Chapter Twenty-Two
“IS SOMETHING THE matter, sir?”
Gavin’s head jerked up at his estate manager’s words and realized Chase was looking at him from atop his horse with a not insignificant amount of sympathy.
“What would be?” he snapped, immediately feeling like an ass because Chase was only expressing concern.
However, the estate manager merely shrugged. “I’m sure it’s not my place.”
Gavin hesitated and then shook his head. “Are you married?”
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” said Chase, leaning down to stroke his horse’s neck. “But I was engaged once.”
“Was the engagement broken?” Gavin asked.
“She died. Lungs were weakened by consumption.”
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said.
“I’m not. I had two good years courting Mary. In the end she was so weak it was a mercy when she died. She couldn’t go outside any longer. Couldn’t ride. Couldn’t walk the fields. It was no life for a country girl like her.”
“Did you ever fight?”
A grin split Chase’s face, and Gavin realized it might be the first time he’d seen the solemn man smile. “I’d never met a woman who could make me so angry before, and I haven’t met one since, but loving her felt like my own heart was outside of my body. If I had the chance, I’d do it all over again.”
Gavin nodded, understanding that feeling more acutely than he’d like to admit.
Chase looked up at the sun and then down at the plain silver pocket watch that hung from his waistcoat. “It’s just one. My guess is the ladies will be settling down to luncheon . . . if there’s anything you’d want to say to one of them in particular.”
There was a lot Gavin wished to say now that he was in the bright light of day. He’d still been so angry and mixed up that morning that he’d been glad when Ina hadn’t come down to breakfast. He’d left with Chase the moment the estate agent had shown up, more than a little eager to be in the saddle and dealing with anything other than the marriage that seemed to be falling apart before his eyes. But the more he thought about it, as he rocked gently with the gait of his horse, the less convinced he became that this had to be the end.
He knew he’d pushed Ina too hard before she was ready to make a change. He’d been there, in love with her, for so long he’d wanted her to reach that place as fast as possible. He’d made demands on her that were unfair. He’d always loved her because she wasn’t perfect, but instead was a woman uncompromising in her convictions and steadfast loyalty. Last night, in this place that wasn’t her home and away from her friends and her life, he’d asked her to transform into someone she wasn’t.
“Maybe I do have something to say,” he murmured to himself. “Maybe I do.”
After riding back to the stables, he dismounted and handed his horse off to a groom, not even bothering to change out of his riding boots. If only he could see her, he might reassure them both that there was something worth saving about their marriage.
He could wait if she’d give him a second chance.
Harper opened the door for him as he marched into the house. “Ina,” he called out. “Ina!”
Harper hurried after him. “I beg your pardon, sir—”
“Ina! Where’s my wife?” he asked the butler.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Riley, came rushing across the grand entryway of the house. “Sir Gavin, is everything all right?”
“It will be when I see my wife. Where is she?” he asked.
A glance slid between the butler and housekeeper, and his stomach flipped.
“Where is Lady Barrett?” he asked again, his voice taking on a sterner tone that sounded all too much like his father’s. He’d never be the man his father was, but he could now understand the appeal of having one’s commands obeyed the moment they were uttered.
“My apologies, sir, but I thought you knew of Lady Barrett’s plans,” said Harper.
His blood went cold. “Plans to do what?”
The butler’s eyes once again slid to the housekeeper, but before either of them could decide how to tell him whatever ill news was holding them back, his mother appeared.
“Gavin,” said his mother who, he noted, was still in residence despite his instructions, “you will join me in my sitting room.”
Her sitting room. The one place she summoned people when she wanted to speak to them in complete privacy. It was where his mother had told him that Grace had chosen his brother. It was also where his mother had laid out the rest of his life for him. His father would purchase a commission in the army, or the navy if that suited Gavin better. While he served, she would review lists of eligible women who’d settle for the second son of one of the most powerful men in Northumberland. He’d do the season and clap eyes on these girls before choosing one who’d bring to their marriage a healthy influx of cash and, if he was truly fortunate, a bit of property her family had settled on her. He’d retire from his role as an officer and live out his days in bucolic bliss.
He’d rejected his mother’s proposal flatly, packed his bags, and taken the train north to Edinburgh. In that room, the first chapter of his life had ended just as the second had been reborn.
“Where is Ina?” he demanded.
His mother’s cold stare bore into him. “That is a matter I will not discuss until you agree to come to my sitting room. Now, you can continue to shout like a heathen or you can speak to me like a reasonable man.”
He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood but fell into line behind his mother as she progressed slowly up the stairs.
Once in the sitting room, he watched his mother sit down in a large pink and gold chair.
“Won’t you sit?” she said, gesturing to one of the less plush chairs grouped around her.
He crossed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I’ll stand.”
Her eyes narrowed, but he hardly cared. He was done with the games she’d been playing since he’d returned to Oak Park.
“Where is Ina?” he asked for the fourth time since returning to the house.
“Not here,” said his mother.
Fear rose in his throat, sour as bile. “What do you mean she’s not here? What did you do?”
That earned him a quirk of brows. “Why is it that you immediately assume I have something to do with it?”
“You’ve hated the idea of Ina from the moment you opened my letter announcing our marriage,” he said, accusation lacing his words.
“You don’t know that,” she said.
He leaned forward. “I do know. I’m not stupid, although you’ve made it clear for a long time that you have no great faith in my abilities.”
“Another false accusation,” his mother said, her lips falling into a thin line.
“Let’s stop playing games, Mother, and speak frankly to one another for once,” he said.
“Fine.” Her tone took on a brittle edge. “If you’d like to know the truth, I’ve always thought you something of a disappointment.”
“I know,” he said. “I wasn’t Richard.”
Despite her seated position, his mother still managed to look down her nose at him. “You weren’t Richard. That is a statement of fact. You never could be, and I never wanted you to be.”
He scoffed at that. “Now I know you’re lying to me.”
“I never wanted you to be your brother, because you couldn’t be. There was to be one heir to Oak Park. One son to inherit. Your father didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t have the same expectations for you and your brother because your lives were bound to take vastly different paths. That was unfair of him.”
They weren’t words of comfort or reassurance by any means, but somehow just hearing his mother acknowledge that his father had been in any way wrong or flawed was a revelation. The weight of disappointment that had sat squarely on his shoulders since he’d been old enough to understand the way his father looked at him lifted just a little.
Still, the judgment and disappointment in every conversation with his mother were hard to shake.
“You never once told me any of this,” he said.
“I was Lady Barrett, not Sir Barrett,” she said, as though that was explanation enough.
He frowned. “Anyone with any sense could see that you were master of this house, not my father.”
A sly smile spread over his mother’s lips. “That I was. But even so, when it came to you and your brother, I deferred to my husband. What would a woman know of being a gentleman?”
Quite a lot, he suspected.
“I was never so proud of you as the day you told the baronet that you had no intention of becoming an officer or a clergyman,” said his mother. “Not that I wished for you to be a writer, but for the first time in my life, I saw you defy him openly.”
The confession left him at a loss for words. It was as though everything he’d ever known to be true was realigning.
“I thought my son had finally decided to become his own man. That you’d do something brilliant and become what you’d always had the potential to be,” his mother said. “And then you met that woman and married her.”
Everything came crashing back down to earth.
“You will not refer to Ina as ‘that woman,’ ” he said, his anger beginning to roil again.
Lady Sophia sniffed. “Well, I certainly won’t call her your wife. Not when she’s up and left.”
“What?”
Oh God. She’d told him she was going to at the very end of their fight the night before, and, even worse, he’d challenged her to go. He just hadn’t believed she’d actually do it. He’d assumed it was the sort of thing people threatened in anger but never actually acted upon.
“She left after breakfast this morning. She called for the carriage and had herself driven to the station with hardly a word of good-bye,” Lady Sophia said.
He stared at his mother, stunned. After all of those years of standing by Ina’s side, she’d abandoned him when he needed her most. He’d stood by her, but she wouldn’t do the same for him.
“What exactly did she say?” he asked, sinking into a chair.
“Nothing except that she was leaving,” his mother said.
“There was no message for me?” he asked, scrubbing his hands over his face. That didn’t sound like Ina at all, but nothing made sense anymore.
“None. Gavin, you’ve rid yourself of a difficult, uncompromising woman who was utterly unsuited to the role of Lady Barrett. Although it’s unfortunate you won’t be able to completely uncouple yourself from her without the scandal of divorce, there are other things you can do. If she’ll agree not to go out in society, she may live apart—or even on the Continent.”
His mother’s words washed over him, barely heard. Ina was gone. Everything he’d known about her—her strength, conviction, and compassion—was all false. He’d been nothing to her but a way to repair her reputation, and now she’d cast him aside like a used rag. He’d served his purpose.
His heart squeezed hard, and the physical pain of the relationship rocketed through him. He’d done what he never thought he’d do again—let a woman into the most intimate parts of his life. Now she’d once again chosen another. For Grace it had been Richard. For Ina, herself.
“I see,” he said.
“This is a clean break, Gavin,” his mother said, her voice almost soft. Almost mothering. “That woman was never going to make a suitable mistress of Oak Park. How can you be expected to have the Earl of Rockport and the Viscount Haughton and his wife to supper when your wife isn’t up to the task of being hostess?”
His head snapped up, realization dawning on him. All of this—from the admission that she’d admired him standing up to his father to the way in which she spoke of Ina merely as “that woman”—was just another masterful manipulation by his mother. Whereas his father had been straightforward and harsh in his disapproval, his mother was skilled at twisting and turning his emotions until he wasn’t certain which way was up. The pull to trust her was strong—she was his mother, after all—but sure enough, the moment he’d let down his guard, she’d gone straight for his deepest vulnerabilities in order to further her own desires.
He assessed his mother with new eyes. She was still lovely as he remembered her as a child, but she aged in such a way that she would have been called handsome rather than beautiful. Her slate-gray hair was tied in a severe knot on top of her head, and her dress was a foreboding shade of black. She was in every way the respectable widow, and yet what no one could see was that a viper lay underneath.
His mother droned on, unaware of the thoughts racing through his head. “This estate demands a woman of refinement, skill, and breeding to run this household.”
“A woman like you, perhaps?” he asked.
A flicker of caution flashed in her eyes, but she affected a nonchalant shrug all the same. “Or Grace. She’s already familiar with the running of the entire house and—”
“No.” He bit the bitter word out. “My wife has just left me without any word, and now you’re speaking of my sister-in-law—the woman who married my brother who’s been dead a mere month—as though she can simply stand in for my bride.”
“Gavin, I—”
“No, you will listen to me for once in my life,” he said, shooting to his feet. “Oak Park is mine to do with as I choose. That means that when I decide to sell the horseflesh my brother so foolishly acquired that has overstretched the estate’s funds more than it needs to, it will be a matter between Chase and myself. That means that if I decide to let this house and live off the income from rent, I will.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t. Barretts have always lived at Oak Park since James I was king.”
“I can, and I will if I see fit,” he said, a surge of power rising in him.
“She’s turned your head. She’s making you choose between your family and her,” Lady Sophia insisted.
“This has nothing to do with Ina, Mother. At the moment, this is between you and me. My demand that you move into the dower house was not an idle threat.”
“It’s not ready,” she protested.
“On the contrary, Mrs. Riley informs me that it was made habitable two weeks ago.”
“But the redecorating I’ve ordered will not be finished for another three months.”
“You will just have to put up with it,” he said. “Grace may choose whether to live with you as your companion, or I will find her a house somewhere in Ashington if that’s what she desires.”
His mother’s face was beet red. “After all I’ve done for you, warning you away from that woman—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “I will not hear another word about her. Ina is my wife.”
“She left you.”
Another viselike squeeze of his heart almost made him cringe, but he schooled his expression to remain neutral. “That is a matter between her and myself. I don’t wish to speak of her any longer.”
It was too painful to hear her name. Inside his world was crumbling, and so outside he’d do everything he could to be the commanding, exacting man everyone expected him to be.
Ina rode from Waverley Station to Lana’s home with her head bent low. She took no pleasure in the sights of her beautiful city. The elegant homes of New Town held little charm for her, even on a gloriously sunny day. All she wanted was to be reunited with her friends.
All of them would be gathered around the tea cart in Lana’s drawing room for one of their twice-monthly teas. Christine would be relaxing after a late-evening performance. Anne would be sitting wide-eyed on the edge of the sofa, absorbing every story she heard and tucking it away for careful consideration later. Lana, dressed in one of her diaphanous tea gowns that, paired with her wheat-blond hair, gave her an angelic appearance, would hand out cups and cake, laughing heartily as they caught up on news and gossip from the past two weeks.
The dull ache in her heart at missing them was a welcome change to the sharp, jabbing pains she’d coped with since leaving Oak Park. She’d cried silently through most of the carriage ride to the station, grateful for the net veil of her black hat. On the train, however, her tears all dried up. Instead she felt a gaping hollow of sadness inside of her. Ruth had sat in the far corner of the private compartment while Ina simply stared out the window, wondering if she’d ever feel like herself again.
The hansom cab, hired because there’d been no time to let Norris know to send the carriage to the station, rumbled to a stop in front of Lana’s door. She thanked the driver when he helped her down, and paid him generously. Then she walked up to Lana’s front door and rang the bell.
Lana’s maid-of-all-work, Clara, opened the door. “Oh, Lady Barrett.”
Ina braced herself for an inquiry as to why she was ringing the bell herself rather than sending Ruth ahead to see if the mistress of the house was home to visitors as was customary, but it never came.
“They’ll be delighted to see you, ma’am,” said Clara, stepping aside to let her in.
Ina pulled back her veil, knowing her eyes would be red and puffy, but to the maid’s credit she didn’t even flinch.
“I can find my way up, Clara,” Ina said.
“Of course, Lady Barrett,” said Clara with a bow.
Ina climbed the stairs slowly, her heavy steps betraying her weariness. She was wrung out and empty, tired and unhappy.
Outside the drawing room, the murmur of her friends’ voices floated out to her. She paused with her black glove–clad hand on the doorknob, building up the courage to enter and explain what had happened. Here she would be safe. Here she could mourn.
She bit her lip and opened the door. Her friends turned around in unison.
“Ina,” Lana cried. “We didn’t know when to expect you back!”
She opened her mouth to reply, but instead crumpled to the floor, her dark skirts billowing around her, and wept.
“Have you seen this?” Moira’s dearest friend, Flora, held up a copy of the New Town Tattler.
Moira tilted her chin down so that she could look over the spectacles she’d put on to read a letter from one of her friends in London.
“I haven’t had a chance to look this morning. And I thought you despised the Tattler,” she said.
Flora pulled a face. “How can I avoid it when it’s always lying around your morning room?”
Moira smiled, knowing her friend protested too much. Flora enjoyed the Tattler just as much as any other lady in Edinburgh. And quite a few gentlemen too.
“That paper is excellent research,” she said. “I’ve found some of my very best clients from the Tattler’s listings.”
It was true too. The semi-anonymous items like “The flaxen-haired Miss C—was spotted on the arm of the esteemed Mr. P—, Esquire, at an exhibition held in the Assembly Rooms last Tuesday. Will wedding bells soon ring?” were almost always accurate, given that Mr. Moray had a network of sources nearly as good as her own.
“Well, this is about one of your recent clients,” said Flora, handing over the paper.
“ ‘Lord T—was seen dancing twice with the recently widowed Mrs. J—at a ball held by Mrs. M—last Monday. Will the Merry Widow dance her way into the gentleman’s heart?’ ” she read out before putting the paper down. “I’ve been watching the courtship of Lord Tartent and Mrs. Jesup with rapt attention for weeks now, but neither of them has engaged my services.”
Perhaps it was time for her to send the harmlessly hapless but well-moneyed Lord Tartent her card. A gentle nudge couldn’t hurt the bachelor in his pursuit of the pretty widow and her two thousand pounds a year.
Flora scowled. “Not them. Look at the fourth item down.”
Her eyes skimmed the page, landing on a name she knew instantly, even with the dashes in place.
“The newly elevated Lady B—was seen disembarking from a northbound train at Waverley Station on Tuesday. The lady was unaccompanied by her husband, the new Sir G—, whom she married a mere two months ago. Could there already be trouble in the elegant house on R—Place?”
“Weren’t they yours?” asked Flora.
“Hmmm,” was Moira’s only reply.
“Trouble already?” Flora asked with raised brows. “That doesn’t bode well.”
Moira shot her friend a look as she took off the long chain she always wore around her neck. On the end of it dangled the little silver key to her desk drawer. She unlocked the drawer and peered inside at some of her most valuable possessions: twenty-four red leather notebooks with one letter of the alphabet each stamped on the side. She drew out the book for “D” and shut the drawer again.
“You’re having to refer to your notes?” Flora asked with a frown. “They were only married in March.”
“Are you casting aspersions on my memory?” Moira asked.
A grin spread over her friend’s face. “If I do, will you finally admit that you’re too old to toy with the affections of men and women more than half your age?”
“I don’t toy,” Moira said. “I facilitate.”
That earned her a snort.
Flipping to one of the last pages of her book, Moira read the notes she’d made on Lady Ina Barrett, née Duncan, even though she’d never forget the circumstances of their first meeting. There weren’t many people who could claim their marriage had come after near ruination in her library. Neither were there many who could boast of a proposal that had moved so swiftly from idea to execution.
What troubled her was that the new Sir Barrett had been so clearly enamored of his bride, yet trepidatious at the same time. All had seemed well when the Barrett cook, Mrs. Hart, reported to Moira that the man of the house had made arrangements for a moonlight picnic just a few weeks ago, but that he wasn’t returning with Lady Barrett from his home at Oak Park gave her pause. She’d pay a call on the woman that afternoon as soon as she was done with her correspondence and luncheon with Flora.
“What do you have written down there?” her friend asked, trying her best to peer at the notebook from her seat.
Moira snapped it shut, unlocked the drawer again, and refiled the book back in its place between “C” and “E.” “Nothing for your eyes to see. As always.”
Flora settled back into her chair and picked up the Tattler once again. “You can hardly blame me for trying.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Moira said, and picked up the letter she’d been reading once again.