A week later Gabriella sat at a plain wooden kitchen table, three of Josephine’s children chasing each other through the room in giggling circles. With a gentle scold, Maude shooed them out, then took a seat opposite and reached for the teapot. After pouring herself and Gabriella each a steaming cup, she helped herself to a biscuit.
“It will be good when Jo’s husband returns,” Maude said. “She got word just today that he’s been released from his military service. These children need a father, though I hope she doesn’t end up in the family way again after his return.”
“Eight is a great many, is it not? They’re all dears, though.”
“Hmm. Dears indeed, but a handful nonetheless. Jo appreciates that you’ve been helping out. She said she was worried at first you’d expect to be waited on, but she’s relieved to find you’re not so high in the instep, despite your lofty title.”
“I like seeing after the young ones,” Gabriella replied, stirring a spoon through her tea. “The littlest, Maura, is a charmer.”
“That she is. She’s taken to you as well. Her face lights up whenever you are in the room. She’ll miss you when you go.”
Gabriella frowned, laying her spoon onto her saucer with a click. “Are you kicking me out already? I thought we were all getting along rather well. You haven’t even had to sleep on the floor as you feared,” she quipped.
“Jo don’t mind sharing, though we knock elbows some nights. And you know full well she and I are happy to have you here. But I expect that duke of yours doesn’t feel the same.”
“I doubt he cares. He’s probably in London right now enjoying his newfound freedom.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Men have a habit of wanting anything they think they can’t have. You’re his wife. He’ll want you back if for no other reason than that.”
“Well, I don’t want to go back. Not for a while yet, at least not until I can figure out what I am going to do.”
“And what are you going to do? As much as I wish it might be different, you cannot remain here indefinitely. The world doesn’t work that way.”
“I’ll think of something. I just need a bit more time.”
But Gabriella knew her friend was right. No matter how much she wished she could keep hiding away here, she’d realized soon after her arrival that her bold decision to run away was nothing more than a temporary measure at best. By now, the coach in which she had traveled must certainly have arrived back at Rosemeade. Tony would be sure to question the servants, who would divulge her exact location. Assuming he cared where she had gone, that is.
But as Maude pointed out, his pride would be injured. If for no other reason than that, he would want her back under his control. She supposed he would send her a letter, demanding that she return home. She wasn’t sure what she would do when that happened.
Spirits low, she sipped her tea.
“A coach, a coach, a coach!” whooped a pair of the boys from the front parlor. “Look at the horses and the big, fancy crest on the door. Who do you think it could be?”
Gabriella’s gaze met Maude’s, a lump forming in the base of her throat, both of them knowing exactly who it must be.
What am I going to do? she thought, as a cold draught of wind swept into the cottage a minute later when the front door was opened and closed to let him inside.
“Who are you?” chirped one of the children.
“I’ll bet he’s the duke,” another one piped. “Are you? Are you really a duke?”
“That’s right,” resounded a deep, familiar male voice.
“Don’t be familiar,” reprimanded Josephine. “All of you, upstairs to your rooms.”
“But Mama—”
“Now!”
Groans filled the air, followed by a tidal wave of feet pounding against the stairs and floorboards. Moments later, all fell quiet.
“Sorry for that lot. H-how do you do, Y-your Grace?” Jo greeted in obviously awed tones.
“Good day, madam. Pardon the intrusion, but I am given to understand you may have a guest in residence. My wife, Gabriella Black.”
“Oh, I…well…well—”
“It’s all right,” Gabriella assured her flustered hostess as she stepped out of the kitchen into the front hall. “Obviously, he knows I’m here.” Her breath caught as she gazed up at Tony, his hair faintly wind tousled, a hard cast to his jaw. Heavens, she decided. He looks tired and angry.
His striking blue eyes fixed upon her. “You have not been easy to find, especially given the snowstorms of late. Might we be in private, do you think?”
“The parlor.” She gestured toward the room. “You don’t mind, do you, Jo?”
“No, no, ’course I don’t.”
Tony waited, ever the consummate gentleman, while Gabriella preceded him into the room. He closed the doors behind them with a soft click that nevertheless managed to sound intimidating.
“Now, Gabriella, would you care to explain what is going on and why I’ve had to chase you halfway across England in the dead of winter?”
Her shoulders tensed as she moved farther into the room. “You need not have chased me anywhere. In my letter, I specifically asked you not to follow me.”
His eyebrows lowered like a pair of dark slashes. “Yes, I had your letter, but I’ve never been much of a hand at following dictates, especially when they’re of the nonsensical variety. Did you really imagine I would let you leave and not come in search of you?”
“At the time I wasn’t thinking of much else but the need to get away.”
Some of his anger visibly faded, replaced by an expression of concern and confusion. “And why is that? Everything was fine between us, or at least I thought it was, until those last couple of days. Then all of a sudden you withdrew from me. What has happened?” Crossing to her, he reached out to take her in his arms. “Tell me so I can understand. Give me a chance to make it better.”
“You can’t make this better,” she told him, shrugging free of his touch and stepping away. “Not unless you can change how you feel. I…I heard you, Tony. I heard what you said to Ethan, and I—” She broke off, hugging her arms around herself as she fought back the tears that suddenly threatened.
His shoulders stiffened, his arms falling to his sides. “And what conversation is this? What is it you believe you heard?”
“I don’t believe, I know. I stood at your study door—quite by accident, I might mention—and listened to you tell Ethan the real reason for our marriage. That you wed me out of pity because I was compromised and that your mistress, Lady Hewitt, was planning to tell everyone in Town about it.”
“Ex-mistress,” he corrected. “And yes, once she saw us together that night, your reputation was irretrievably damaged. There was nothing else to be done but wed.”
“Yes, there was. You could have simply ignored the entire thing and let matters take their course instead of manipulating me into marriage. No wonder you rushed me to the altar the way you did.”
“And thank God for it. Had I stood aside,” he retorted in a hard tone, “your reputation would have lain in shreds by the end of that week. No respectable family would so much have looked at you ever again, let alone received you into their home. If you believe the business with your aunt was difficult, it would have been nothing compared to that.”
“Maybe I would have preferred being shunned to being deceived.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And that is why you are so upset? Because I persuaded you to become my duchess? To live a life of privilege and ease that most people would give their right arm to possess?”
Stepping forward, he caught her shoulders inside his grasp. “You’re correct, I did not want to see you ruined by Erika Hewitt’s spitefulness and cruelty. She hoped to get back at me and was happy to harm you in order to achieve her aim. If keeping you from suffering such a fate was wrong, then I stand guilty as charged. If that’s pity, then yes, I suppose I pitied you. But if you want to know the real reason I married you,
it was because I desired you—in my bed and in my life. I still want you despite your exasperating, headstrong ways. So, let us put this behind us and go home.”
“And then what?”
“Then we’ll go back to the way things were. You seemed happy enough before.”
“Before the blinders came off, you mean. Before I learned the truth.”
“The truth of what? That we get along well together? That we enjoy pleasuring each other in bed? That we are far more compatible than most of the couples I know? Why do you have to question everything? Why can’t you simply let things be?”
“Because I can’t!” she declared, easing away from his touch. “Because I heard you say that one day you expect we’ll grow tired of each other and decide to go our separate ways—discreetly, of course.”
He gave a muffled curse under his breath.
“Well, I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering if this will be the day you decide you’ve had enough.”
A long moment of silence fell. “Perhaps I said something to that effect,” he admitted, “but that’s a long way off. Years from now. And if and when it happens, I am sure the decision will be mutual.”
“Really? What if it is not? Is that what went wrong between you and Lady Hewitt? The reason she’s so spiteful now? Did you decide you’d had enough, but she hadn’t? When you’re done, will you buy me a pretty trinket, then give me my congé like some discarded mistress?”
“You are my wife,” he said between clenched teeth. “It isn’t the same at all.”
“It will be if you send me into the arms of another man.”
His eyes flashed fire. “You will never go to another man.”
“Oh, then I must have misunderstood. I thought you said we would each be allowed to seek out our own comfort. Apparently you are the only one of us who is permitted to dishonor our vows.”
“I have been faithful to you, Gabriella. Is that what you want to know? Since long before we wed, there has been no one else, only you. If it will allay your concerns, I have no difficulty swearing that I will remain exclusively in your bed. There will be no other.” When she didn’t answer, he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand you. What is it you expect of me? What is it you want?”
I want you to love me! she cried silently. But he did not, and had only confirmed that fact over the past few minutes—making not a single mention of the word, nor any attempt to convince her he might feel something more for her, after all. Yes, he wanted her. True, the two of them were compatible. He’d even promised to be faithful. But still, it wasn’t enough. How could it be when only one of them loved? If she accepted this uneven affection, she knew it would eat at her, nibbling away at her heart, at her very soul, one tiny piece at a time until nothing remained but emptiness and sorrow.
Oh God, what am I going to do?
For a long moment, she stared at the flames burning in the fireplace, seeing nothing but an indistinct blur of color. “What do I want?” she said, repeating his question in a soft voice. “Just one thing.”
“Yes,” he returned. “And what is that?”
Forcing her gaze upward, she looked him square in the eye. “Your Grace, I want a divorce.”
Chapter Nineteen
“WHAT!” HE SAID, her words hitting him like a horse’s hoof to the chest.
She raised her chin and held her ground. “You heard me. I no longer wish to be your wife.”
Fury billowed through him with the heat of flames consuming dry tinder, his jaw muscles snapping so tight he was surprised they didn’t pop. He held himself in place, fists bunched at his sides until he forced his fingers open, fighting for control. “You are my wife, madam, whether you wish it or not. There will be no divorce.”
“But—”
“There are no buts!” He cut her off, his tone cold and scathing even to his own ears. “When you and I wed, it was until death do us part, and that is the way it will be. You may run from me. You may rail against me. You may even hate me. But know this—we are married, and that is one fact that will never change.” He broke off, drawing a full breath to steady his emotions. “Now, go and pack your belongings. We are returning home.”
Alarm turned her eyes a vivid hue that was nearly purple. “No! I will not go home, not with you. I do not want this.”
“I am no longer certain I do either, but such are the vagaries of fate. Pack your cases, madam, or I will see it done for you.”
She stood, trembling visibly as she searched for a way out. Apparently realizing there was none, she released a gasp of distress, then whirled on her heels and raced from the room, slamming the door behind her.
He was glad for the privacy as he sank into a nearby chair. So she doesn’t want to be my wife? he thought. So she wants a divorce? Laying his head in his hands for a long moment, he wondered how it had all gone so horribly wrong.
Neither of them spoke on the journey back home, she and Tony sitting across from each other like a pair of strangers sharing a ride. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come, the pain simply too deep for such mundane things as tears. Nor had she cried when she bid farewell to Maude, Josephine, and the children, putting on what she hoped had looked like a happy smile to calm their concerns.
But Maude had seen through her façade, giving her a fierce, rib-crushing hug. “I will always be here for you,” her friend had whispered. “But don’t give up hope. Things may yet come right. Try not to despair.”
But how can I not? Gabriella wondered, when she and Tony were so distant they could barely stand to exchange a hello?
The journey proved easy, the roads clear, the weather clement, with blue skies to guide their way. To her surprise, however, they did not go to Rosemeade, arriving in London late on the third day. Tony forced her to accept his hand as he assisted her from the coach, but he released her as quickly as possible, following in her wake as she walked up the steps into Black House.
Crump was there, word having obviously been sent ahead in time for him to transfer the household. He gave her a smile as she came inside, a footman moving forward to take her cloak.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” the butler greeted. “Your maid is awaiting you in your room and dinner is being prepared. Will ten o’clock be acceptable to serve?”
“Hello, Crump. Actually, I would prefer to take a tray in my room this evening, thank you.”
The butler cast a glance toward the duke.
“Send her meal up,” Tony said. “It’s late. I will eat in my study.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Divesting himself of his hat and greatcoat, Tony turned and strode away.
Suppressing a sigh, Gabriella allowed one of the servants to show her the way to her bedchamber, since this was her first time staying here at the townhouse. The duchess’s quarters were lovely, though not as large as the ones at Rosemeade, the rooms decorated in pale shades of apricot and cream. Despite the soothing hues, however, she spent little time studying her surroundings, too tired and sad to pay them much heed.
A warm bath refreshed her greatly, though, as did a satisfying meal of beef soup, yeasty bread and butter, and a delicious caramel custard for dessert. Sleepy and relaxed, she crawled between the sheets.
Yet sleep didn’t come, her eyes remaining open as she waited to see whether or not Tony would come through the connecting door to exercise his marital rights. She’d considered locking it, but feared what he might do if she did. In his present mood, he might attempt anything, even tearing out the lock or knocking down the door. During the trip home, he’d stayed away, requesting separate accommodations for them on each overnight leg of the trip. But maybe now that they were back on familiar territory, he would change his mind. If he did, she wasn’t sure how she was going to respond.
The minutes ticked past, the house falling silent as the servants went to bed. Near one o’clock, she thought she heard a low murmur of male voices in Tony’s bedchamber as he spoke to his valet. Her hear
t pounded and she clutched the sheets. Would he come to her? She hoped not—at least that’s what she told herself.
When she awakened with a start come morning, she realized she’d had no reason to worry. His door had stayed firmly shut and her bed had been slept in by no one but herself. A tear slid from her eye as she realized this was how things were going to be between them from now on.
Two days later, Gabriella took the coach across Town to visit Rafe and Julianna. She hadn’t been sure how she would be greeted when she walked inside their townhouse, but one glance at Julianna’s sympathetic face and she had rushed into her arms, the tears she’d held back for days bursting forth. To her surprise, she discovered Lily already in the family drawing room, the two women comforting her as everything poured out.
A mutinous gleam shone in Lily’s gaze once Gabriella had finished her tale. “Ethan told me what Tony said—or at least he did once I wormed it out of him. I think it’s awful! How could he say he doesn’t love you? I wish you’d said something to me that day at Rosemeade. I realize now that must have been the cause of your sudden headache.”
“I thought about confiding in you,” Gabriella said, “but I didn’t want to burden you. Besides, what could you have done? Tony feels the way he feels and there is nothing more to be said.”
“Well, I think there is a great deal to be said,” Lily went on. “The man is obviously a fool for all that he is my friend. I just may stop speaking to him.”
“No, please do not even say that. This is between Tony and me.”
“And how are things between Tony and you?” Julianna queried in a gentle voice.
“Horrible. We barely speak. God, I don’t know how I can bear to keep living under the same roof with him. I would find my own establishment, but I have no money. He has everything.”
A moment of silence descended, all three of them thinking.
“Maybe he doesn’t have everything,” Lily mused. “You need a townhouse, do you not?”
“Yes, but I’ve told you, I cannot afford one.”
“You don’t have to. I own a very nice townhouse just across the square. Ethan and I were thinking about selling it, but I’ll give it to you. Or let you stay in it, anyway. No charge.”
His Favorite Mistress Page 26
