But was it? Her mind was off again. Would he not feel entrapped into marriage by her claiming Charles Claremont as her father? Surely he was bound to. He would see her differently now, not the courageous girl braving the grandeur of Allingham to find the truth, but a deliberate imposter, a deliberate deceiver. The daughter of a forester who had plotted to marry above her station. And her passionate love for him, would that not be viewed askance too? If she could deceive in one way, she could deceive in others. He would be shocked by the desire she’d shown, by her willingness to give herself to him, and he would suspect that she was not a pure woman. As a gentleman, he would not reproach, but she would be silently accused and silently judged. A cavernous breach would open between them, a breach so wide that not even a marriage of convenience could bridge it.
****
Gabriel sat motionless, untouched papers scattered across his desk. He had been left battered by the morning’s revelations: that he was capable of loving and that Elinor was capable of deception. But he could not think that. He remembered her glowing face when she’d found the letter from the enquiry agent, her bubbling joy as he’d deciphered the singed journal entry. She had truly believed she was the daughter of Charles, 4th Duke of Allingham. No, it was rather that he had deceived himself. He had jumped to conclusions because he had wanted them to be true. By accepting her as a Claremont, he had given himself a reason to keep her close, even while he knew in his heart it was the most dangerous thing he could do.
In truth he cared nothing for Elinor’s birth, whether she was a Claremont or from humble stock. Roland Frant’s informant could be wrong or perhaps not even exist; the man was a scoundrel who meant nothing but wickedness. His cousin’s intervention was trifling—what truly mattered were the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Roland’s disclosure had simply laid bare the truth. He had chosen to believe Elinor’s history because he had loved her from the very beginning. And he had married for the same reason and not to recompense a spurned orphan or to provide an heir for Allingham. She had woven her magic from the time she arrived and unleashed the most powerful emotions in him. He was confused and baffled and terrified by this new vulnerability. From this time on, he decided, they must lead separate lives.
****
Dinner that night was eaten in near silence. The presence of servants prevented any personal discussion and Elinor had to be content with a fitful conversation on estate matters. When he spoke Gabriel was dispassionate, his tone neutral, and she could not but compare this evening with their wedding night supper when she had sat nervously anticipating the hours ahead, but basking in his admiration. The last dishes were being removed when he said, “I have some work to finish this evening, Elinor. I hope you will excuse me.”
Her heart crushed small. There was to be no intimate talk between them. She flushed at the thought that once again he could not wait to leave her. He walked around the table and offered her his arm, the gesture punctilious rather than loving. Together they walked into the great flagged hall and she felt the weight of his ancestors bearing down on her. She could almost hear their cries of “imposter.” This surely was what Gabriel was thinking.
He escorted her to the foot of the huge oak staircase before saying, “I imagine you will wish to retire early. It has been a difficult day for you.”
For a moment his hand was on hers and she felt a pleasurable shiver tingle its way up her arm. Deep blue eyes gazed intently into misty green and she felt the pull at her soul and the melt of her body. They stood for what seemed an age, his hand moving slowly up her inner arm, stroking its soft white skin until his fingers were reaching out towards the swell of her bosom. His hand cupped itself around her breast and he was lifting it almost dazedly to his lips. She held her breath, willing him to bring his mouth down on her naked skin, indifferent to the possibility of being seen. She wanted this; she wanted him so very badly.
But then it was as though he jerked himself awake. His hand was swiftly withdrawn and with a brief bow he was making his way to his study at the far end of the hall, leaving her to mount the stairs to her room alone. Alice was waiting as she had been twenty-four hours ago. The beautiful nightgown trimmed with guipure lace was laid out on the bed as it had been the night before. But with what difference!
When the maid had gone, she lay quietly, her candle still burning, her mind still busy. She had gone terribly awry, she saw that now, for she had mistaken last night’s passion for love. This was indeed a marriage of convenience and love had no place in it. Gabriel had taken her with pleasure but nothing more. And now he doubted the very basis on which he’d married, he did not wish for even pleasure. In her search for her mother’s history, she had persuaded him Charles Claremont had deceived his family. Now the tables were turned. She was the deceiver, not his uncle. She had to talk to him, convince him that she had not set out to dupe, that she had been as misled by what they’d found as he. Surely he would believe her for he must want the marriage to succeed, if only to ensure an heir. If he came to her tonight, they could talk and make good their misunderstanding. She would stay awake and wait for him. He would come, she told herself, the door would open and he would be there and she would abandon herself to the night and to him. He would come. But he did not.
September flowed into October, the days growing shorter but to Elinor seeming endless. She tried to occupy herself with work in the library or with walking in the gardens but her enthusiasm had withered and the landscape had long ago lost its golden glow. Every evening she sat opposite her husband and picked at whatever indulgence Chef had prepared, while Gabriel talked of this and that but nothing of importance to either of them. If she dared ever to mention Roland’s information, the duke would brush it irritably to one side, “Really, Elinor, it matters not. You must not allow yourself to mind so dearly.” Then he would lead her to the staircase, his hand barely touching her arm, bow a courteous goodnight and walk away. The spark of hope that still fluttered within her was nightly extinguished.
While she undressed her mistress, Alice was careful to maintain a stream of idle chatter. Elinor could see her maid was perplexed by the duke’s conduct and concerned for her mistress as she grew more tired every day. She slept little. Every night the bed seemed to grow larger, a fragile raft amid a raging sea. She was drowning and when she reached out for a comforting hand, there was none. She was completely alone. She would toss and turn while the Great Hall clock struck one hour after another, until finally she fell exhausted into a troubled sleep.
****
Her lethargy did not pass unnoticed by Gabriel but he steeled himself against enquiry for that could only break down the barriers he had been busy building. He was as determined as ever to recast their marriage into one of measured affection. He must treat her as a friend, a useful helpmeet, but nothing more. Only then would he be able to share her bed without the tumultuous emotions that terrified him. If he were ever foolish enough to allow himself to love, there could be only one outcome—lacerating pain—and he could bear no more. If he lost her, he would not want to continue living. And he would surely lose her. That was the pattern of his life.
During the day he applied himself to the management of the estate with an energy that made his bailiff stare, but Elinor was never far from his mind. And nightly his resolution was tempted. Somehow he found the strength to make the long walk from staircase to study, but he did not know how long he could continue to live in this way. It was Joffey’s remark that set him wondering—that when His Grace had the time, perhaps he would give consideration to his London home since the renovations at Claremont House had made little headway. If he went to London, Gabriel thought, and took Elinor with him, surely things would be easier. It was living at Allingham, in close society with each other and without other distraction, that was so difficult. The capital would provide all kinds of diversion and for Elinor, who had never stayed in the greatest city in the world, it could only mean pleasure. She would regain her spirits and he would regain
peace of mind.
Once decided upon, he went immediately to propose the visit. It was just past noon and she was likely to have retired to her room before taking her usual light luncheon. He sprang up the oak staircase, a renewed energy coursing through him. He had found the solution to their problem and he could not imagine why he had not thought of it before. He could ask her for help in overseeing the renovations. The kitchen was in need of remodeling and every bedroom required new furnishings. What woman does not enjoy taking charge of such refurbishment? He was happy to foot any size bill if it made their life easier.
He knocked quietly at her door but there was no answer. He wondered if he had missed her on the stairs for he had already checked the library on his way up. He knocked again and when there was still no response, opened the door meaning to make sure of her absence.
A loud splash greeted him. Elinor was scrambling out of the bath and reaching for a towel to cover her nakedness. “I’m sorry you find me so,” she flustered, “but I have been working in the library, its furthest corner, and have become unbelievably dirty.”
He stood still, overwhelmed by her naked loveliness, unable to speak or to move. Then he began to walk towards her, slowly, mechanically, as though stripped of all will, and plucked the towel from its wooden rail. She reached out, her face pink with embarrassment. He did not hand her the length of linen but instead wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her tightly towards him. They stood enwrapped, body to body, and he grew hard with longing. As his hands slid down her soft shoulders, the towel slipped from his grasp. He knelt to retrieve it, brushing her bare stomach with his mouth as he bent. He felt her shudder beneath his touch. Then his hands were on her breasts rearranging the towel but in truth caressing, stroke by stroke, until her nipples stood erect. She was undoing his shirt and he scattered small kisses on her hair, her cheeks, her breasts. He was moving against her, clutching her slender form hard to his nakedness, at once dreamlike and urgent.
The door opened. “Beg pardon ma’am, Your Grace.” A scarlet-faced Alice backed hastily out of the room and the moment was broken.
He longed to consign Alice to the devil but knew she was his savior. In a moment he was dressed and Elinor, blushing with confusion, had covered herself with the scanty piece of cloth. “Forgive me. I had no intention of embarrassing you.”
The words were jerked out of him. He felt as though his heart had stopped and his breath come to a juddering halt. He wanted to love her. He wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted in the world. But he must not. He must walk away. He must remove himself to a safe distance.
“I came to tell you I must go away for a short while.” His earlier plan was shot to pieces. He could no longer take his wife to London, for he could not trust himself even among the distractions of the city.
She looked blank, hearing the words but not understanding them, and he continued, “I will be traveling to London tomorrow.”
“This is a sudden decision,” she managed.
“I am sorry for it. Joffey has asked I make an urgent visit to Claremont House.” He excused himself the small lie.
She gave a nervous little cough. “I would be happy to accompany you, Gabriel, even at this short notice. It would not take long for Alice to lay up a few items of clothing for my immediate use and then follow on with the rest of our luggage.”
His tanned face paled a little and he avoided meeting her eyes. “That is most kind in you, my dear, but I think it best I go alone. Claremont House is undergoing refurbishment and I am not sure what I shall find.”
“A little dirt and untidiness would not signify.”
“It is likely to be a great deal more than a little.” He heard his voice grow hard and inflexible. “You may be assured that as soon as I feel the house is in a fit state, I will return or send a message for you to join me.”
“But there is something I…”
He had to get out of the room. Her beautiful body was too close, too inviting, undoing him with its promise. He put on his most severe voice. “Elinor, you must learn that duchess though you may be, my wishes are paramount. Now I must go, I have arrangements to make.”
And he turned on his heel before she could say or do anything to keep him there.
Chapter Twelve
Elinor slept little that night and awoke at dawn to the sound of a carriage travelling swiftly down the gravel drive. Gabriel had gone. Only a few hours previously they had come close to destroying the barriers that separated them but in the click of a finger the moment had withered; he had looked away, turned away, and instead of loving her, had announced his departure to London. He could not forget or forgive. Her deception was like a living wall between them, growing by the day, monumental and unscaleable. Again and again she had tried to talk to him and again and again failed. Failed dismally. He would not allow her to speak; it was as though he could not bear to face his worst fears: that she was a liar, a fortune hunter, perhaps even an impure woman. She had only to mention Roland’s name, and Gabriel would change the subject, tell her that whatever Frant had said was unimportant. But it was important, desperately important, else why had he torn himself away at such a moment?
It was more urgent than ever that she talk to him, yet he had given her no chance. Days ago she had begun to feel unwell but had hoped if she ignored it, the nausea would pass. This morning it could not be ignored. She had bounded out of bed and managed to get to the wash bowl before she began to retch violently. Alice had come in as the spasms subsided and found her mistress clinging to the dresser, too weak to move. With her maid’s help, she had regained the safety of the bed and her color had slowly returned.
“You’re not at all well, Your Grace,” the maid had tutted, “You’ll feel a deal better after a day in bed.”
But she had not stayed in bed for she had no wish for the household to guess at her indisposition. After a cup of apple cider and honey, she had repaired to the library to resume her work but all the time her mind was elsewhere. Suspicions she had hardly dare voice were now almost certain and she faced the dilemma of how best to break the news to a man who had been her husband for only one night. Yesterday, when he had held her close to him for the first time in weeks, it had seemed a God-given opportunity. But it had disappeared like mist in the sun and all she had been able to do was implore him to stay and hear the words she found so difficult to speak. Before she could even begin, he had turned on his heel.
And now he was gone and the day stretched wearily before her. In an echo of her mood, the rain fell constantly, lashing itself against the old stone walls and turning the Hall cold and dank. She tried to remember the summer that had passed: the hours in the dairy when the sun had warmed her tired limbs, the stolen visit to the mystical circle where Gabriel had first spoken to her as a friend and the day at the fair when he had bought her flowers for her dress and she had dared to wear them. How long ago those days seemed. Even the bright September morning when she had walked to the chapel, dressed in silver gauze, seemed an aeon away. She wondered what the fortune teller would say now. She had become the duchess her mother should have been, she had fulfilled the wish of her mother’s spirit, but how could Grainne ever rest knowing her daughter’s unhappiness?
The rain finally petered out in late afternoon and the Great Hall clock was striking four when she donned raincoat and stout shoes. Thinking always of Gabriel, she retraced the steps she had taken with him while she was still a dairymaid, through the wood to the magical clearing and then beyond to the meadows bordering it. In turn they gave way to a slope of the Downs which rose steeply from their furthermost edge. She had never before ventured so far but the effort of a stiff climb temporarily distracted her from her troubles and she arrived at the hill’s summit breathless but more cheerful. She stretched the aching muscles of her legs and took in the view. From this vantage point it was magnificent even in the fading light. Pasture land spread between the Downs like an immense green tablecloth and in the middle of this ric
h valley, Allingham Hall rose proud and defiant, its crenelated towers reaching for the sky. If she peered intently, she could just make out the gravel circle in front of the house. A carriage had been drawn up, a carriage with decoration on its side panel. It had to be a crest of arms. The duke had come home! He must have thought better of his visit to London and at some point turned his horses. She should be there to greet him, not on this distant hill trying to walk away unhappiness. She flew down the steep slope, sped across the tranquil enclosure and raced through the woods. Once she reached the drive, she walked as fast as dignity would allow towards the Hall, arriving at the front entrance with flushed face and wildly bedraggled hair.
As soon as she entered the house, it was evident the duke’s carriage had returned without its owner. She looked back through the open door and saw the horses being led away to the stables. Parsons was making his way to the servants’ hall and tipped his hat to her. But the groom bore no message, no intimation of when the duke might return or when she herself might go to London. A veil of unshed tears clouded her vision and she walked blindly past the servants to the refuge of her room.
That evening she sat alone at her sitting room window, staring through the darkness and thinking, thinking, until she felt her head would fly apart. When Thomas came to pull the curtains she asked him to leave them, when Jarvis came to tell her Chef had prepared a particularly appetizing dinner, she told him she required no meal that evening and when Alice came to help her to bed, she refused the maid’s offer and said she would prefer to stay just where she was.
She stayed there all night. In the small hours the fire flickered out, leaving only a residue of smoldering embers, and she shivered in the cold. But she wrapped herself in the cashmere shawl Alice had so thoughtfully left and remained where she was. In her heart, she knew the marriage was over. It had never really started. Their one night of passion had offered false hopes that perished in the morning light. Gabriel had never promised love and she had married in full knowledge of the contract she was entering, but in a foolish fantasy she had dreamed that he might one day love her as much as she loved him. It had been just that—a fantasy. Like Grainne she had fallen for a man unable to return her deepest feelings. But the situation was worse than that, far worse. She had fallen for a man who did not even like her, a man who could not bear to be in her company. Even if he were to return tomorrow, it would make no difference. Gabriel would never confess his doubts, never confide his lack of trust, never give her the chance to make things right. He would brush her aside and simply go on as before.
Love's Tangle Page 17
