In that she was likely correct. Rother might have had numerous affairs in his youth, any one of them producing a child. To suppose he would remember a single night’s pleasure out of all his escapades took greater faith than Hal possessed. Yet who was he to deny anyone their belief? He took her chilly hand in his and leaned closer, shielding her from the strengthening wind. “Tell me.”
She sighed and nodded, gazing out at the shadow shapes of the early pea vines. “In 1800, a stranger who said he was a French nobleman overturned his carriage outside the town of Angouleme. One of the wheels came off and the carriage, which was going quite fast, went into a ditch. The nobleman survived, as did his valet. His coachman, however, was killed. The nobleman sent the valet into Angouleme for help and returned with the wine merchant, Monsieur Jacque Dubois. The merchant invited the man, who said his name was le Comte du Maine, into his home for the night, until a new carriage and coachman could be found.”
“Did he stay only the one night?” Hal had gotten caught up in the story despite himself. He wanted as many details as possible.
Gabriella shook her head. “Non, because that night at dinner, the daughter of the house herself, Veronique Dubois, served the comte. Only sixteen years old, with long blond hair and a will of her own, she was determined to draw his interest.” Gabriella paused, a wistful smile creeping over her face. “She said he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, tall and straight, with broad shoulders and long, dark hair. The moment she saw him she knew he was the man of her dreams. They flirted with their eyes during dinner, and laughed together over the wine and dessert before she was sent to bed. Her father had seen their glances and feared the worst. He was a very astute man who knew his daughter—and the ways of men—well.”
She shrugged and spread her hands. “In the end it did no good. His daughter had been overcome with a mad passion for the handsome young comte.” Gabriella looked up at him, a tight little smile on her lips. “I believe you may know something of this feeling?”
Hal nodded and clasped both her hands in his. Yes, he knew that passion well.
“That night the daughter went to the comte’s bed, and every night for the week that he lingered there. In the darkness of his room, they shared many things. One night he told her he was in truth an English marquess and would one day become the Duke of Rother. When she asked how he had come to be in Angouleme, he spoke of his travels, how he had been mad to take his Grand Tour, even though wars raged on the continent. Still, he had journeyed to Italy, Egypt, and Greece. When he wished to return to England, he decided to go through France.”
“But in 1800, England and France were at war.” Hal had to point this out, despite how engrossed he’d become in the tale.
Gabriella shrugged. “The war had lasted long, and the marquess was an impatient man. He disguised himself and began his passage home.”
Hal had to admit it certainly sounded like Rother, bold as brass. He’d known the man for years, although they didn’t run in the same circles. Still, this particular story had never surfaced in the ton.
“The marquess also told her he was betrothed to an English lady, daughter of another marquess, and therefore could not marry her, though now he wished it with all his heart.” She laughed softly. “She told me she smiled to herself when he said that, for she knew he would not have married the daughter of a French wine merchant in any case. Still, it was noble of him to say this. When he left at the end of the week, on a boat heading for Bordeaux, she cried, but swore she regretted nothing.” Gabriella stopped and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
Hal slipped his arm around her. Rother had indeed married the daughter of a marquess in the early years of the century. Uncanny how the stories matched, although he assumed the tale was not yet done. “There is one more piece to the story, I suspect?”
“Oui. One more.” She leaned back against his shoulder. “Soon after her lover left, she realized she was with child, as she had hoped. She had wanted to keep something of the man she had fallen in love with, and what better than his child? Her father had expected as much and arranged a marriage for her with another wine merchant in Paris, one of his good friends, Maurice d’Aventure.” Gabriella shrugged. “He was a good man, who knew everything from the beginning. He was very kind to my mother, and after I was born, he raised me as his own daughter, especially when there were no children to follow me. He indulged us in anything, even when my mother insisted I learn to sew well enough to become a modiste and support myself without the necessity of marriage.”
“Why did you not become a dressmaker, then?”
“Oh, I did, for a time. That is how I met Lady Chalgrove. But I do not like sewing,” she said, grimacing at the word. “As we sewed in our rooms above the wine shop, my mother would tell me stories. One of them was of the marquess and her precious time with him. I vowed to myself that I would find him one day, tell him who I was and see to it he remembered my mother.” Gabriella ducked her head. “She said if he agreed to acknowledge me, I could become as one of the ladies at court.”
Hal peered at her, heart racing. “Is that what you desire, my dear? To become a lady such as your mistress?”
She raised her head, eyes bright with tears. “Non, not exactly. I thought I would spend time with my real father, come to know him as my mother had described him. And that eventually he might arrange for me to meet a fine gentleman who would marry me, either here in England or in France. But now…”
“But now?” He forced himself to remain calm, even though he longed to seize her in his arms and tell her everything.
“I have met you.” She brushed at a tear as it trickled down her cheek. “I still wish to meet my father, but if he acknowledges me, we can never be together. A duke would never allow his daughter to marry so far beneath his station.” She gripped his hand, her brows lifting. “I could instead simply meet him, tell him I am his daughter, but ask for no more.” Her face filled with excitement. “Then we could be together, Horace.”
Inwardly, Hal groaned. They must persuade the duke to acknowledge her, or his own father would never allow them to marry. Would it be better to tell her his identity now, or wait until the duke recognized her as his child? If his grace refused, they could not wed, and his ruse would not matter. If he agreed, the revelation of Hal’s subterfuge might make her hate him so much she would never accept him. What a devilish muddle.
“Horace?” Her wide-eyed alarm brought him back to the present.
He opened his mouth to tell her the truth. “I…uh, of course, Gabriella,” he said, automatically rubbing her hand. God, but he was a coward. He simply couldn’t bear to tell her. Not yet. Not until he knew what Rother would do. So how could they convince him? A wild hope sprang up that somehow there had been a secret wedding, or that somewhere there were letters between the duke and her mother in which the duke admitted that Gabriella must be his daughter. “Did your mother have any proof of this story? Papers of some sort?”
She frowned and pulled her hand from his. “Papers? What papers? You think my mother would have stolen the duke’s papers?”
Hal groaned and scrubbed his hand down his face. “No, Gabriella, darling, I didn’t mean that. I just wondered if it was written somewhere that your mother had this affair with Rother. Did he ever write to her, either as the marquess or later, when he became the duke?”
Gabriella rose from the bench like an avenging angel, lacking only a fiery sword to smite him. “You think my mother has lied to me all these years? How dare you suggest such a thing? She is an honorable woman, who has loved me since before I was born. She would never lie to me!”
“No, of course not, Gabriella.” He scrambled up, searching the dark garden to be sure no one had come to investigate her cry. “I didn’t mean—”
“I am Mademoiselle d’Aventure to you, monsieur. Or better yet, do not address me at all if you think so ill of my mother and of me.” She straightened and drew her hand back.
The crack of skin
on skin sounded appallingly loud in the quiet night air. He rubbed at the sting on his cheek then moved his jaw to assure himself it still worked.
“Brûle en enfer!” With that incomprehensible phrase, she whirled around, skirts flying, and marched into the house.
“Damn.” Hal dropped back onto the bench, massaging his still smarting face.
His hopes for a straightforward courtship with Gabriella lay dashed on the cold ground. If Rother turned out to be her father, and if he agreed to acknowledge her, Hal might be a step closer to making her his marchioness. Once acknowledged, she might be considered an eligible parti even by his conservative parent.
If she turned out not to be the duke’s by-blow—despite the plausible tale, it could very well be a tempest in a teapot—or if the duke was not moved to admit his past indiscretion in light of his current search for a wife, Hal was in an even worse position regarding his father’s decree. Asking to marry the illegitimate granddaughter of a French wine merchant might make a ballet dancer seem respectable in his father’s estimation.
Of course, if Gabriella wouldn’t forgive him his doubts, there would be no problem to solve other than where to store the pieces of his broken heart. An unacceptable outcome he would do his best to avoid. He wanted to make a life with her, and despite her recent actions, he believed she wanted the same. They must find a way past this tangle.
Slowly, he rose, determined to commence work on the reconciliation. He would continue plans for her introduction to the duke with Celinda, and what better time than the present? After rescuing his jacket from under the bush, and giving it a brief brushing to dislodge the damp leaves that clung to the fine material, he shrugged it on, at once thankful for its warmth. Playing the part of a valet had grave disadvantages. Looking once more like a guest rather than a servant, he strode around to the front of the house.
The brightness of the foyer blinded him after the dark night, and he blinked as he peered around the elegant townhouse. Strains of a lively Scottish air, sung by a sweet soprano voice, wafted through the house. He enjoyed a good musical performance, but he had business to attend to tonight.
A footman approached him. “May I show you to the music room, my lord?”
Hal shook his head and searched his pockets. “Ask Lady Celinda Graham to meet me in the library, please,” he said, handing over a small white calling card.
“Very good, my lord.” The man disappeared with cat-like stealth.
Hal made for Lord Atherton’s library, keeping an eye peeled for Gabriella, although he doubted she’d be allowed upstairs. Still, he wouldn’t put it past the strongminded woman to take her fate into her own hands once again. He found the library and sank gratefully into a most comfortable deep-buttoned leather chair. A quick look around revealed massive bookcases, but no convenient decanter or glasses. Lord Atherton must rarely visit this room.
“Why have you summoned me?”
He jumped up at the sound of Celinda’s displeased voice.
She stood just inside the doorway, attired in a delightful green silk frock that complemented her creamy skin to perfection. The sour look on her face, however, would threaten to curdle milk. “Do you know where I was? What I was doing?”
“In the music room? Listening to an exquisite rendition of ‘Loch Lomond,’ if my ears can be believed.” He grinned at her, hoping to dispel this mood, and indicated the seat across from his.
Her eyes narrowed, and he tried to gauge the distance between him and the safe haven behind the brown, high-backed chair.
“I’ll have you know I was sitting next to Lord Finley, eternally grateful he’d chosen to sit beside me rather than any of the other ladies present tonight, including my cousin Kate. She ended up sitting with Lord Haversham, so I know she’s ready to chew nails.” She moved toward him, and he did slide behind the chair.
Better safe than sorry.
“I believe Lord Finley was about to ask me to accompany him into the refreshment room at intermission, when your card arrived. Are you trying to ruin my life?”
“No, of course not. But you did promise to help me, and this seemed the best opportunity.”
“Wretch. You couldn’t simply call on me at home, like normal people do?” She hit his arm with her furled fan. “Who knows who’s on Lord Finley’s arm this very moment, staring up into his blue eyes and making him feel like he’s the most wonderful man in the world?”
“Is that what you would have done?” He cocked his head at her. Ladies were infernally hard to understand, so anything he could glean from Celinda about the workings of their minds would be a boon.
“That’s what any woman would do to try to secure a man’s affections.” She flounced over to the chair he had offered and sank down onto it, her brows lowered, her mouth pouting. “So what is it you wanted to speak to me about that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Something quite important.” Hal stepped swiftly to the door and closed it almost three-quarters of the way. “That should preserve your honor and afford us a bit of privacy as well.”
“You think my courtship with Lord Finley is not important?” She glared at him. “Good evening, Lord Halford.” She gathered her shawl and pulled it over her shoulders, preparing to rise from the chair.
“I think it is just as important, but not quite as pressing at the moment as my dilemma.” He returned and put a hand out to stay her. “Why do you and every other person living call me by my title when they are annoyed with me? Can you not muster anger while calling me Hal?”
“I suppose formality is its own form of censure.” Celinda relaxed into the chair and sighed. “So why have you called me here?”
“I have some rather startling news about Madmoiselle d’Adventure.”
Celinda inclined her head toward him, a sudden gleam of interest in her eyes. “This had better astound me, Hal.”
“Oh, I believe it will.” As he related Gabriella’s tale, Celinda alternately leaned forward and reared back, gasped and clutched his arm.
“I told you she had another reason for wanting to meet His Grace,” she said, gathering her shawl around her once more when he had finished. “‘Childhood dream’ indeed.” She tapped her fan against her palm. “Do you think it’s true?”
“It’s certainly possible. The part about him being impatient and donning a disguise smacks very much of Rother, although I confess I’ve never heard anything like this tale from him. Then again, we do not belong to the same clubs.” Hal sighed. “Do you know of anyone who might be able to verify it? Would he have told no one?”
“I will say the timing seems correct.” Celinda settled herself, a pensive frown on her face. “According to my mother, the duke, then Marquess of Poole, spent the years from 1798 through 1800 on his Grand Tour.” She shook her head. “My mother said his wildness made a March hare seem tame when he was a young man.”
“How does your mother know all this?” He’d no idea Lady Ivor would be such a fount of knowledge.
“She keeps a journal with information on all the eligible gentlemen on her special ‘marriage list’ for me and my sisters.”
“And Rother is on that list? But he’s your godfather.” Were such things done? It sounded scandalous.
She raised one gracefully arched eyebrow. “He’s less blood relation than you and I, and you proposed to me.”
“That was a spur of the moment decision. Do you know if I am on that list?”
Celinda merely laughed and continued. “Where was I? Oh, yes, he married Lady Jane Fallow, daughter of the Marquess of Buckland, in the spring of 1801. They’d had no children when she died of smallpox in 1810. He remarried two years later and now has two sons, however, his second wife died shortly after the second son was born, so he’s searching for another wife this Season.” She paused, tapping her fan once more. “I wonder if Mamma has heard a rumor about an affair with a French girl. I shall have to use my best wheedling in the next day or so.”
“I have every confidence in your
talents, my dear.” If her mother knew anything, Celinda would find it out.
“So now, how can I help you and Miss d’Aventure, Hal?” She smiled at him for the first time that night. “We must set a date and time so I can contact His Grace.”
“You will need to arrange the meeting with him for Thursday between one-thirty and two o’clock. Gabriella…Miss d’Aventure says that is when she will likely not be missed by Lady Chalgrove, who will be accepting callers with Lady Hamilton.” If only that were the sole part Celinda needed to play. “You will also need to enlist your mother and some of your friends to create a subterfuge to mask the meeting.”
Her eyebrows swooped up alarmingly. “I am to do double duty for you, is that it? Then it is only fair that you assist me in my pursuit of Lord Finley. Quid pro quo, cousin.” Celinda straightened her shoulders and looked at him innocently, all big blue eyes and cherubic smile.
“Done.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I shall do everything within my power to help you in the leg-shackling of the Viscount Finley.” He drew a cross over his chest. “So help me, God.”
“Very well. So, what role will you play in all this?”
“Unfortunately, none whatsoever.” Hal groaned when her frown returned. “It cannot be helped, my dear. Miss d’Aventure still believes me to be my valet. I can hardly then be present at the meeting. Rother knows me.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Celinda stared at him, her narrowed eyes indicating her displeasure.
“I will hire a carriage to pick her up as soon as her lady goes down to meet her callers. She will arrive at your house shortly thereafter, in need of correct clothing. She should look her very best, don’t you think?” He hadn’t thought about that hurdle until this minute. “Can that be accommodated?”
“Of course. I have four sisters, all in residence this year. She will likely fit someone’s gowns.”
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 57
