One
“My heavens, such a racket. Not that I am complaining, dear Gabriel. Goodness knows a woman in my position would never consider bemoaning her lot in life. It is our Christian duty to be pleased with whatever may befall us. And in truth, Beatrice is such a dear child, I cannot begrudge her peculiar little hobby. I would wish, however, that she would not allow those nasty tradesmen to traipse through the grounds until a decent hour.”
With a deep sense of reluctance, Gabriel Baxtor, Earl of Faulconer, set aside his morning paper to regard his aunt Sarah as she fluttered into the room. A delicate woman with gray hair, she was appropriately attired in black as befitting her role as a much put upon martyr.
As a rule Gabriel endured her sweet complaints with the same wry resignation as he endured the flood of workmen repairing the tumbledown estate and open distrust of his numerous tenants.
After the sudden death of his father and older brother when their yacht had so unexpectedly sunk in the Channel, he had not fully realized the burdens he would be shouldering.
The previous Earl of Faulconer was a renowned reprobate with far more interest in pursuing pleasure than tending to his faltering estate. His eldest son had followed in his footsteps with a commendable vengeance, gambling away what little money remained and borrowing heavily against the future income of Falcon Park.
Gabriel had washed his hands of both of them when he was barely seventeen. He had discovered no pleasure in the scandalous parties his father had hosted, nor the dubious characters who had clung to the fringes of his father’s society. In truth, he was heartily shamed by his family’s hedonistic lifestyle and unable to bear the sight of the noble house tumbling into disrepair while the tenants suffered more desperately each passing year.
Perhaps cowardly he had chosen to enter the army rather than watch the painful decline of the proud Faulconer name. He wanted no part of the inevitable plunge into poverty that would destroy literally hundreds of lives.
It had never occurred to him that his feckless father and brother would be taken from this world together. And that he would be left to face the disaster as Earl of Faulconer.
The truth had not struck until he had returned to an empty Falcon Park with no one to greet him beyond a desperate Aunt Sarah and a hundred resentful tenants who looked to him to restore the glory of Falcon Park.
Gabriel gave a small shake of his head, his lean features tanned from the hours he worked in the fields hardening to grim lines.
He had been shocked and terrified to discover the sheer depth of his father’s folly. Not only had he bled the estate dry, he had sold every piece of jewelry and work of art that might have bought Gabriel time to consider the mess he was in. He was well and truly on the dun without hope of seeing a return on the estate unless a large influx of cash appeared with which to plant the fields and replace the tools that had fallen into disrepair in the nearly collapsed barn.
Beyond that had been the ghastly state of the manor house and numerous cottages not fit for the rats, let alone his tenants.
He had to act.
And he had to act swiftly.
Which is precisely what he had done.
His grim features became even more grim as the late May sunlight glinted off the rich copper highlights in his auburn hair.
Like any fine gentleman in dire straits, he had hurried himself off to London and wooed the most likely heiress he could discover. It was the only respectable means of restoring his estate. Especially for a gentleman with no skills beyond the battlefield. And in short order he had achieved his goal.
He had wed the wealthy Miss Beatrice. Chaswell and in just a few short months his entire estate had seen the benefits of her vast fortune.
The cottages were newly repaired, the fields were being planted, and even the manor house was being completely restored.
It had all worked out precisely as he had desperately hoped it would.
And he had never been so miserable in his entire life.
Realizing that his aunt was regarding him with an expectant expression, Gabriel thrust aside his dark broodings and forced the muscles of his countenance to relax.
He had made his choice and now he must accept the cost.
“Good morning, Aunt Sarah,” he managed in neutral tones.
“I suppose all that knocking and banging woke you up as well, poor boy,” the older woman chattered as she moved to the sideboard and began filling her plate.
“Actually I have been up for several hours. I am told the hay is sweeter when cut in May, so we have been doing our best to complete the task.”
“Indeed? How nice. I see there are no eggs again this morning. Ah, well, I shall simply make do with toast.” Aunt Sarah heaved a mournful sigh, then managed to load her plate with ham, kippers, and a vast assortment of other delicacies before taking her place at the table. She gave a delicate wince at the distant sound of metal scraping against metal. “Really, Gabriel, all that noise. It cannot be good for your digestion. Perhaps I should speak with Beatrice? Just to put a small flea in her ear that you would be better satisfied—”
“No,” Gabriel interrupted sharply.
The older woman was clearly taken aback. “Pardon me?”
“It pleases Beatrice to seek out the latest inventions. I will not have her disturbed.”
With a self-depreciating flutter of her hands, Aunt Sarah gave a weak smile.
“Oh, no, certainly not. And I must say, Gabriel, you are a wonderfully indulgent husband. Not many a gentleman would so generously allow his wife to pursue such an odd fancy.”
Gabriel felt the familiar twist of pain as he thought of his wife. Before their marriage she had regarded him with such a glow of happiness. She had been so sweet, so trusting. And he had been so determined to ensure that she never be disappointed in him.
But, of course, fate was never so kind.
They had barely exchanged their vows, when she had managed to overhear the whispers of his desperate straits. She had suddenly understood his insistence for their swift marriage and determination to sweep her to Derbyshire with all possible haste.
And with that understanding had come a deep, unwavering hatred toward her new husband.
A hatred that had in no way lessened over the past weeks.
“Oh, yes, I am quite indulgent,” he said in dry tones.
Aunt Sarah gave a delicate sniff. “I do not believe Beatrice fully appreciates her good fortune in having you as her husband.”
Gabriel gave a humorless laugh. “I assure you, Aunt Sarah, that Beatrice fully realizes her fortune in becoming Lady Faulconer. Which is precisely why I wish to indulge her. A wife should receive something from her husband.”
“How very droll you are this morning, my dear,” the older woman retorted, as always blithely indifferent to the knowledge that it was because of Beatrice she had food to eat and a dry bed to sleep in. “As if Beatrice isn’t honored by becoming a countess. It is, in truth, more than she deserves with her grandfather being in trade. Not all gentlemen would overlook such an unfortunate connection.”
Gabriel abruptly rose to his feet, his nose flaring with distaste at his aunt’s snobbish tones. Lucifer’s teeth. They had been living hand to mouth until the arrival of Beatrice and her grandfather’s money. It was outrageous to pretend they had done the young maiden some great favor in dragging her to a shabby home with a leaking roof and no servants.
“You are wrong, Aunt,” he said between clenched teeth. “There were literally hundreds of gentlemen desiring a connection with Beatrice.”
Oblivious to the edge of warning in his tone, Aunt Sarah smiled in a complacent fashion.
“And you cut them all out, did you not? Such a clever boy.”
“Oh, yes, I am all that is clever.” He gave a half bow. “Excuse me. I must meet with my steward.”
Thoroughly annoyed with his obtuse aunt and himself for allowing his rigidly controlled emotions to be ruf fled, Gabriel strided out of the room and down the long hall.
For once he did not shudder at the tattered carpeting or faded tapestries. Instead, he attempted to focus his thoughts on the vast amount of work awaiting his attention.
When he had been in the army he had never considered the difficulties of being a farmer. To his mind you dropped a few seeds in the ground and allowed nature to take its course.
Now he could only laugh at his naivety. Not only was farming grueling labor and constant worry, but he had discovered the estate was woefully behind on the latest techniques. Over the past months he had diligently sought to teach himself the best methods of improving production and protecting his land from being drained of its nutrients, but he knew he was still lacking in experience.
It was frustrating to consider the years he had wasted upon the battlefield. Had he known what would be expected of him, he would have devoted himself to learning all that was possible of land management. As it was, he was constantly struggling not to appear a complete buffoon.
With a click of his tongue at his futile wishing, Gabriel headed down the stairs, only to come to a startled halt at the sight of his wife.
Although it was still early, her sensible gray gown was already streaked with dirt and the trim at her hem dangled upon the polished oak stairs. Even the soft honey hair had managed to escape the knot atop her head and curled about the sweetly rounded face.
Gabriel swallowed a smile of amusement at Beatrice’s disheveled appearance. She could never claim the traditional beauty with her numerous curves and plain features, but he found a decided charm to her air of blithe indifference to fashion.
This was a rare woman without vanity or a slavish devotion to fashion. Her thoughts were consumed by far more important matters.
His brief amusement, however, was swiftly squashed as the dark amber eyes hardened at the sight of his lean form.
“Beatrice,” he murmured, knowing she was quite likely to sweep past him without ever acknowledging his presence. Since arriving at Falcon Park she had managed to avoid him with splendid ease. Only the undoubted changes throughout the house assured him that she had not bolted long ago.
Coming to a reluctant halt, she regarded him with a stiff expression.
“Good morning, my lord.”
There was no mistaking the sudden chill in the air, but Gabriel gamely sought to reach out to his stubborn wife.
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
“Not as yet.”
“I would suggest you avoid the breakfast room,” he generously warned. “Aunt Sarah is in rare form.”
She gave a faint shrug. “I am just to my room to change. I promised the vicar I would call upon Mrs. Patton.”
A frown gathered on Gabriel’s brow. Although he rarely saw his wife, he was well aware she was a frequent visitor among the tenants. So frequent that he feared she was pressing herself far too hard to make life better for others.
“You mustn’t allow him to run you ragged, my dear,” he said in careful tones. “I am certain one of the footmen could easily take a basket of food to the widow.”
“It is my duty, my lord,” she retorted in icy tones.
Gabriel felt himself stiffen at her deliberate barb.
Duty.
Oh, yes.
He had endured a stomach full of duty.
It was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
“Of course. We all have our duty, do we not?”
She flushed at his mocking tones. “As you say.”
“I will not keep you.”
“Good day, my lord.”
Instantly regretting the knowledge he had once again wasted the opportunity to break through the ice between them, Gabriel laid a hand upon her arm.
“Beatrice.”
She firmly backed from his touch, but she halted to regard him with a lift of her honey brows.
“Yes?”
“Will you join us for dinner this evening?”
“Are there to be guests?”
“Not that I am aware of. However, it would be a nice change to have my wife at the table.”
“I prefer a tray in my room, my lord.”
Gabriel battled his flare of impatience. He remembered a time when she had rushed to be in his presence. When those amber eyes had sparked to sudden life when he simply walked into the room.
She could not have completely buried those feelings for him, could she? Somewhere deep inside her she still had to care.
Why must she make this so bloody unbearable for both of them?
“How long do you intend to play this game, Beatrice?” he demanded. “Surely I have been punished long enough?”
Her gaze abruptly narrowed. “It is no game, sir.”
“Of course it is. You hide from me like a petulant child.”
“You were the one who desired this marriage. Please do not complain now that it is not precisely as you envisioned it to be.”
His lips twisted as he recalled his foolish dreams. In his imaginings Beatrice was a loving wife who never discovered his need for her fortune, while he gallantly devoted himself to her happiness.
Foolish dreams that had been ended before they could even begin.
“I recall that you were more than eager for marriage as well, my dear.”
Something that might have been pain fluttered over her pale features until she rigidly schooled her expression to stern lines.
“Yes, but unlike you, I have learned to accept what a ghastly mistake it was.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “It need not be a mistake. We could make this marriage as comfortable as any other. More comfortable than most with a little effort.”
“A marriage based on lies can never be more than a hollow mockery.”
He heaved a frustrated sigh. “I never lied to you, Beatrice. You may not lay that upon my door.”
She remained unimpressed by his strict diligence in avoiding any direct lie during their swift courtship.
“Did you not, my lord? At the very least you misrepresented yourself.”
He narrowed his hazel eyes. “And how did I misrepresent myself?”
“You pretended to care.”
Gabriel flinched at the dark accusation. “And how can you be so certain that I did not?”
She abruptly averted her face to regard the dark paneling that lined the staircase.
“Had you cared, you would have told me the truth from the beginning.”
His hands clenched at his sides. He had gone over the courtship in his mind a hundred times. On each occasion he had questioned what he could have done differently. And on each occasion the answer had been the same.
He had done the only thing possible.
“And you would never have allowed me to even approach you again,” he said in flat tones.
“At least we would have been spared this disaster.”
He longed to reach out and shake some sense into her. How could she desire to live in this uncomfortable fashion?
“It is too late for regrets.” He reached out to gently turn her to face him. As always, he was startled by the soft satin of her warm skin. So smooth and utterly tempting. “We are wed and should make the best of the situation.”
She was swift to jerk from his touch. “Easy for you to say, my lord. You have what you desire.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Do you think so?”
“You have your fortune.”
“And what is it you desire, Beatrice?”
“To be left in peace. Excuse me.”
With determined movements she turned to continue her ascent up the stairs. Gabriel allowed her to retreat, knowing from bitter experience that it was impossible to force her to listen to his words of sense.
He had done everything possible to make Beatrice comfortable at Falcon Park.
He had allowed her to choose her suite of rooms far from his own.
He had encouraged her to begin meeting with various inventors around the countryside who hoped to gain her patronage.
And most important of all, he had never pressed her to provide him with his husbandly rights to her bed.
Not that she had shown the least gratitude for his efforts, he acknowledged darkly.
She had labeled him the enemy and he was beginning to fear that nothing would change her mind.
* * *
Much to her disgust, Beatrice realized that she was trembling as she entered her chamber and closed the door.
Saints above.
It had been months since she had discovered Gabriel’s treachery.
Why could she not meet with her husband without feeling as if her heart were being ripped from her bosom?
Because you possessed the poor taste to tumble into love with the man, a voice mocked in the back of her mind.
She winced as she paced across the refurbished room she had decorated in a pale yellow and ivory.
What a fool she had been.
For years she had realized that she was destined to be the target of fortune hunters. No maiden could be heir to such an embarrassing legacy without attracting the attention of unwelcome scoundrels. Especially a maiden who so clearly lacked the grace and beauty to capture the heart of a gentleman in the position to wed for love.
But perhaps arrogantly, she had believed herself far too intelligent to be swept off her feet by a common rogue.
She was no simpering debutant to be charmed by sweet words and practiced kisses.
Oh, no, Beatrice Chaswell was far too clever for any fortune hunter.
She abruptly closed her eyes as a shudder racked her body. Gabriel had taught her that she was not nearly as clever as she believed.
It was easy to be alert for insincere flattery and the usual ploys to lure her into a compromising situation. How could she possibly have prepared herself for a gentleman who claimed to be her friend?
Beatrice reached the window overlooking the neglected garden, when a soft knock on the door had her absently smoothing the stained skirts as she moved back across the room. She rarely took notice of her appearance, since no amount of lovely gowns nor elegant coiffeurs were going to improve her lack of beauty. Besides, she could hardly study the variety of machines brought for her inspection without becoming a bit grubby.
Opening the door, she discovered the downstairs maid waiting for her in the hall.
“Pardon me, my lady.” The servant dipped a small curtsy.
“What is it, Hilda?”
“There is a gentleman to see you.”
Beatrice gave a small frown. The household staff had been well trained to ensure that the numerous inventors eager to gain her patronage were seen only during the early morning hours.
“Did you tell him that I only see tradesmen by appointment? Have him speak with Mr. Eaton,” she commanded, mentioning her highly efficient secretary.
“He is not a tradesman, ma’am. It is a Vicar Humbly,” Hilda corrected her mistress.
Beatrice widened her eyes in surprise. “Vicar Humbly?”
“I believe that was the name he gave.”
A warm rush of pleasure raced through Beatrice. Dear, sweet Mr. Humbly. Until that moment she did not realize precisely how much she had missed his amusing bumblings and odd flashes of insight that came without warning. Although older than her own father, he was one of the few people she felt thoroughly comfortable to be around.
Perhaps because she never felt as if he were judging her and finding her wanting. Or because he truly appeared to appreciate her talents, which were far from maidenly.
Whatever the reason, Beatrice could not deny a deep sense of pleasure at the thought of seeing him again.
“Where did you ask him to wait?”
“In the front parlor.”
“Tell him I shall be right down,” Beatrice commanded. “And call for tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beatrice was struck by a sudden thought. “Oh, and, Hilda, make sure that Cook has plenty of cakes upon the tray. Vicar Humbly possesses a love for sweets.”
“Very good.”
With an excitement she had not felt since arriving at Falcon Park, Beatrice rushed to change her gown to one of pale rose and struggled to tame her willful honey curls into a semblance of tidiness. She even recalled to wash the lingering dirt from her hands and flushed countenance.
There was nothing to be done to make her appear taller or more elegant. Certainly nothing could be done to make her appear to be a countess.
She looked like a farmer’s daughter, and no dresses or pretty ribbons would ever alter that depressing fact.
With a grimace at the reflection in the mirror, Beatrice firmly turned and headed for the door.
She had determined long ago not to regret what she would never be. She was nothing if not practical.
Entering the hall, Beatrice briskly moved toward the stairs. When she had first arrived at Falcon Park she had been horrified to discover the disreputable condition of the ancient estate. Built with a heavily ornate Gothic influence, it possessed a large gatehouse, charming lodges, and a cast iron conservatory. Inside, however, it was dark and damp with furnishings that had long ago fallen beyond repair.
For the first week she had simply wandered the vast halls with a sick sense of regret. Not only at the realization that her marriage to Gabriel was a mockery, but that the home she had always dreamed of possessing had turned out to be a pile of molding rocks.
Hardly the stuff of fairy tales.
Then common sense had taken over. She might not be able to return Gabriel to her knight in shining armor, but she could restore Falcon Park to its former glory.
With her usual efficiency she had set about hiring a workforce from the local area and sent to London for a variety of architects and artists to advise the workers upon the delicate task of repairing the ravages of time and neglect without destroying the precious history of the building.
First had been the private chambers, of course. Beatrice found no charm in having the rain dripping upon her head while she lay in her bed. And then the kitchen and servants’ quarters, which she had swiftly filled with the necessary staff to keep the large house in comfort.
The chapel and dining room were currently under siege as well as the gardens, which she had ordered to be terraced with a wide path to the distant lake.
Oddly, Gabriel had not protested her complete invasion of his home. Even when Aunt Sarah had slyly attempted to stir his anger with her sweet insults of Beatrice’s managing habits, he had merely cast the older woman a steely gaze and informed her that the Countess of Faulconer was in full and complete charge of the household, as it should be.
For a dangerous moment Beatrice had felt her anger momentarily waver. In that brief, shining breath he had once again been the engaging companion who had won her heart. The man who gazed at her not with pity or greed but with a deep understanding of who she was inside.
Beatrice found her steps faltering before she was sternly continuing her path to the front parlor. Saints above, had she not already learned the truth of the Earl of Faulconer?
He had wed her for her fortune.
His ability to make her feel as if she could be so much more to his life than a mere means to saving his estate was not a ruse she would fall for again.
Clearing her futile thoughts, Beatrice pushed open the door to the parlor and stepped inside. The room was dark and highly vaulted with a profusion of pilasters and arched windows. Unfortunately the once-ornate furnishings had become threadbare and dull with age.
But seated like a bright ray of light upon a high-backed chair was Vicar Humbly with his mussed hair, his wrinkled coat, and a smile that could lift the heaviest of hearts.
“Mr. Humbly,” she breathed, rushing forward to throw herself in his arms as he awkwardly rose to his feet.
Sweet comfort flooded through her as he gently patted her back and then stepped away to regard her with his soft brown gaze.
“Beatrice, my dear, how delightful it is to see you again.”
“Whatever are you doing in Derbyshire?”
An expression of near comic dismay descended upon his round countenance.
“Oh, dear, not again.”
Beatrice blinked in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“I was so certain that I had sent a letter warning you of my impending visit.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “No doubt it is still sitting upon my desk, awaiting me to post it. I fear, my dearest, that I become only more absentminded as I grow older. A frightening prospect, is it not?”
Beatrice chuckled at his droll tone. Rather to her amazement, she realized just how good it felt to do so. It had been far too long since she had been amused by anything.
“Never mind. It is a most delightful surprise.”
“How very kind of you.”
“Nonsense,” she insisted, taking his arm and firmly leading him to a nearby sofa. Pressing him onto the tattered cushions, she settled beside him. “It is a joy to have a houseguest. You are my first, you know.”
“Am I?” Humbly gave a wry smile. “Well, I suppose it is hardly proper to intrude upon a newlywed couple. I only beg you will not think me entirely without sensibilities.”
Beatrice stiffened despite her best intentions. To think of herself as a dewy-eyed bride desperate to be alone with her husband was ludicrous.
“I assure you that you do not intrude,” she said firmly. “Indeed, you will be a most welcome distraction. Lord Faulconer is quite busy restoring the fields and cottages.”
Thankfully accepting her blithe response for the lack of desire to be private with her husband, Humbly glanced about the vast chamber.
“I understand his desire to restore Falcon Park. It is a lovely estate. A fine parkland and such a beautiful home.”
Beatrice gave a faint grimace. “I fear it is all sadly in disrepair.”
“Nothing that cannot be put right,” he assured her with a sweet smile. “‘Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.”’
Beatrice discovered herself easily laughing once again. “Actually we have committed the work to a small army of workmen whom you will swiftly discover manage to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times.”
The sherry-brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ah, but think of the result.”
It was something Beatrice pondered quite often. No matter what her reason for being at Falcon Park, she knew that she would take great pride once the work was complete. Having such a personal hand in the repairs had formed a bond with the house she would never have expected.
“Yes, I have hopes it shall all be worthwhile in the end.”
He regarded her with an oddly knowing expression. “All things that are worthwhile require the most sacrifice.”
“Yes,” she murmured, although she sensed he referred to more than replacing rotting roofs and delicate stained glass windows. It was rather a relief when the door opened and the maid entered to place a large tray on the table before the sofa. “Thank you, Hilda,” she murmured as the servant bobbed a curtsy and left the room. Pouring them both a cup of the suitably hot tea, she loaded a plate of various pastries for the vicar. “You will note I have not forgotten your fondness for sweets, Mr. Humbly.”
The vicar beamed with pleasure as he readily accepted his plate. “How very kind. Oh, my, are those lemon tarts?”
“I believe they are.”
“Heavenly,” he murmured as he took a large bite of the tart.
Settling back on the lumpy cushions, Beatrice regarded her guest with an open curiosity.
“Now, why do you not tell me what brings you to Derbyshire?”
“Well, I wished to see you, of course, my dear. And I have an old friend not far from here whom I wished to visit. Unfortunately he is not well and I could not in good conscience impose myself upon his household.”
She smiled in sympathy. “I am sorry your friend is unwell, but very pleased you will be staying at Falcon Park.”
Humbly efficiently polished off his last tart and reached for another. “I do hope your husband will be similarly pleased. I am, after all, a mere stranger to him.”
In truth Beatrice had not even considered her husband’s reaction.
“Do not fear, Lord Faulconer will be delighted to have you as our guest,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “More tea?”
“No, thank you. But perhaps one more of those tarts?”
“Of course.” Beatrice refilled his plate and watched in pleasure as he rapidly consumed the last tart. Thank goodness she had managed to lure a seasoned cook from the local squire. “Tell me how Mrs. Stalwart goes on.”
Humbly wrinkled his nose. “Very well, although quite vexed with me at the moment.”
Beatrice did not doubt that the overly protective woman was decidedly miffed to have her chick so far from her nest.
“She did not desire you to travel such a great distance from Surrey?”
“Precisely.” Humbly gave a sigh. “One would think that I had suggested sailing to the colonies.”
“Well, it is a goodly distance.”
The twinkle returned to his eyes. “Especially for a man of my advanced years.”
“Nonsense.” She was swift to protest. This man would never grow old. Not with his youthful spirit.
“Well, that was not her only complaint. You see, my dear, I am under very strict orders to have my library sorted through so that my books can be packed and moved to my cottage.”
“Your cottage? You are leaving the vicarage?” she demanded in startled tones.
“Oh, yes, I am soon to retire.”
Beatrice felt a poignant pang of loss. There had always been something very comforting in having Mr. Humbly at the vicarage. A constant in an ever-changing world.
“But that is dreadful.”
“Oh, no, my dear, it is entirely for the best,” he said in mild tones. “I grow old and tired and quite looking forward to my days shuffling through my garden and relaxing by the fire with no fear I shall be called out by one of my flock. Besides, the new vicar is quite an exceptional gentleman. I do not doubt that the Church will be in competent hands.”
“But it will not be you,” she said sadly.
Before he could retort, the door was once again pushed open. Expecting Hilda returning to collect the tea tray, Beatrice froze in surprise as the elegant form of her husband stepped into the room.
A tingle of awareness she could not entirely banish despite her fierce attempts rushed through her body. Although he was casually attired in buff breeches and tan coat, he still managed to have an air of coiled power about him. It was in the graceful precision of his movements and authority etched onto the features just a breath from being beautiful.
There was no wonder she had tumbled for him like a giddy schoolgirl, she thought ruefully. Few gentlemen could measure up to Gabriel in looks or charm.
Especially when he had combined his natural attributes with stolen kisses that had made her blood rush and her knees weak.
Thankfully unaware of her inward musings, Gabriel strolled forward and regarded Vicar Humbly with a curious glance.
“I was told that we have a visitor. May I welcome you to Falcon Park?”