway where Jennings awaited to escort them out.

  The moment the door was closed, Graham limped over to the window, staring out at the garden to distract himself with thoughts of how he might capture it on paper. The shadows and highlights. The curve of the tree branches. However, that drew his mind to sitting in Gladwell’s garden with Tabby. Graham could not be free of the memories. Everywhere he went, he carried her with him. And yet, Graham was uncertain as to whether he wanted to be rid of her.

  “It shall get easier, Graham,” said Mina, coming up beside him and taking his arm. She squeezed it and gazed out at the garden.

  “Promise?”

  Mina turned her eyes to him and nodded. Her eyes held understanding, and Graham welcomed it. It did not make things better, but her borrowed strength allowed him to bear it up. Then her expression shifted, a smile tickled her lips and her eyes sparkled. “And in the meantime, yo
u are giving Miss Amy some much-needed practice with her flirting.”

  Graham chuckled. “It is painful to watch her overexuberant batting of her eyes.”

  “Ah, but she is young. With time, she shall be as skilled as the rest of her set,” said Mina. “Now, come with me to the nursery and spend some time with Baby Oliver. In my experience, many of life’s ills can be forgotten when cuddling an infant.”

  Chapter 31

  Keeping a wary eye on the passing traffic passing, Tabby led Phillip along the busy streets. He tugged on her hand, desperate to move faster, but she kept him at a steady pace and away from the carriages rolling past.

  “Can we stop at the market and get a treat?” asked Phillip, yanking Tabby towards the store windows.

  “Phillip, stop!” she said, pulling him out of the path of the passersby he was intent on ignoring. “You must watch where you are going.”

  The lad stood before her, kicking at the ground as he looked up with all the repentance he could muster. “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Perhaps we might stop in,” she said as they continued along. “I could use a bit of licorice. What do you think?”

  Phillip’s grin was so wide, Tabby felt certain his cheeks would burst, and she squeezed his hand. Walking side-by-side, it astonished her how big he was getting. Those bright cheeks were showing less and less of his baby sweetness, and he was slowly morphing from her sweet child into a proper boy.

  But then something caught Tabby’s eye in the bookshop that froze her in place. Someone collided with her, and she gave mumbled apologies before tugging Phillip towards the storefront.

  “Careful, Mama!” he cried as she nearly crashed into a passing couple.

  “Apologies,” she mumbled, her eyes honing in on the fresh display of black leather books in the windows. One sat open among the stack, displaying the cover page and an illustration of a ship pulling into an exotic port. My Life at Sea by Graham Ashbrook. Tabby touched the glass and leaned closer, her eyes tracing the sketch that was so clearly one of his own.

  Her breath hitched as she stared at it. Tabby bit her lips, but it did not stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. He had done it.

  “Are you interested in a copy?” asked the bookseller, stepping in front of his store to adjust the sign hanging on the door.

  Her voice caught, but she managed a quiet, “No.”

  That one word was the most blatant lie Tabby had ever told. She wanted nothing more than to dump out the coins in her reticule and purchase a copy. Tabby longed to read his words and see his drawings captured inside, but she could not allow herself such an indulgence. She might be able to spare the money, but she could not afford the emotional toll.

  No, it was enough to know that he was moving forward with his life. No matter what had passed between them, Graham had not allowed it to ruin him. A tear slipped down her cheek before she realized it was ready to fall, and she brushed it away and cleared her throat.

  “No, thank you,” she said again, firmer. “I was only looking.”

  “If you are interested in such tales, the author himself is coming to London to do a few lectures,” said the proprietor.

  Tabby smiled and gave a polite goodbye before walking away. Her steps came lighter than before. As much as it hurt to know she would never see him again, she was filled with a sense of peace. Graham Ashbrook was seeking his joy, and Tabby said a silent prayer that he would find every last bit of it that he deserved. And more.

  “What about the licorice?” asked Phillip, pulling Tabby back to the present.

  “Of course, my little man,” she said, leading him through the crowds. Turning down a few streets, the bustle and noise faded behind them, and Tabby was grateful for a bit of quiet. This muted section of the neighborhood had to be Tabby’s favorite corner of Town. Though there were plenty of markets and shops closer to home, spending a few minutes in this haven from the chaos and commotion made the out-of-the-way journey worthwhile.

  “Would you rather have a licorice, marzipan, or chocolate?” asked Tabby, leading Phillip around a puddle.

  “Chocolate,” he blurted.

  “Well, I believe I shall get a bit of licorice,” said Tabby. “Though I do love Mr. Porter’s marzipan.”

  “I like—”

  Hands jerked Tabby, lifting her off the ground and shoving her into an alleyway. She screamed, but a meaty hand clamped over her mouth while another man emerged from the shadows to snatch Phillip from her. Sinking her teeth into the massive fingers, Tabby bit down, tearing into his skin. Blood trickled into her mouth, mixing with the taste of the sweat and filth on his hand, but she would not release, kicking and swinging behind her.

  The man bellowed, throwing her into the side of the building. Sucking in a deep breath, Tabby let loose another scream and lurched to her feet, but the man’s fist swung into her face, cracking against her cheek. The force of it threw her into the wall, her head slamming the brick.

  Tabby collapsed to the ground, her mind struggling for coherency. Her limbs twitched as she tried to get them under her. Phillip cried out, and Tabby straightened, pushing through the haze engulfing her thoughts, but another blow threw her to the ground once more. Both sides of her face ached, throbbing in time with her heart, and a pain drove into her head where it had hit the bricks and cobblestones.

  “Leave it, Mr. Gibbons,” said a man, though Tabby’s addled mind could not tell where or who he was.

  Rough hands yanked her to her feet, and Tabby hung limply in the giant’s arms. Her stomach churned as the world spun around her, and when the image cleared, Tabby saw a man whom she had hoped never to see again.

  “Mrs. Russell,” said Mr. Crauford, his hand holding Phillip by the collar.

  “Leave him be,” said Tabby, her voice coming out more a whimper than command. She tried to scream, but she could not get enough breath in her lungs.

  “Mama!” Phillip squealed and kicked at Mr. Crauford, but the man shook the child like a rag doll.

  “Stop it!” Tabby fought against the massive limbs holding her still, but they did not budge.

  “Your husband owes me an awful lot of money, Mrs. Russell,” said Mr. Crauford. “As he insists on avoiding me, I thought it best to approach you directly and explain the situation. We are old acquaintances, after all.” His smile bespoke of everything refined and elegant, even as his hands circled Phillip’s neck, his fingers indenting the skin.

  “We have made our payments as agreed,” she said. “What more can you possibly want?”

  The hands holding her shifted until the one at her waist caressed her hip. Mr. Gibbons leaned down, and Tabby squirmed, but he buried his nose into her neck, breathing in with a low sigh that tickled her skin. Tabby’s limbs shook, her stomach twisting in knots as nausea washed over her.

  “Behave, Mr. Gibbons,” said Mr. Crauford, dragging Phillip closer to her.

  Tabby tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were as dusty as a desert. “Please, there must be some misunderstanding.”

  Mr. Crauford tisked, pursing his lips. “Now, Mrs. Russell, do not insult my intelligence.”

  “I swear to you,” she said, her voice trembling. “We put aside the funds every sennight.”

  “Ah, but Mr. Russell has not made a payment in the past month,” he said, reaching forward to brush aside a lock of her hair that had fallen free of her bun. “And I just received word that he has racked up debts with nearly every one of my competitors in town. Not to mention the string of those you left behind in Bristow. I am beginning to worry that he does not intend to honor our contract.”

  The world around her froze, sealing Tabby away in the shock of that moment. She could hardly breathe and her thoughts swam.

  “That cannot be,” she whispered with wide eyes. Her lips quivered as she shook her head.

  Mr. Crauford watched her and squeezed Phillip’s neck for a brief moment. “Please deliver a message to your husband for me: I want my money by the end of the month, and if he
does not deliver, I shall have to take more drastic steps to recover it.”

  Tabby flinched away from Mr. Gibbons as he nuzzled her hair.

  “Patience, Mr. Gibbons,” warned Mr. Crauford. “They have until the end of the month.”

  Releasing Phillip, he turned away, and the bruising arms around her disappeared. Tabby’s knees buckled, and she fell to the cobblestones, the edges of the uneven stones digging into her knees and hands. Phillip rushed to her, and Tabby tugged him behind her and away from those devils.

  Mr. Gibbons lumbered after his boss, but Mr. Crauford paused at the edge of the alleyway to give her a deep bow. A smile stretched across his lips as he said, “For your sake, I hope our paths do not cross again.”

  And then they were gone.

  It began with minor trembles, but they spread through Tabby and grew until she quaked. Kneeling there on the wet and muddy pavers, there was nothing she could do to stop them as she panted. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of it thumping in her ears, but above that, she heard Phillip’s sobs.

  Pulling him into her embrace, her own tremors subsided as she focused on calming her son. Tabby crooned to him, rocking him there in the alley. There was no way he could understand what had happened, but he understood the danger.

  It took several moments, but Tabby’s strength returned to her, and she was able to stand. Lifting Phillip onto her shoulder, Tabby hurried out of the alley and through the maze of streets until she was once again engulfed in the crowds. For the first time since moving to London, the noise and bodies milling around her brought a sense of calm.

  Phillip was getting too heavy for her to carry, so she put him down and led him along the street, making as direct a path as she could to Joshua. He could not have done this to them. It was not possible. It was one thing for him to regress now, but for him to have taken out so much debt meant something far more sinister.