Two
“Thank you, my lord.”
Gabriel found the tension that had clutched at his body when he had discovered an old acquaintance had called upon his wife slowly easing. He was not certain what he had expected. Perhaps one of her old suitors hoping to ease her obvious disappointment in her husband. Or an interfering friend who would attempt to convince her to return to the comfort of her home in Surrey.
He now felt rather foolish to discover it was only Beatrice’s old vicar, who had performed their wedding ceremony.
Certainly his arrival had not been worthy of Gabriel’s swift retreat from the fields and his hasty charge through the house, he wryly acknowledged. He had not moved with such determination since leaving Napoleon’s battlefields.
“How delightful,” he murmured, performing an elegant bow.
The older gentleman struggled to push his bulk from the sofa.
“You must forgive me, my lord,” he puffed, absently attempting to tame the handful of determined gray hairs. “It appears that the letter warning of my impending arrival was never delivered. No doubt because it is still sitting on my desk. I fear I have simply descended with my hat in hand.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched at his dry tone. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Humbly. We are pleased to have you here.”
“So kind.”
“Not at all.” Gabriel turned his gaze to his wife, startled to discover her lovely eyes glowing with a warmth he had not seen for far too long. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy that it was not he who had created that glow before sternly gathering control of his futile emotions. “I do hope that Beatrice has warned you that we have been invaded by a small army of workmen?”
The vicar gave a nod of his head. “Yes, indeed. May I say, this is a truly lovely home? No doubt there is a great deal of history within these stone walls?”
Gabriel’s lips twisted as he recalled the dubious history of the Faulconer clan. For one of England’s finest families, there was an embarrassing profusion of scoundrels, gamesters, and even a few outright criminals.
“Most of it is best not remembered,” he admitted. “I fear my ancestors were a motley crew.”
Far from shocked by his lack of snobbish pretensions, the vicar merely chuckled.
“I am certain that most of us could find a few undesirables among our distant relatives. I have it upon excellent authority that my great-uncle was hanged at Tyburn as a highwayman.”
Gabriel discovered himself oddly drawn to this peculiar gentleman. There was a simple charm about him as well as a faint hint of shrewd intelligence deep in his eyes.
“If you are truly interested, I believe there are a few books in the library that trace the history of Falcon Park.”
The vicar appeared suitably pleased. “Thank you. I should enjoy that very much. History has always been rather an interest of mine.”
“Mine as well.” Gabriel slid a glance toward his silent wife. “Beatrice, on the other hand, has her mind firmly on the future.”
As happened all too frequently, Beatrice stiffened at his attempt to forge a bridge between them, but Mr. Humbly was swift to fill the awkward silence.
“Ah, yes, I remember how fascinated Beatrice has always been in the latest inventions.”
“It is how my grandfather amassed his fortune,” she said in low tones.
Gabriel flinched at the direct hit, but Humbly merely smiled.
“A very astute gentleman with a rare gift of realizing the potential of various inventions long before others could see their worth. It always amazed me how he could look at what appeared to me as nothing more than gears and wheels and see magic.”
“It is a gift he has bestowed upon his granddaughter,” Gabriel said, carefully noting the startled glance he received from his wife. “She regularly allows hopeful inventors to display their work in the hope of her patronage.”
His instinct was correct when the vicar clapped his hands together rather than express the disapproval poor Beatrice had endured too often.
“But that is wonderful.”
Delightfully flustered, Beatrice could not prevent the color from flooding her cheeks. It added a decided charm to her plain features.
“I do not claim to possess my grandfather’s talent, but I do enjoy the thought of encouraging those who will keep England at the forefront of the world.”
“A most admirable sentiment. I hope you will include me in your fascinating hobby,” the vicar retorted with obvious sincerity.
Beatrice gave a wry grimace. “If you wish, although I must warn you that more often than not it is all nothing more than a mare’s nest. When there is money offered, every scoundrel and ruffian is eager to line up at the door.”
Humbly gave a wise nod of his head. “Yes, I suppose that is true enough.”
“It only makes it worse that I happen to be a woman,” Beatrice continued, her light tone not quite disguising her inner frustration at the prejudice she consistently faced. “Too many gentlemen possess the belief that because I wear a dress I cannot possibly also possess a brain.”
“A notion you are swift to correct, I am certain, my dear,” Gabriel said in dry tones.
Her gaze abruptly dropped. “I should hope so. I would not wish to be thought a fool.”
Again.
The word went unsaid, but it hung in the air with a thick vengeance. Gabriel tightened his lips.
Did the most simple conversations need be plagued with animosity? Could she not lower that prickly guard even a moment?
It appeared not, he conceded with an unconsciously weary shake of his head.
Well, he had plenty of troubles awaiting his attention that he could attempt to solve. There was little use in battering his head against a stone wall.
“No, such a dreadful fate when one is foolish,” he drawled before turning back to encounter the vicar’s speculative gaze. “Mr. Humbly, I hope you will make yourself comfortable. Beatrice, I shall see you later.”
About to make a dignified exit, Gabriel was halted as the portly gentleman stepped toward him.
“My lord?”
“Yes?”
“If you do not mind, I would desire to ensure that the young farmer who so kindly brought me from the posting inn has been fed. He refused my offer of payment for his troubles and I would like to think he has received something for his efforts.”
“Of course. We shall go directly to the kitchen.”
Gabriel patiently waited for Humbly to take leave of Beatrice before escorting him out of the room. He did not doubt it appeared odd that he made no effort to bid his own wife farewell, but at the moment he did not trust his temper to endure yet another barb from her sharp tongue.
Walking down the long hall, Gabriel drew in a deep breath and glanced toward the much-shorter gentleman, who was currently craning his neck to regard the long corridor.
“Oh my, an open-timbered hallway,” Humbly breathed with sincere delight. “So lovely.”
Never having been in the position of host, Gabriel gathered his thoughts and made an effort to appear suitably pleased with his guest.
“It is, I believe, one of the finer halls in all of Derbyshire,” he said as they moved toward the stairs. “Of course, like the rest of the estate, it has been shamefully neglected.”
“I suppose not all people appreciate the difficulties of preserving history,” the vicar said in mild tones.
“No, indeed.” Gabriel briefly thought of his father’s bitter complaints at the drafty rooms and rambling wings. “Had my father had his way, he would have pulled this monstrosity down and built an Italian villa. Thankfully the entail precluded such drastic changes.”
The vicar sucked in a sharp breath, not entirely able to disguise his shocked disapproval at the late earl’s lack of appreciation for his inheritance. Gabriel knew he would be even more shocked by the nights of gambling and dissipation that had left the rooms in shambles and priceless furnishings toppled about like worthless bits of rubbish.
“Good heavens. It would be a sin to destroy such beauty,” Humbly said with a shake of his head.
“My thought precisely,” Gabriel readily agreed, although deep inside he shuddered at the cost of saving such beauty.
He and Beatrice both had been sacrificed upon the altar of Falcon Park.
Almost as if able to read his thoughts, Vicar Humbly abruptly turned his head to regard him with a searching gaze.
“No doubt Beatrice was delighted when she arrived? Not all brides can claim such an ancient countryseat.”
Gabriel grimaced as they made their way down the stairs and he turned to lead his guest toward the back of the house.
“I am not sure delighted is precisely how I would describe her reaction.”
“Overwhelmed, perhaps?”
Gabriel paused before giving a faint shrug. If this gentleman were to remain at Falcon Park, he would swiftly discover that all was not well between Lord and Lady Faulconer.
“Closer to furious, I fear.”
Humbly gave a vague blink. “Furious?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Beatrice had not realized the full extent of my father’s reckless disregard for his inheritance. No bride would be delighted to discover leaking roofs, fireplaces that smoke, and only an old retainer to see to her needs.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in that one word. “You did not warn her of what to expect?”
Gabriel’s hands unconsciously clenched at his sides. “No. A decision I assure you that I deeply regret.”
“Honesty is always best between man and wife, no matter how difficult,” the vicar murmured.
“Rather easier said than done.”
“Indeed.” There was a measure of silence before Humbly sent him a startlingly kind smile. “But do not worry. I am certain that Beatrice has quite settled in and will soon have the estate in efficient order. She is a very intelligent and capable maiden.”
The heaviness that clung tenaciously about him was briefly eased by the vicar’s low words.
It was true that Beatrice had devoted herself to restoring the house. Not only restoring it, he silently corrected, but preserving the essential beauty and grandeur of the entire estate. It would have been far easier for her to leave the difficult task in the hands of the workmen. Or even his own.
Instead, she had overseen the most tedious details, matching fabrics, carpets, paneling, and fixtures to exacting perfection. Not a speck of dirt was moved without her express approval.
Surely that spoke of some acceptance of her situation, he attempted to comfort himself. Such dedication revealed an emotional commitment whatever her dislike for the Earl of Faulconer.
“Yes, she has already performed no less than a miracle. And, of course, the staff adore her.”
“She is very easy to adore,” Humbly said softly.
Gabriel resisted the urge to laugh.
Oh, yes, she was all that was adorable.
To everyone but him.
Reaching the wide doorway to the kitchen, Gabriel came to a halt.
“Here we are. I will leave you in Cook’s capable hands. I must be off to the fields.”
“Certainly.” The vicar gave him one last penetrating glance that seemed to reach to his very soul before nodding his head. “I shall see you at dinner, no doubt?”
“Of course.”
With a sketchy bow, Gabriel turned and headed directly toward a nearby door.
He had been relieved when he had discovered Beatrice’s guest was the simple, elderly vicar.
Now he began to wonder if there wasn’t a great deal more to this Mr. Humbly than there appeared to be.
There was something in those eyes.
Something that spoke of a wisdom and perception that could be deucedly disconcerting.
His lips momentarily tightened.
Just what he needed, he thought with a hint of frustration.
Another problem to plague him.
* * *
For the first time since becoming Countess of Faulconer, Beatrice carefully attired herself in a satin peach gown and made her way down to the salon.
Perhaps it had been rather childish to insist on eating her meals in splendid isolation. No doubt Gabriel thought it was out of mere spite that she did not join him and Aunt Sarah, as was proper. But in truth she had been unable to bear the thought of sitting at the table pretending that they were simply another married couple.
It smacked too closely of the rosy dreams she had harbored during her all too brief engagement. Dreams of intimate life with the man who had stolen her heart.
Tonight, however, she firmly thrust aside her reluctance and called for her startled maid to help her prepare for the evening ahead. She could hardly hide in her chambers when they possessed a guest. Besides which, she was quite certain the presence of Vicar Humbly would ease the icy atmosphere to at least a bearable level.
Heaven knew, he could not make it worse, she wryly acknowledged.
Standing beside the massive arched window, she was absently tugging upon one of the ribbons on her gown when the door opened and the vicar stepped into the room.
A smile curved her lips as his eyes widened in startled awe. She easily recalled her own amazement when she had first viewed the formal room. Built in an octagon shape, the room was dominated by a vast fireplace with suits of ancient armor guarding the corners and heavy shields hung upon the stone walls. One could almost smell the history and pageantry in the air.
“Oh, my,” Humbly murmured as he moved toward Beatrice.
“Quite daunting, is it not?” she demanded in sympathy. “I have not yet decided how to maintain the dignity of the room while adding a bit of comfort.”
“A difficult task, indeed.” The vicar glanced pointedly toward one of the suits of armor standing at eternal attention. “I feel as if I have been whisked to the past. At any moment I expect a knight to stride across the room and challenge me to a joust.”
The mere image of the decidedly rotund vicar perched upon a warhorse and covered in iron was enough to make Beatrice chuckle.
“He would be a very rusty knight,” she assured him.
“Yes, we should no doubt hear him squeaking long before he could throw down the gauntlet,” Humbly agreed with a smile, then he breathed in deeply, obviously as sensitive as herself to the lingering ghosts in the air. “Such wonderful history in every room.”
“It is indeed an ancient holding. I believe that a few of Lord Faulconer’s ancestors fought in the Battle of Hastings and were granted these lands for their bravery.”
“Goodness. I do hope I can find in the library those books that Lord Faulconer spoke of.” Humbly turned to face her with a pleased smile. “Just imagine our sweet Beatrice becoming a part of such an illustrious family.”
Beatrice smiled without humor. Oh, yes. How wretchedly clever she had been.
“Not such a feat considering that I bring with me a large fortune.” She could not prevent the blunt words from tumbling from her lips. There was little point in dissembling or attempting to pretend that hers had been a love match. Not even this sweet, rather vague gentleman was that blind. “Estates such as Falcon Park are always in desperate need of funds. Or so I have discovered.”
Thankfully Mr. Humbly did not appear horrified by her confession. And even more thankfully he did not attempt to deny the fact her fortune had been her primary attraction. Instead, he offered her a glance of gentle understanding.
“You bring with you much more than mere money, Beatrice.” He stepped closer, reaching out to grasp her hands in a comforting motion. “You are an intelligent, competent maiden with a sensible manner that will be of far more value to this household than any inheritance. I have already discovered the vast changes you have made for the better, as well as the fact that you are well respected by the servants. They indeed could not say enough good things about their new countess.”
Beatrice could not help but be warmed by his kind words. Mr. Humbly had a true gift for making one feel uniquely special. It was, no doubt, why she had so often sought his company when she was young, she acknowledged. Despite her parents’ obvious love, Beatrice had always felt awkward and hopelessly plain when in the company of her elegantly beautiful family. It was a relief to be with a gentleman who openly admired her intelligence and even encouraged her eccentric love for mechanical gadgets.
She felt as if she had her own wonderful value as a person when with the vicar.
It was the same way she had felt with Gabriel. At least until she had discovered the truth.
“I am not always sensible, unfortunately,” she said as she recalled her foolishness with a wince of pain. “Like all maidens, I can be easily swayed by soft words and shallow charm.”
A faint frown formed on his brow at her self-mocking tone. “If you are speaking of following your heart, then you are not supposed to be sensible, my dear. None of us can hope to govern our emotions with our minds. That is what makes it all so delightful.”
Delightful?
Gads, the vicar had obviously not had the pleasure of falling in love.
“No, it is not delightful,” she retorted, pulling her hands free and moving to stand in the pool of light given by the magnificent gilt metal chandelier. “It is ghastly. Emotions make a person weak and lead them to the most outrageous folly.”
There was a small silence before the vicar moved to stand before her, his expression obviously troubled.
“Beatrice, what is it? Are you unhappy here?”
Beatrice swiftly caught back the urge to pour out her troubles like a weepy schoolgirl.
Saints above. This man was her guest. She should be ensuring he was smiling with pleasure, not badgering him with her plight the moment he walked through the door.
She would soon have the reputation of one of those self-obsessed, bitter women who all avoided like the plague.
“Forgive me, Mr. Humbly,” she said, summoning a determined smile. “Of course I am not unhappy. I have a great deal to keep me content.”
His expression remained troubled. “Content? Hardly the word I would expect from a new bride.”
“It is enough,” she assured him.
“Beatrice . . .”
The vicar’s concerned words were brought to a thankful end as the door was thrust open to reveal a thin, aging woman attired entirely in black. Beatrice smiled wryly as Aunt Sarah paused with astonishment at the sight of a strange gentleman in such proximity. Although a seemingly harmless widow, Aunt Sarah was a master of manipulation, with a tenacity that would put Napoleon to shame.
“Beatrice, my dear, are you joining us for dinner?” she cried, managing to instill a hint of censure for all the evenings Beatrice did not appear. “How lovely.”
“Yes, Aunt Sarah. We have a guest,” Beatrice retorted in mild tones, far too accustomed to the woman to allow herself to be ruffled. “May I introduce Vicar Humbly? Vicar, this is Lord Faulconer’s aunt, Mrs. Quarry.”
Like a falcon honing in on its prey, Aunt Sarah swooped across the room and sank her talons into the startled Mr. Humbly’s arm.
“A guest. How delightful. And a vicar. Tell me, did your wife travel with you?”
Clearly sensing his sudden danger, Humbly awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah ... no. I have never married.”
“I see.” Aunt Sarah preened with obvious satisfaction. “I myself am a widow. I lost my husband several years ago, poor man. Such a dear, but always so foolish upon his horse. It came as no surprise when he was discovered in a ditch with his neck broken.”
Humbly gave a startled cough. “Oh, I am sorry for your loss.”
Aunt Sarah heaved a dramatic sigh. “It was a blow. And, of course, becoming a widow at such a young age was a terrible burden. I was forced to become dependent upon my family for their support. I do not know what I would do without dearest Gabriel. Oh, and, of course, Beatrice,” she added as a second thought.
Beatrice merely smiled, wickedly enjoying the sight of Humbly struggling to maintain his composure beneath the onslaught of a marriage-mad widow.
“Yes,” he at last managed to choke out.
Predictably unaware of the vicar’s unease or Beatrice’s amusement, Aunt Sarah smiled coyly into Humbly’s flushed countenance.
“Not that I haven’t had several opportunities to marry again. Several opportunities. But when one reaches our age, Mr. Humbly, we become far more wise and less prone to rash decisions, do we not? I have quite decided that only a comfortable gentleman will do for me now.”
Beatrice loudly coughed to cover her burst of laughter at the painfully obvious lure while Humbly cast her a desperate glance.
Really, she had thought the debutantes at Almack’s a desperate crew. They had nothing on Aunt Sarah, she acknowledged with poorly concealed amusement.
“Quite understandable.” Humbly murmured.
Aunt Sarah batted her lashes. “I suppose that you seek comfort rather than the sparkle of youth?”
“I? Well, I . . .”
The sound of the door opening rescued Humbly from his obvious predicament, although Beatrice discovered herself instinctively stiffening. She knew precisely who she would see as she slowly turned to encounter the hazel gaze of her husband.
Attired in a dark coat and breeches, Gabriel appeared much the same as the first evening she had met him. At that moment she had thought he must be the most handsome gentleman in England with that hair the vibrant color of fall leaves and his hazel eyes gleaming with a ready humor. There had been none of the ennui or sardonic boredom that so marked the men of the ton. Instead, he had crackled with a restless energy that had reached across the room and sent a rash of awareness over her skin.
And, of course, there had been that indefinable attraction, she reluctantly conceded. An utterly feminine acknowledgment of his male sensuality that had stirred to life desires she had never before experienced.
Dangerous desires, she thought as a shiver raced through her.
Reaching her side, Gabriel gazed into her wide eyes and offered a potent smile.
“Forgive me for my late arrival. There was some trouble with one of the tenant’s cottages.” He reached out and audaciously claimed her fingers to lift them to his lips. Beatrice caught her breath, unable to halt the poignant heat that flooded her body. “It is a pleasure to have you join us, my dearest,” he murmured.
Beatrice was determined to wrench her hand away. She had made it clear she did not want his false charm or husbandly advances. But even as she told herself that was precisely what she was about to do, she remained gazing into the hazel eyes that seemed to hold a glow of tender warmth. A tenderness that seemed to reach out and touch her battered heart. It was at last the sound of Aunt Sarah loudly clearing her throat that made Beatrice realize what she was doing and with a faint blush she hastily stepped away from her husband.
Gabriel smiled ruefully, but with his usual composure turned to offer Mr. Humbly a half bow. “Vicar, can I offer you a brandy?”
Like a gentleman being offered a reprieve from the gallows, Humbly eagerly detached himself from the tenacious woman at his side.
“Yes, indeed. I should like that very much.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched as he moved to pour two glasses of brandy from the distant side-table and returned to offer one to the vicar.
“I think you will find this to your taste,” he murmured. “If nothing else, my father did manage to keep a respectable cellar.”
Humbly took a cautious sip, his eyes widening with pleasure.
“Ah, most fine.”
Gabriel gave a pleased nod of his head as he returned to his place at Beatrice’s side.
“I trust that you have been made comfortable?”
“Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to assure him. “Beatrice has taken great care of me.”
“The sly child,” Aunt Sarah twittered, edging closer to the wary vicar. “She did not breathe a word to me about having a guest. Had I known, I certainly would have made the effort to ensure the vicar’s comfort.”
Humbly choked on his brandy. “No need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Quarry. I assure you that Beatrice has seen to all of my needs.”
Aunt Sarah pressed her hands to her thin chest. “Trouble? Nonsense. I positively delight in making others comfortable. It is, after all, the duty of poor relatives. Tomorrow I shall see that there is a proper English breakfast and then perhaps later I can show you about the estate.”
Humbly shifted his feet, no doubt considering the fine notion of bolting.
“Most kind, I’m sure.”
“Oh, it shall be lovely. Gabriel and Beatrice are always so busy that I have grown tediously dull in my own company. I quite look forward to having someone to fuss over.”
Perhaps having sent a prayer upward, Humbly was unexpectedly reprieved as the distant sound of a gong echoed through the vaulted chamber.
Taking Beatrice’s hand before she could protest, Gabriel laid it upon his arm.
“I believe dinner is ready. Shall we, my dear?” Not waiting for her response, he began to lead her from the room, casting a glance over his shoulder as the vicar reluctantly allowed Aunt Sarah to regain her grasp upon his sleeve. “Do you intend to rescue poor Humbly from Aunt Sarah?” he questioned in low tones.
Beatrice desperately attempted to ignore the clean, warm scent that threatened to wrap about her.
“Perhaps.”
“He is looking distinctly harried.”
“Aunt Sarah has a tendency to make the stoutest soul appeared harried,” she said dryly.
Their gazes briefly met in companionable amusement. It was a glance they had shared numerous times during their courtship. A glance that said they understood precisely what the other was thinking without saying a word.
“Yes, indeed,” he said softly. “I should dislike, however, for the vicar to be run off too swiftly. It is obvious that you enjoy his company.”
Beatrice forced her gaze toward the shadowed hall, wishing her heart would steady its erratic beat.
“I do. Mr. Humbly is very kind and far more clever than one would suspect by his vague manner.”
Gabriel gave a dry laugh. “I had already suspected as much. Does it matter?”
She unconsciously tightened her fingers upon his arm. “He is bound to realize that all is not well between us.”
“He would not need to be particularly clever to deduce that, my dear. It is hardly a secret.”
“No, I suppose not.”
A thick silence descended, broken only by the swish of her satin skirts and the distant chatter flowing from Aunt Sarah. Then Gabriel reached up to cover her fingers with his hand.
“There is a simple solution to your dilemma, Beatrice,” he said in odd tones.
“Really? And what is that?”
“Make this marriage real.”
Beatrice stumbled as a rash of fear and excitement churned through her stomach.
“It is real.”
“No, it is no more than a shallow imitation,” he said lowly.
Her gaze abruptly lifted to stab him with a glittering glare. “Do you mean that you wish for me to allow you into my bed?”
The hazel eyes briefly flared with what might have been desire before he was drawing in a deep breath.
“It would certainly be a beginning, but that is not all I speak of.”
Disconcerted more by the clamoring ache deep within her than his smooth offer, Beatrice gave a sharp shake of her head.
No. She did not want to desire Gabriel.
Not now.
“No.”
His hand briefly tightened on her hand, then he was forcing a smile to his lips.
“Then we shall simply have to endure the undoubted curiosity of the vicar, will we not?”