Seven
The cottage was small but ruthlessly clean, with new thatching and a handful of well-made furnishings. There was also the sweet smell of fresh flowers that Beatrice had brought along with a large basket of food.
Already having coaxed a bowl of warm soup into Mrs. Litton’s hands along with a slice of freshly baked bread, Beatrice settled in a chair close to the bed and watched the widow enjoy the small feast.
She had not lied to Gabriel. She did enjoy her moments spent in the company of the tenants. Unlike the more sophisticated ton, the people of Falcon Park were honest and straightforward. They did not twitter behind their fans or smile sweetly as poison dripped from their lips. They did not judge others by the beauty of their countenance or elegance of their manners.
Instead, they worked hard and expected the same of others. They also offered a genuine friendship that was based upon loyalty and respect.
It was little wonder she felt far more comfortable in the company of common farmers than in the presence of aristocrats.
Scooping up the last of the hearty soup, the older woman leaned back with a sigh.
“Delicious,” she murmured, her alert gaze at odds with her frail body covered by a woolen blanket. Mrs. Litton might be well into her seventies, but her wits were as sharp as ever and her tongue embarrassingly blunt. “So kind of you, my lady.”
“Not at all.” Beatrice set the empty tray aside and smiled at the widow. “It is a pleasure to have an excuse to visit you.”
A rather mysterious expression settled upon the lined face as Mrs. Litton regarded her.
“So much like the last countess,” she said in satisfaction. “She could always make a soul feel comfortable about her no matter what their station in life. I am pleased the Falcon blessing was not lost with the death of the eldest son.”
Beatrice gave a startled blink. “Blessing?”
Mrs. Litton tilted her head to one side, suddenly looking for all the world like a curious bird.
“Surely you have heard the story of the first Lord Faulconer, who saved a wounded falcon from certain death?”
“No.”
“Ah.” The pale eyes glittered with amusement at Beatrice’s baffled expression. “The falcon was a magical creature, you see, and after being rescued it gave Lord Faulconer the blessing of a true-hearted mate. Since that day, all the Lord Faulconers have wed women of courage and loyalty. Women such as yourself.”
Beatrice felt her face flood with color. Dear heavens, was it not bad enough to be thrust into the position of countess? Must she also live up to the absurd notion of some ancient legend?
It was enough to make any sensible woman flee in terror.
Realizing that Mrs. Litton was awaiting her response, Beatrice forced herself to smile in a calm manner.
“It is a lovely story.”
“Aye.” The widow paused for a moment. “A pity not all the Lord Faulconers have been equally loyal and courageous. I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but the previous earl was a proper rapscallion. Not many could mourn his passing.”
Beatrice was well enough acquainted with the older woman not to be shocked by her unflattering words. She had made little secret of her disgust for the previous Lord Faulconer.
“I am certain it must have been a difficult time for the tenants,” Beatrice sympathized.
The older woman gave a snort. “A sorry time it was. Many a good man was forced to poaching or even thievery to keep his family fed. Pride don’t put food on the table.”
Beatrice gave a slow nod of understanding. Desperation would drive even the most worthy man to behavior foreign to his nature.
Such as forcing an honorable gentleman to deceive a young maiden, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind.
She swiftly crushed the renegade thought.
That was entirely different, she assured herself.
Entirely different.
“I can assure you that things will be much better from now on,” she forced herself to say in even tones.
“Aye. The new earl is a rare treat.” Mrs. Litton gave a low chuckle. “Of course, at first the tenants were not sure of him. He left Falcon Park quickly enough when he were young, and there were those who thought he would bleed the estate dry just as his father. You could have knocked the men down with a feather when instead he showed up in the fields day after day, as if he were one of them.”
Beatrice did not doubt that Gabriel had been something of a shock after his father’s selfish indifference.
“Lord Faulconer is very eager to ensure the welfare of the estate as well as those who depend upon him.”
“A good man. I cannot say what a difference he has made already. He has given us hope, which is a good sight more than we’ve had in many a year.”
“Yes.”
A speculative gleam entered the pale eyes. “And handsome in the bargain. All that remains is to begin filling that nursery with heirs.”
Beatrice surged awkwardly to her feet. Good Lord. It had not occurred to her until that moment that the entire estate would be carefully watching for signs that she was breeding.
Producing an heir, after all, was the single most important duty for a countess. More important than charitable works or managing her household. Certainly more important than discovering a new invention.
It was unnerving to realize that her most intimate life would be openly speculated on by so many. Unnerving and more than a little embarrassing.
“I must go,” she muttered, knowing her cheeks were rosy. “You will let me know if there is anything you need?”
“My daughter will be here tomorrow. There’s no need to be fretting about me any longer.”
“I enjoy my visits, as you well know,” Beatrice assured the older woman. “I shall return in a day or two.”
Leaving the used dishes to be collected by a servant, Beatrice made her way through the cramped cottage and slipped through the door. Although she dearly cared for Mrs. Litton, she could not deny it was a relief to be away from that searching gaze. The old woman was far too crafty not to realize she had struck a raw nerve.
Combined with the knowledge that Gabriel and Beatrice lived coldly separate lives, it would take little imagination to realize that there would be no heir.
At least not in the foreseeable future.
Angling toward the path that would lead back toward the main house, Beatrice’s gaze narrowed as she caught sight of a lone daisy lying upon the dirt. She bent down to scoop up the flower, wondering where it had come from. It was rather a peculiar place to find a daisy. Then she shrugged. No doubt it had blown from the hothouse or dropped from some hopeful swain’s hand.
She continued onward, only to come to a halt as she discovered yet another daisy lying directly in the path.
“What the devil?” With a frown she hurried forward, finding yet another daisy just around the bend.
It was obvious now that someone had deliberately placed the flowers upon the path.
But why?
Intrigued, Beatrice hurried down the path, following the trail of daisies even when they led her past the house and down toward the lake. She had nearly reached the edge of the water, when she turned her head to discover the familiar gentleman leaning negligently against a small rowboat that was pulled onto the shore.
“Gabriel,” she breathed, not truly surprised to discover her husband responsible for the daisies. Who else had ever compared her to the lovely flower?
With a smile he shoved himself upright. In the golden sunlight he appeared vibrantly male and breathtakingly handsome. She shivered as the coiled energy that seemed to surround him reached out to send a rash of awareness over her skin.
“I hoped that the daises would lead you to me,” he murmured.
Beatrice attempted to ignore the charm that lay thick in the air.
“What is this about?”
“It is such a lovely day, I hoped that I could lure you out for a picnic upon the island.”
Beatrice glanced toward the small island in the middle of the lake complete with a whimsical grotto. Although she had often enjoyed the scenic beauty of the island, she had never considered the notion of actually visiting the lovely spot. Hardly surprising considering the fact she was terrified of water.
“The island?”
“Yes. My grandfather built the grotto upon the island for my grandmother so they could have a place of privacy. It is the one place upon Falcon Park that you have not yet visited.”
Beatrice could not deny a desire to view the grotto. Especially now that she realized it had been built by a gentleman obviously devoted to his lady.
Still, there was a wretched amount of water to be passed over.
“But Mr. Humbly—” she began weakly, only to be overridden by a determined Gabriel.
“The vicar has already left to call upon his friend. It will be several hours before he returns.”
“Oh.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Does the notion not appeal to you, my dear?”
She gave a small lift of her hands. “I have never been upon a picnic.”
A slow, potent smile curved his lips. “It is a treat not to be missed, I assure you.”
Beatrice bit her bottom lip. She could not deny a large portion of her desired to give in to temptation. Surely it could not hurt to share a simple meal with her husband, she reasoned. It certainly did not mean she had forgotten the pain he had inflicted upon her.
Not giving herself time to ponder her peculiar logic, Beatrice gave a slow nod of her head.
“Very well.”
Appearing suitably pleased by her capitulation, Gabriel moved forward to take her arm. He led her to the boat and with great care settled her upon the narrow seat. Then with a hard shove he pushed the boat into the water and leaped in to join her.
Beatrice felt her breath catch as they rocked precariously. Even after Gabriel had settled upon his seat and put the oars into motion, she continued to anticipate disaster.
The water was so very, very close. And it was such a great distance to the island. How could they possibly make it before they sank?
Unaware that her concern was clearly visible in her stiff frame, Beatrice was surprised when Gabriel gave a low chuckle.
“You needn’t clutch the sides of the boat, Beatrice. I promise not to spill you into the water.”
She grimaced although her fingers remained grimly attached to the boat.
“I have never felt comfortable in a boat. I suppose it is because I am unable to swim.”
He flashed her a teasing glance. “Good heavens. I never thought to discover a skill you have not mastered.”
“You are well aware that there are a great number of skills I have never mastered, much to the dismay of my mother,” she retorted in jaundiced tones.
“I was not referring to the ridiculous accomplishments expected by society, but the true skills that are acquired by intelligence and genuine study.”
Her gaze abruptly dropped. His words touched her far more deeply than she cared to admit.
“My studies never included paddling about in the water.”
“That could easily be corrected. I will teach you to swim if you would care to learn.”
Beatrice shuddered. Her fear of water was as unshakable as it was unreasonable.
“Thank you, but I prefer to be upon dry land.”
“How do you know if you do not give it a try?”
She lifted her head to offer him a smile. “Just as I know I should not desire to leap from a cliff although I have never given it a try.”
He gave a chuckle of defeat. “Very well, I shall not press you. How did you find Mrs. Litton?”
Relieved to have something to take her mind off the sound of water slapping against the boat, Beatrice turned her thoughts to her recent visit with the widow.
“Mending nicely, I am thankful to say. Her daughter will arrive tomorrow to care for her.”
Not appearing to be tiring from his efforts at rowing, Gabriel shook his head ruefully.
“She is a shocking old tartar.”
“She is certainly one to speak her mind,” Beatrice agreed.
“No matter what is upon it.”
“Yes.” Beatrice abruptly recalled her conversation with the older woman. “In fact, she was telling me of the falcon’s blessing.”
He gave a startled blink. “Good gads, I had nearly forgotten that old tale.”
“You are fortunate. I believe most families with such a long history are burdened with curses rather than blessings.”
“I do not doubt that there are any number of curses attached to the Faulconer name, but with our usual arrogance we choose to recall only the blessing,” he retorted dryly.
“Far more convenient,” she agreed.
“Indeed.” The hazel gaze rested a long while upon her pale countenance. “And astonishingly dependable. There has yet to be a Countess of Faulconer who did not bring pride to the family name.”
Once again Beatrice was forced to battle a childish blush. She was in no way out of the ordinary, she reminded herself. In truth, she possessed few of the skills expected in a countess. Her grandfather’s merchant blood flowed far too strongly within her.
“Are you not rather tempting fate?” she muttered. “I might very well prove an end to the blessing.”
He rewarded her offhand words with a sharp frown. “You are well aware that you are beloved among the tenants as well as the staff.”
And by you?
The question was sternly squashed.
As was the dull ache in the region of her heart.
“Nonsense,” she breathed in embarrassment.
“You are the one being nonsensical,” he countered. “You are not perhaps fishing for compliments, are you, my dear?”
Her eyes widened with dismay. “Of course not.”
“Then we shall simply agree that I could not have made a wiser choice when selecting my countess. Whether it was an extraordinary stroke of luck or an ancient blessing, we shall leave in the hands of the philosophers.” He paused before allowing his features to soften with a hint of amusement. “By the bye, I suppose that Mrs. Litton was not nearly so flattering when it came to discussing the earls of Faulconer?”
She shifted with a hint of unease, for the moment forgetting the horrid water that surrounded her.
“Perhaps not your father,” she conceded, knowing Gabriel would never believe that Mrs. Litton had spoken well of the previous earl. She had been his most outspoken critic for years. “But she could not speak well enough of you. She says that you have brought the tenants hope.”
Surprisingly, Gabriel merely grimaced at the wholehearted praise. “I need to bring more than hope. What they are in need of is a bountiful planting season.”
She gave a faint frown. “You have done what you could. Now it is in the hands of God.”
“A rather daunting knowledge. I had not realized being an earl would entail such a great number of worries. I assure you that being a simple soldier was considerably less trying upon my nerves.”
Beatrice did not doubt his sincerity. Unlike far too many earls, Gabriel fully shouldered his responsibilities. He did not dash about London while others struggled to provide him with luxuries. Instead, he gave of himself utterly. Whatever was demanded of his tenants, he expected even more of himself.
“Do you regret that you were forced to sell out?” she asked softly.
He took a moment to consider his answer. “I possessed no particular love for military life. It could be extraordinarily tedious as well as devilishly uncomfortable. Still, there was a measure of independence that greatly appealed to me.”
“Yes.” Beatrice nodded her head, all too familiar with the longing for liberty. “As a woman, there is little opportunity for true independence.”
The hazel eyes narrowed. “Do you feel so oppressed, then, Beatrice?”
Surprisingly, Beatrice discovered she did not wish to continue their familiar battle.
“No, of course not. It is just frustrating to realize there are no options but being a burden to one’s family or marrying.”
A portion of his tension eased, but his gaze remained watchful.
“True enough. You would have been a brilliant businesswoman. Quite formidable, in fact.”
She was caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “I should not say that.”
“I would,” he insisted. “Which is precisely why I wish to see you use your skills to their fullest advantage. There is no reason you cannot be a brilliant woman of business as well as Countess of Faulconer.” He gave her no time to respond to his stunning pronouncement as he angled the boat toward the small dock. Tying off the rope, he stepped easily off the boat and reached down to help her alight. “Careful.”
Startled to discover she had made the journey without mishap, Beatrice absently smoothed her wrinkled skirts. It was a small miracle that she hadn’t panicked and sent them both into the water.
Gabriel bent downward to retrieve a large basket from the boat as Beatrice gazed at the lovely grotto fashioned in a classical style. Even the layout of the formal garden was still visible beneath the overgrowth with several small fountains surrounding the grotto.
“Oh, it is lovely,” she said in pleasure.
“Yes, this is one of my favorite places upon the entire estate.”
A pang that was perilously close to envy assaulted her heart.
“Your grandfather must have loved your grandmother very much.”
“Yes, he was devoted to her. Unfortunately she was unable to conceive more than one child, and they spoiled my father shamelessly. Which no doubt accounts for his irresponsible habits and the belief he was due whatever pleasure he desired. Tendencies he readily passed on to my elder brother.”
She slowly turned to meet his gaze. “But not you.”
“No?” His lips twisted. “I have proven to be shockingly selfish and quite willing to lie when it suits my purpose.”
Although Beatrice would have swiftly agreed with his derisive words only days before, at the moment she discovered herself reluctant to allow him to wholly condemn his desperate decisions.
Unlike his father and brother, he had not been entirely self-indulgent.
“For your tenants,” she grudgingly muttered.
The hazel eyes darkened as a rueful smile curved his lips. “So I told myself.” He took her hand and tugged her toward the narrow pathway. “We shall have our picnic in the grotto, although I cannot promise that it is in the best condition. I doubt that anyone has visited the island since I left Derbyshire.”
“I assure you that I have become impervious to dust,” she retorted wryly. Together they moved toward the grotto, but glancing over her shoulder, Beatrice came to an abrupt halt. “Oh.”
“What is it?” Gabriel demanded.
Turning fully about, Beatrice regarded the proud silhouette of Falcon Park in the distance. Bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, it possessed a grand majesty. Even the sadly neglected parkland held a sweeping beauty.
“It is stunning.”
Gabriel turned to stand beside her. “Yes. I used to mourn the fact that I could not paint. It would make a lovely landscape.”
“Perhaps we should consider hiring an artist.”
“A wonderful notion.”
A smile suddenly curved Beatrice’s lips. “It is a pity that Addy is not here. She would dearly appreciate such a vision. She was forever painting the houses and ruins about our neighborhood.”
“Addy?” Gabriel queried with a lift of his brow.
Beatrice’s smile widened as she thought of her vibrant, devil-may-care friend.
“I suppose I should say Mrs. Drake now. She was my very dearest friend growing up. Along with Victoria.”
His expression became indulgent. “I suppose you were a precocious child?”
She gave a blink of surprise. “Not at all. I was very quiet and studious.”
He tilted back his head to laugh with rich amusement. “Fah. You are too swift-witted and sharp-tongued to have been anything but precocious.”
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. It was true that she had caused her share of trouble along with her friends.
“Perhaps a bit, but I assure you that it was nothing compared to either Addy or Victoria. They were far more daring than I.”
He studied her reminiscent expression. “Why do you not invite them for a visit?”
“Oh ...” She gave a flustered lift of her hands. She was uncertain that she wished her friends to realize what a terrible hash she had made of her marriage. “I do not know.”
“Surely you would enjoy their company?”
“Perhaps later in the summer.”
“As you wish,” he murmured, perhaps sensing her reluctance to face her friends. With a faint sigh he held out his arm. “Shall we?”