Love's Tangle

by Goddard, Isabelle

  Roland nodded enthusiastically and his mother warmed to her theme. “People will say he has driven his bride away. He will lose the goodwill of his neighbors and lose any incentive to regularize his life. That can only hasten his degeneration.”

  “Exactly.” Roland breathed an almost ecstatic sigh. “Have I not been clever, Mama?” He could have been a small child awaiting his reward in bonbons.

  “You have, my dear,” Celia finally conceded. “I am already looking forward to the day when I see you rightly installed as the Duke of Allingham.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabriel had been in London for less than an hour before he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Had he really thought that in journeying sixty miles he could escape his feelings? How very stupid! He had thought to save himself from pain but coming to London had not signified salvation. Elinor had been with him every step of the journey and was with him still in every breath he took. She had been with him from the moment he’d first seen her mounting the steps of the dairy, carefully managing her laden tray. He had been intrigued, fascinated, by this slender, too tall girl with a too wide mouth, just made to be kissed. But something more had set her apart from any woman he had met, something indefinable. And months on, he knew what that was—he’d fallen in love. Incredibly, amazingly, he’d fallen headlong in love even as he lounged casually against the creamery walls and watched her every move. During these last solitary months at Allingham he had missed her dreadfully and now they were miles apart, every minute was cutting him to ribbons.

  That night he roamed the empty mansion, room by room, unable to sleep or even rest and when next morning, unrefreshed, he staggered into his clothes, he could not bring himself to meet the architect who waited patiently below. He had Summers offer his apologies and tried instead to distract himself by driving his new phaeton. But the expedition to Hyde Park came to a swift end. Unwilling to take part in idle conversation or even greet the many acquaintances eager to speak to him, he soon turned tail and sought sanctuary at home. The evening fared no better. A convivial reunion at Limmer’s Hotel arranged by a fellow comrade in arms ended prematurely when, unable to tolerate their trivialities a minute longer, he stood up without a word and walked out into Hanover Square, leaving his companions stunned.

  He was as much stunned as they and strode back to Mount Street with a mind in turmoil. He could not continue like this, he must go back to Allingham. But how would Elinor respond to his return? She had been entitled to expect a grain of friendship at least, a scrap of company, and he had given neither. He had rejected her every advance and left her lonely. She would rightly be angry, perhaps unforgiving. He must ask her forgiveness, try to explain. But how could he explain, how could he defend his conduct without telling her how deeply he loved her? He had to tell her, that was clear, but it would not be easy. She did not share his feelings, had not a thought of love for him, he was sure, and yet he must force himself to lay his heart bare.

  Claremont House was ablaze with light as he walked through the front door but he hardly noticed its welcome. He flung hat and gloves onto the marquetry table and made for the library. A fire flickered warmly in the grate and he strode over to adjust a burning log. He stayed there, standing for minutes on end, his hands on the marble mantelpiece, outstaring the rising flames. Somehow he must find the strength to do this.

  It was the sound of the knocker that broke into his thoughts. It was late and he wondered who could be calling at this hour. Summers, a disapproving expression on his face, ushered the visitor into the drawing room. Gabriel understood his henchman’s countenance when Weatherby strode into the room, a familiar sneer on his pallid face. The duke had seen nothing of him, nor wished to, since he had ridden out of Allingham’s gates with his fellows in the long days of summer.

  His visitor appeared not to notice they had become strangers and continued to smile in an ingratiating manner. “I heard you were in town, Gabe. I must say it’s good to see you. Been a bit out of touch myself lately. Weeks in Yorkshire—fearful place, don’t you know—and then the old aunt didn’t do the decent thing after all. Recovered sufficiently to know who I was. Left her lying in bed, still comatose but alive.”

  “How unfortunate for you both,” Gabriel responded drily.

  “You win some, you lose some, but I’m feeling pretty corky being back in civilization. Deserves a drink, don’t you think?”

  “Bring wine, Summers,” Gabriel ordered. With luck his unwelcome guest would leave shortly for a more enticing engagement, for there would be gambling at the clubs into the small hours.

  Weatherby took a seat opposite and stretched himself expansively. “You’ve given up the brandy, I see. Can only be a good thing. Wine doesn’t rot the guts so badly.”

  The duke nodded absently but had nothing to say to his erstwhile companion. Weatherby fidgeted and began to tap his foot at the uneasy silence until he was driven to enquire, “So what brings you to London this early in winter, Gabe?”

  “Things,” the duke replied vaguely. He had no wish to start a conversation that would lead back to Elinor.

  “Things?”

  “Yes.”

  His visitor shifted impatiently and tried again. “The Regent has been spinning a tale that you got married. Surely that’s a hum?”

  “No.”

  “No, you didn’t marry or no, it’s not a bag of moonshine.”

  “I married.”

  Weatherby whistled through his teeth. “So it’s true! You did get married. I thought it a plumper when I heard the story but…you and the dairymaid!”

  Gabriel glared fiercely at him but the man seemed unaware of his hostility and kept on talking. “Why, Gabe? It don’t make sense. You could have had the girl for the taking. Why shackle yourself—and to a servant! My God, it’s unbelievable!”

  “As always, your mouth spews filth, Weatherby.”

  “Steady on, old chap. No wish to set up your bristles but you must admit it’s a bit of a come-out. The dairymaid reigns at Allingham, or so I’m told, and the duke is banished to Mount Street.”

  “You are under a misapprehension.”

  “Don’t think so, old chap. No wonder you’re so damn miserable. You shouldn’t let a woman dictate to you, especially in—um—the circumstances.”

  Summers came in with wine and glasses. He carefully arranged them one by one on the side table, but as he moved towards the door Gabriel’s hand stopped him.

  Weatherby, believing the servant had left, began to speak again. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t we get the old crowd together and make for the Hall. We could have fun, you could have fun. Everyone needs to break out some time or another, and think of the possibilities, miles out in the countryside, no one to shock. Your dairymaid is too uppity by far; she needs to be taught a lesson, and…”

  “Mr. Weatherby won’t, after all, be requiring wine, Summers.” Gabriel’s voice was a steel blade slicing the air. “Show him to the door.”

  “No need for that,” the older man spluttered. “No offense meant. I just…”

  “Out!”

  Summers took the visitor firmly by the arm. “This way, sir,” and Weatherby was led protesting from the room. Gabriel heard the front door close with a satisfying thud.

  “How did I ever mix with people like that?” he asked when Summers returned. “I must have been out of my mind.” He kicked angrily at the fender.

  “In a manner of speaking, Your Grace, you were. You had much to bear.”

  “But to make such scoundrels, my companions!”

  “They weren’t suitable, Your Grace, that’s for sure, but in the circumstances, it was understandable.”

  “You’re too kind, Summers.”

  “No, sir, I’ve an inkling of what you’ve been through. Don’t forget Master Jonathan was my charge.” He spoke with the familiarity of a man who for years had been the brothers’ friend and mentor, rescuing them from the dangers of boyhood and later, willingly sharing the hardships of
war.

  “You loved him too, I know. I’ve been damnably selfish.”

  “You had a right, sir. Life has been difficult. Being a duke isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, not when there’s no love around.”

  The duke looked at him sharply. “Is there something you wish to say, Summers?”

  “Reckon I don’t need to.”

  Gabriel looked at him for a long moment, then straightened his shoulders and strode to the door. “You’re right. You don’t.”

  The encounter with Weatherby had crystallized the desperate longing that haunted him; his love for Elinor could not wait another minute. “Send to the stables for a saddle horse. There’s no need to pack a bag—I have all I need at Allingham.”

  “We’re going to Allingham, Your Grace?”

  “I am going. You can follow later. I am going home, Summers.”

  His manservant beamed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  ****

  It was night black when Gabriel began the cross-country ride to his Sussex home, but he knew the way by heart and had no fear he would go astray. He wanted to be at the Hall as the sun rose, wanted to walk into Elinor’s room and kiss her awake. He would lie beside her and enfold her in his arms. He would make his confession. He would love her in the way he had longed to, night after lonely night.

  He was riding to reclaim his wife. The words echoed and re-echoed in his mind, rung through with a new and joyful energy. Once out of London he traveled swiftly, but was careful to pace his horse for the long journey ahead. The miles flew as he took to the lanes and by-ways he knew so well. How many times had he and Jonathan ridden this route? Driving a carriage to London had been too tame for them. Instead they had arrived at Claremont House hot, dirty and tired. But they had felt alive, so alive—in just the way he felt right now.

  He reached Steyning an hour after dawn and slowed the horse to a walk. There were five miles still to cover but he had made excellent time despite the lingering mist and could afford to rest the mare. Once back in open countryside, though, he picked up speed again, his yearning to see Elinor’s lovely face paramount. Then he was at the gates, at the stables where he turned the horse over to a yawning lad, and then onto the house. He bounded up the stairs two at a time, paused for a moment at the threshold of her room, and then quietly opened the door.

  The room was bathed in light for the curtains were already open. Had she risen so very early?

  “Elinor,” he called softly. “Elinor?” He walked towards the bed. It was empty and disappointment seared him. He had imagined this meeting through every one of the long night’s miles and she was not here. He looked back at the bed—but surely it had not been slept in!

  He strode to the bell pull and tugged sharply. Alice appeared on the instant, a scared look on her face.

  “Where is the duchess?”

  “She’s not here, Your Grace.”

  “I can see that for myself.” The girl looked even more frightened and Gabriel softened his tone. “Alice, what has happened to your mistress?”

  “I don’t rightly know, sir.” The maid in her agitation crumpled her apron. “I was away at my mother’s yesterday and when I got back Her Grace was gone.”

  “Gone? Did no one look for her?”

  “It were late, Your Grace. The household were asleep when I got back. I woke Mr. Jarvis and he thought my lady might have gone to London to be with you. He said we would have to wait until it was light before we could find out. I’ve been awake all night in case Her Grace returned.”

  “But if she had gone to London, Parsons would have driven her. Has he gone too? Has anyone checked?”

  “Parsons is eating breakfast downstairs,” Alice said miserably.

  “And did no one see her go?”

  “No one, Your Grace. Mr. Jarvis has this minute finished asking.”

  Gabriel sunk down on a chair, his head in his hands. If she was not at the Hall, and had not crossed his path in traveling to London, where was she? And where had she spent the night? She could be sick or in danger and he was powerless to go to her rescue. Alice stood close by, her head bowed and a small tear making its uneven way down her cheek.

  “Perhaps she has not gone so far.” Gabriel sprung up, filled with a new hope. It was unlikely but possible that she was staying at the Dower House. “Are her clothes here?”

  “I didn’t look, Your Grace. I’m sorry.”

  “Look now.”

  Alice opened the wardrobes, one after another. “There’s nothing missing, sir,” she puzzled.

  “Yes, there is.” Gabriel was grimly surveying the wardrobe contents. “The grey dress she wore when she first came to us. Where is that?”

  “It’s there, in that corner… It ain’t there any longer.”

  “And her portmanteau?”

  Alice checked the floor of the wardrobe. “Gone too, sir.”

  The duke walked to the window and looked blindly down the drive he had just traversed. Elinor had taken what belonged to her and nothing more. She had put on her old dress and packed her old bag, and left behind the trappings of a duchess. There was a finality to her actions and he knew she had left for good. How could she have done that when he loved her from the bottom of his heart? But that was something she could not know. He had pushed her away day after day without explanation and she had decided to take the future into her own hands. He heard her voice in his ear—did she not believe that everyone’s destiny was theirs to determine?

  A quiet knock at the door and Jarvis stood on the threshold. Gabriel leaped to his feet. “You have news?”

  “Ben has something to say, Your Grace,” and he pushed the youngest stable boy into the room. The boy hung his head and seemed unable to open his mouth.

  “Go on, boy.” The butler dug him in the ribs. “Tell His Grace what you’ve just told me.”

  “I sawed ’er,” the boy mumbled.

  “Her? The duchess?”

  The boy nodded. “Where?” Gabriel asked hungrily.

  “Goin’ down the drive.”

  “And?”

  “She were in a carridge.”

  “Your Grace,” interpolated Mr Jarvis, looking severely at his junior.

  “Never mind that. Whose carriage, Ben?” The butler gave the boy another sharp nudge.

  “Mister Frant’s.”

  The duke fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yessir.”

  “And who was driving?”

  “Mister Frant.”

  Jarvis made to hurry the boy from the room, saying as he did, “Would you wish me to send to the Dower House for Mr. Frant, Your Grace?”

  Gabriel’s brow was dark and his face contorted. “No, Jarvis. Allow me to surprise him.”

  He pushed past his retainers and was down the stairs before they could stop him.

  ****

  “Where is he?”

  A loud altercation brought Lady Frant, looking less than her polished best, flying down the stairs. “What are you doing here at this hour, Gabriel? You cannot barge your way into my house in this manner. Please leave!”

  “A landlord is entitled to enter his own property—and stay there if he so wishes,” her nephew retaliated. “I’ve no intention of leaving.”

  Celia’s voice dropped to a placatory murmur. “You are very welcome to return later, Your Grace, but I must ask you to leave now. It is far too early.”

  “A tenant cannot lay down such conditions.”

  Lady Frant abandoned all pleasantries and went in fighting. “What nonsense is this? How dare you speak so to your father’s sister? I am no ordinary tenant.”

  “Indeed you are not. No ordinary tenant would have planned so cleverly to whisk my wife from her home without anyone knowing.”

  There was a silence before Celia spoke, her voice shamming ignorance. “I have no notion of your meaning.”

  “Have you not? Then let me inform you. Elinor is missing from Allingham. She left yesterday in
a carriage driven by your son. Does that help? Do not bother to deny it—I have a stable boy who saw them with his own eyes.”

  “I have no knowledge of such an event. I can only think your servant’s imagination verges on the vivid.”

  “We’ll put it to the test, shall we?” She felt herself unceremoniously pushed aside and forced to watch helplessly as Gabriel took the stairs two at a time.

  “You would not conduct yourself so arrogantly if Roland were here,” she called after him.

  Gabriel paused mid-flight, turning to face her. “He is here, of that I’m sure. But he will wish himself elsewhere when I have finished with him. You will both wish yourselves elsewhere—indeed, you may start packing now.”

  Roland Frant appeared on the landing as the duke reached the top of the stairs. He might have been woken by the commotion below, Gabriel thought grimly, but he was still alert enough to be fully dressed.

  “I must echo my mother’s words, Gabriel,” his cousin began, “and ask you to leave. I imagine this outrageous intrusion is a result of your drinking. I would advise…”

  But Gabriel was not in the mood to take advice. He sprang towards Roland and grabbed him by the throat. The man’s complexion mottled violently until it was almost purple and a strange whimpering noise came from deep within his chest. He struggled in vain to free himself but the duke’s grip was iron, slowly squeezing the life out of him.

  “Where is she, you little rat? Tell me!”

  Roland’s arms waved frantically in the air. The duke allowed his grasp to loosen very slightly.

  “Your Grace, please, I beg of you,” Roland panted.

  “Keep begging and I may let you live. Where is she?”

  “Hurstwood,” his cousin whimpered in a voice grating with pain.

  “Hurstwood? Then you are a bigger villain than I took you for.” Gabriel’s hands began to tighten around the man’s throat once more.