Three
Gabriel polished off his third plate of ham, eggs, and toast with a satisfied sigh.
Thank God Beatrice had discovered such a treasure in the kitchen, he acknowledged.
Although a slender gentleman, he had always possessed a hearty appetite, and the long hours in the fields only sharpened his need for plentiful food.
The mere thought of fields brought a small groan to his lips.
Lud, he ached from head to toe. Not even the years on the battlefield had prepared him for the backbreaking work of cutting hay, repairing fences, thatching cottages, and restoring the outbuildings. His hands were callused, his back so sore he could barely move, and his feet blistered by the hours of wading through mud, hay, and gravel.
So much for the image of a gentleman of leisure, he sighed. The only leisure he enjoyed was when he managed to stumble to his bed and pass out from sheer exhaustion.
Of course, for all his aches and pains, he could not deny a sense of growing satisfaction. Much to his surprise, he discovered he enjoyed seeing the direct results of his labor. It was one thing to watch the tenants laboring in the fields or commanding workmen to repair the ravaged barns and outbuildings. It was quite another to climb upon a cottage and realize his hours of labor would ensure a family slept dry in their beds that evening.
Being so directly involved in the estate was weaving a bond with the land and people that would never have developed while sitting in an office or speaking with his steward. How could a man remain immune when he could see the immediate results of his efforts with his own eyes?
A pity hard work alone could not have saved Falcon Park, he thought with an uncomfortable pang.
He could have taken pure pride in reclaiming his heritage had he been able to save it with his own hands. As it was, he knew that his pleasure in his estate would always be shadowed by Beatrice’s sadness.
Almost as if his unwelcome thought had conjured the presence of his bride, Beatrice swept into the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of his lone form at the breakfast table.
She had clearly just left her chambers, as her soft cinnamon gown was not yet marred with dirt and her ribbons remained intact. Her honey curls, however, were already tenaciously slipping from the knot atop her head to play about her cheeks in a charmingly haphazard manner.
Rising to his feet, he watched in wry resignation as she hovered close to the door. No doubt considering the best means of escaping, he acknowledged.
“Good morning, my dear,” he murmured in determined tones.
More or less trapped for the moment, Beatrice absently plucked at the ribbon tied beneath the high waist of her gown.
“Mr. Humbly is not yet down?”
“Oh, yes. He has already eaten and been swept off by a very determined Aunt Sarah.”
“Oh.”
A small silence fell before Gabriel waved a hand toward the table.
“Will you not join me?”
She glanced over her shoulder, perhaps hoping for inspiration, or at least a timely reprieve.
“I am not really hungry,” she at last said weakly.
Gabriel clenched his hands in frustration. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, have a seat, Beatrice. I am not about to pounce in the middle of the breakfast room.”
She flushed at his sharp tone. “You need not snap at me.”
“Forgive me, but I fear the knowledge that my wife cannot bear to be in my presence occasionally strikes a nerve.”
“I simply prefer to avoid our unpleasant squabbles,” she protested in stiff tones.
Gabriel did not believe her.
Oh, not that she disliked the prickly tension between them. No one could wish to be forever at odds with another.
But there was more to her hurried retreats and icy demeanor than mere dislike, he slowly acknowledged. There was a hint of wariness that made him wonder precisely what she was hiding behind her icy defenses.
“Then shall we make an effort to avoid such unpleasantness?” he questioned in cautious tones. “With Mr. Humbly staying at Falcon Park we are destined to be spending at least some time together. Surely it would be better for all if we could at least manage to be polite to each other?”
There was a pause before Beatrice gave a restless shrug at his obviously sensible suggestion.
“I shall make the attempt.”
Emboldened by her agreement, Gabriel offered a faint smile. “It was once not such an effort. Do you recall the night we slipped from the Dunby ball and strolled through the gardens?”
He could see her visibly stiffen, but thankfully she did not scurry away as he had feared she might.
“I recall that it was cold.”
He moved around the table, careful not to make any sudden movements, as if she were some wary prey he was stalking.
“We walked for nearly an hour before we returned to the house. We had no difficulty getting along that evening.”
“Of course not. I foolishly thought that you desired to be with me because you genuinely liked me. Did it amuse you to pretend an interest in my childish babblings?”
His heart flinched at her rapier-edged words. Lud, but she knew how to strike where it hurt the most.
“Stop it, Beatrice,” he said in low tones. “I never pretended when I was with you. I have always liked and respected you.”
She waved aside his words with patent disbelief. “I do have one question, my lord.”
Gabriel gritted his teeth at her refusal to even consider the notion his emotions had been sincere.
“Gabriel.”
She blinked in confusion. “What?”
“My name is Gabriel. As your husband, I believe that I have the right to at least have you use my proper name.”
“Right?”
“Yes. God knows I ask nothing else.”
A faint color stained her cheeks at his deliberate words. “If you insist.”
“I believe I must,” he commanded. “Now, what is the question?”
There was a moment’s pause before she tilted her chin to regard him with a steady gaze.
“Why me?”
Gabriel frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Why me?” she repeated in tight tones. “The ton is littered with heiresses. Not all inheritences as large as mine, but certainly enough for your needs. Was it because you knew I was not likely to receive an offer from another?”
Gabriel suddenly felt as if he had been catapulted back onto the battlefield.
Blast it all.
She had to know there was no way to answer the danger-fraught question without wounding her further.
Disaster loomed all about him.
“For God’s sake, Beatrice,” he muttered.
“Will you not answer me?”
“What is the point of this discussion now?”
An indefinable emotion rippled over her pale features. “Because I wish to know.”
“Very well.” He unconsciously squared his shoulders. “I chose you because you professed a preference for living in the country. I knew the estate would demand a great deal of my time to save it from disaster, and I could not pander to a woman who preferred to be gadding about London.”
Her gaze never wavered. “And it had nothing to do with the fact that I had no other suitors who might warn me of your true intentions?”
Gabriel heaved a harsh sigh, raking a hand through his russet hair. “You demand your pound of flesh, do you not, my dear?”
“I simply wish the truth between us for a change.”
Gabriel searched the strong features, wondering why she was suddenly so determined to insist upon a conversation she had so diligently avoided for weeks.
Did she truly desire to clear the air between them? Or was she simply searching for further cause to fan the flames of her self-righteous anger?
He was no doubt damned either way, he ruefully told himself.
“Then, yes,” he reluctantly conceded. “It suited my purpose not to battle my way past dozens of admirers. I am a soldier, not a practiced flirt. I could not fool myself that I was capable of dazzling any woman with my wit and charm. My only hope was discovering a maiden who preferred a plainspoken gentleman to a well-versed rake.”
Her hands clutched at the skirt of her gown, crushing the soft fabric beyond repair.
“How delighted you must have been to discover an awkward, plain maiden who hadn’t the least notion of how to play the games of flirtation.”
Gabriel moved forward to grasp her shoulders in a tight grasp. Dash it all. She could brand him as the devil, but he would not have her mocking her own special qualities.
“You are not awkward or plain, but I was pleased that you were not a shallow flirt. I genuinely thought with your practical nature and dislike for society you would enjoy your life at Falcon Park.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Obviously I vastly overrated the shabby charm of my estate.”
Her gaze abruptly dropped. He was well aware that she could not deny any affection for Falcon Park. Not when she poured such passion into having it restored.
A passion he deeply envied.
“This has nothing to do with Falcon Park, as you well know.”
His fingers moved to absently brush back a honey curl. Her hair was soft with a beguiling scent of honeysuckle. He suddenly longed to plunge his fingers into those thick curls and tumble them about her shoulders.
“So, it is my own charms you find so sadly lacking,” he said in an effort to distract himself. Only the Lord above knew what would happen if he gave into his masculine impulse. A bloody nose, most likely. “I am wounded, my dear.”
“I see you find this a matter for jest,” she accused in husky tones.
Gabriel’s fingers moved to lightly cup her chin and tugged her face upward. Having her so close was reminding him far too forcibly of the few occasions she had readily allowed him to hold her in his arms. At the time he had gloried in the swift desire he could feel running through her body. He had known that their marriage bed would be one of utter delight for both of them.
Unwelcome stirrings deep within him made Gabriel clench his teeth.
No.
He had no desire for a bloody nose directly after breakfast.
“No, I find nothing particularly amusing about being tied to a woman who treats me as if I am the latest plague,” he retorted.
The amber eyes abruptly flared. “How did you expect me to react when I discovered the truth?”
“I had hoped you would trust me enough to realize I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“But you did hurt me, Gabriel.” Without warning she stepped from his touch, her expression unforgiving. “And I will never be so foolish as to trust you again. Excuse me, I must rescue poor Mr. Humbly from Aunt Sarah.”
Gabriel could do nothing as she turned and hurried away.
Nothing but curse the fate that had taken his father’s yacht and landed him with a bankrupt estate, a hundred starving tenants, and a wife who wished him in Hades.
Being Earl of Faulconer was certainly not all that it was cracked up to be.
* * *
Vicar Humbly had endured many trials during his lifetime.
During his childhood he had not only been poor, but already plump enough to be the focus of the neighborhood children’s teasing.
He had been emotionally blackmailed into becoming a vicar by his father when he desired to become a dashing soldier.
He had lost his true love when she had been forced to wed for money.
He had endured years of abuse from the crusty old squire who believed he was appointed by God to make Vicar Humbly’s life miserable.
But for all the tribulations he had faced and overcome, nothing had prepared him for Mrs. Quarry.
For nearly an hour he had sought to extract himself from her tenacious clutches.
He had lagged far behind her brisk pace. He had complained of his feet aching. He had even briefly pretended to be struck by a pang in his stomach until the widow had made it clear she intended to see him to his chambers and personally oversee his recovery.
With a shudder Humbly trailed his way behind the woman as they made their way down the hall.
Dear heavens, he had traveled to Derbyshire to help sweet Beatrice, not to be tortured by a marriage-mad widow. Shouldn’t such a good deed be rewarded, not punished?
It appeared not, as the shrill voice of Mrs. Quarry floated endlessly through the musty air and Humbly gazed longingly out the arched windows at the inviting sunlight outside.
He could leap, he acknowledged wryly. Goodness knew that a broken leg or two would be a small price to pay for blessed freedom.
Perhaps at last hearing his fervent prayers for salvation, God softened his heart toward his poor servant and Humbly watched in desperate relief as Beatrice suddenly stepped in the hallway like an angel from above.
The vicar could quite willingly have kissed her there and then.
“Mr. Humbly.” She greeted him with a smile.
Scurrying toward her with indecent haste, Humbly reached out to grasp her hand.
“Beatrice, my dear.”
“I trust I am not interrupting?” she demanded with a knowing glance at his flushed companion.
“No, no. Not at all. Delighted to see you.”
“I thought perhaps you would wish to join me this morning. There is a gentleman with a particularly interesting device.”
“Yes, indeed,” he breathed in relief. “I cannot conceive of anything I would enjoy more.”
Suddenly realizing she was about to lose her captive, Mrs. Quarry rushed toward them with an anxious expression.
“But, Mr. Humbly, we were just about to view the gardens.”
“Perhaps later, Mrs. Quarry,” he said in vague tones.
“Surely you cannot be interested in those horrid inventions,” she protested with a sweet voice that managed to scrap a gentleman’s nerves with hair-raising effect. “So noisy and unpleasant.”
“I am very interested in all innovations. They are such an intriguing glimpse of the future.”
A hint of annoyance rippled over the thin face before the widow forced a smile back to her narrow lips.
“How very romantic you make them sound, Mr. Humbly. I can tell you possess the soul of a poet.”
Humbly gave a choked cough. “Oh, no. I am nothing more than a plodding vicar with few talents and a desire for nothing more romantic than simple peace at my small cottage.”
The widow batted her lashes. “Now, now. There is no need to be so modest. A plodding vicar, indeed.”
“Come along, Mr. Humbly.” Beatrice thankfully rushed to the rescue. “We should not be late for our appointment.”
Humbly was more than eager to allow himself to be led down the hall and away from the persistent Mrs. Quarry. A glance at his companion’s countenance, however, made him give a loud harrumph.
“Do you find something amusing, Beatrice?”
She allowed the laughter she had valiantly restrained to echo through the vaulted hall.
“I was just thinking that you will have to be far more blunt if you wish to distract Aunt Sarah from her pursuit.”
Humbly grimaced. “She is a very determined lady.”
“Very determined.” Beatrice steered them toward a narrow flight of stairs that led toward the back terrace. “You will have to be upon your toes if you desire to avoid becoming entangled in her web.”
The mere thought was enough to make the vicar’s stomach roll in an alarming fashion.
“Dear heavens. She must be very desperate to turn her attentions to a poor, aging vicar.”
Beatrice flashed him a charming smile. “Nonsense. I would say she possesses excellent taste. What woman would not desire a gentleman who is so kind and gentle?”
Humbly firmly put the woman from his mind. Mrs. Quarry and her hunt for a husband thankfully had nothing to do with his visit to Derbyshire.
“And is that what you searched for in a husband, my dear?” he inquired in deliberately light tones.
Her steps momentarily faltered before Beatrice grasped the wooden railing and continued down the stairs.
“That was my hope, certainly.”
“But Lord Faulconer is not kind or gentle? Does he abuse you, Beatrice?”
She flashed him a satisfyingly shocked glance. “Of course not.”
“But he is not what you had hoped him to be?”
Her lips twisted. “You are very perceptive.”
“It does not take much perception to realize you are not happy, my dear.”
“I suppose not.” She grimaced ruefully. “I have never been good at hiding my feelings.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs and Humbly placed a hand on Beatrice’s arm to bring her to a halt. His heart ached to see the barely hidden wounds in her beautiful eyes.
“What is it, Beatrice?”
She hesitated, no doubt considering whether he would be satisfied with a flippant response. But his expression of gentle determination must have warned her that he was not to be swayed, as she heaved a resigned sigh.
“When I first met Lord Faulconer I thought him different from the other gentlemen of the ton, ”she at last said in tones so low they were barely audible. “He did not attempt to turn my head with absurd claims of beauty I obviously do not possess, nor seek to lure me into a compromising situation as so many fortune hunters had attempted before. Instead, he truly appeared interested in my odd fancies and not at all put off by my lack of female talents.”
“He seems to be a very wise gentleman,” Humbly complimented with a smile.
She wrapped her arms about her waist in an unwittingly protective manner.
“Wise enough to realize that I would not be fooled by the sort of flirtations most women prefer. Instead, he won my trust by pretending to be my friend.”
Having seen the painful longing in Lord Faulconer’s eyes, Humbly gave a slow shake of his head.
“Pretending? Are you certain, Beatrice?”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Look about you, Mr. Humbly. Falcon Park was on the threshold of tumbling into obscurity. Lord Faulconer’s only hope in saving the estate was to wed for money. A great deal of money.”
“Well, many of the ton choose their spouses for reasons other than love,” Humbly pointed out in reasonable tones. “That does not mean he is not your friend.”
A flare of pain hardened her features. It was obvious she felt betrayed by the man who had won her trust.
“If he had been my friend, he would have told me from the beginning he was seeking an heiress. The fact that he deliberately allowed me to believe he was well situated proves that he had no concern for my feelings.”
Humbly could easily sympathize with the poor girl.
He did not doubt she had been wounded, not only by Lord Faulconer’s treachery, but even more so by the realization that she had been betrayed by her own heart.
Had Lord Faulconer forced her into marriage through blackmail or compromise she would have been furious. But to have stolen her heart . . . well, it was a sin that would not easily be forgiven.
Still, Humbly could not find it in his mind to wholly condemn Lord Faulconer. He had been wrong to mislead Beatrice. Especially when he must have sensed her heart was involved. But the burdens he had been so unexpectedly forced to shoulder could not have been easy to bear. And deep within him Humbly believed that he did care for Beatrice. Perhaps far more than either realized.
“And if he told you the truth from the beginning?” he asked softly.
She gave a restless shrug. “I do not know.”
“Beatrice.” He moved his hand to grasp her cold fingers. “If you are so unhappy here, why do you not return to Surrey? Your parents would be pleased to have you home.”
She was giving a firm shake of her head before he even finished.
“No one forced me to wed Lord Faulconer. It was a mistake I made on my own. I will not have my family fretting over me.”
There was a sharp edge in her voice that made Humbly study her with a hint of curiosity.
“Are you sure that is the only reason?”
“What do you mean?”
Humbly chose his words with care. He sensed that beneath her bitter anger still lurked a great deal of feeling for her husband, but he also realized she would be horrified if he were to suggest such a notion.
He would have to somehow nudge her into accepting her love in her own fashion.
“It seems that you have been deeply hurt by your husband. But it also occurs to me that you have not entirely given up hope on this marriage. You would not be so determined to punish Lord Faulconer if you did not intend to forgive him eventually.”