“Wherein life goes on, regardless of broken hearts.”

Piper led Crecy to Gabriel’s study and showed her where she might find ink and writing equipment.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Holbrook?”

Crecy shook her head, hoping she could last until he closed the door before the tears started again. Piper turned to leave when she realised she couldn’t let him go without knowing one last thing.

“Piper?”

“Yes, miss?”

“What … what happened, when he found out?”

Piper’s face became grave and he walked back towards her, lowering his voice.

“It was bad, miss. I’ve seen him lose his temper, many, many times. We all know when to tread carefully around him, you see, but … Well, I don’t think any of us have seen the like of it before.”

Crecy swallowed hard as her eyes burned.

“He tried to kill Mr Chambers, that fellow who brought him the news. Took five of us to stop him, and then … he went wild. Smashed this room to pieces.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a sob. Looking around, she realised that there were many small items missing from around the room, things she had noted on her previous visit.

“You must have had a lot of clearing up to do,” she said, feeling appalled at the devastation she had caused by not being honest with Gabriel sooner.

Piper looked saddened and shook his head. “Oh no, miss. His lordship always clears up his own mess. More than your life’s worth to try and help him do it, believe me, I know.” He paused, letting out a breath, his expression thoughtful now. “I’ve always thought he did it as a kind of penance. Punishing himself for having lost control in the first place.”

Crecy gave him a frail smile. “I think you are very perceptive,” she said, feeling as though the life had been drained out of her. She wanted to sit down in the dark and curl up in a ball until Gabriel came back to her. But that wasn’t going to solve anything. She wasn’t going to allow herself to wallow in self-pity when this situation was of her own making. Gabriel needed her to be strong, whether he knew that or not.

Piper left her alone, then, and Crecy sat staring at the sheet of paper with despair. How on earth was she going to put into words everything she felt, everything that was true, in language that Gabriel would listen to? In the end, she could do nothing more than say what she felt.

My dearest friend,

You cannot imagine my devastation as I write this letter. Knowing that it is in great part my own fault only makes it far worse.

I meant to tell you, Gabriel. You must believe that. I meant to tell you when we were last together, only I was so happy, and afraid that my words would spoil things between us.

I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard, but if the rumours came via Lady Scranford as I am informed, then I can well imagine. Oh, Gabriel, surely you know enough to realise that woman is vain and selfish and empty-headed? She hated me on sight for being prettier than her! Can you imagine a more ridiculous reason for hating someone? As if I can do anything about it? But then she tried to flirt with Winterbourne, and he gave her cut direct - in full view of the whole party. Can you imagine her feelings towards Belle and I now?

As for that. It is quite true, Winterbourne was trapped into marriage. Belle intended to trap Lord Nibley, in actual fact. He is a sweet-natured, if dull, fellow, and sorely needs looking after, so it didn’t seem such a terrible thing. But Winterbourne discovered Belle’s plan and went to stop her, with the results you now know. But Gabriel, dearest Gabriel, you must not think badly of my sister. We were on the edge of ruin. My aunt had told us that if we hadn’t married or at least found a man to keep us, then she would turn us out. She was trying to sell me to the highest bidder, and Belle, my beloved sister, was prepared to sacrifice her own happiness to save me.

The funny thing about it is that the two of them are now very much in love and so very happy together. I can’t help but feel that perhaps fate was looking after them, guiding them together. I only wish it had felt as kindly towards us.

Gabriel, I am sitting here crying my heart out, as the smudges on this letter will surely attest to, but in truth, I am very angry with you, too. How could you believe such a thing of me? I have told you time and again that I would not insist on marriage. If you would only give me your address, I would come to you now, this instant. I would leave everything behind and bring scandal and shame upon my poor sister, if only you would give me the chance to prove my loyalty to you. Belle has plans to send me to London for the season and has overridden my every objection. She wants to believe I can find a man to make her as happy as she is, and I cannot tell her that I already have. If you don’t send for me, I shall be forced to go with Lady Russell and endure endless dances and socialising, and Gabriel, I swear I will die. I cannot do it. And don’t you dare go thinking it is my perfect opportunity to snare a wealthy husband, for if you do, I swear I shall throw something at you the next time we meet.

I will never, ever marry, that much I swear to you. I will have you, my love, or die an old maid. It is your decision. I will wait for you, Gabriel. Please don’t let it be forever.

I love you,

Your friend,

Crecy.

 

She was sobbing in earnest by the time the letter was done. Wiping her eyes, she folded it carefully and looked about the desk for the wax to seal it. Seeing nothing obvious, she pulled one of the desk drawers open and caught her breath at what she discovered. The next one was opened in turn, and she gave an unsteady laugh as hope rekindled in her heart. In each drawer, arranged in date order and carefully laid upon thick green baize, was every strange and quirky gift that Crecy had ever sent him. In the third drawer, and arranged with equal attention, every single one of her letters.

“Oh, Gabriel,” she said, feeling her heart clench in her chest. She reached down, trailing her fingers over years and years of one-sided correspondence, every one of them opened and then stored carefully in the place he spent most of his time, every day. She closed each drawer in turn, realising as she closed the second one that there was a space. The wolf’s head. With a lurch of hope, she wondered if he had taken it, knowing that he often reached for it in times of stress. She moved to the mantelpiece and her hopes snuffed out as she found it still there. Picking it up, she held it to her lips and determined to keep it with her. She would give it back to him herself.

A further search of the office turned up the wax and she sealed her letter, leaving it on his desk and praying that it would get to him soon. Taking one last look about the room that kept so many secrets about the man she had lost her heart to, Crecy turned and walked away.

***

1st April, 1818

Gabriel glanced at his watch and put his head in his hands. An hour. He’d been ready for an hour and he still hadn’t managed to leave the damn room. Anxiety clawed at his throat, and he looked back at the dressing table. It’s fine. It’s all fine. Just leave it alone, you bloody madman. He clenched his fists, a shudder running down his spine as nausea roiled in his stomach. It had been a long time since things had been this bad.

Damn her.

Damn her.

Don’t think of her. You must not think of her. But it was a forlorn hope. He thought of little else. Every conversation they’d had, every touch they’d shared. Everything was examined and turned over and seen in a new light, or rather, without any light at all. He was cast into darkness, and he could see no way out.

The trip to his property in France had been an unmitigated nightmare, and he wondered that his valet, John Allen, hadn’t deserted him entirely, for surely, even after fifteen years of Gabriel’s strange behaviour, the man had been tested to the limits of his patience. Gabriel had compensated him handsomely for his troubles, and, to be fair, John had never uttered a word of reproach. He probably didn’t dare, Gabriel thought with a snort. Who knew what a madman would do? He might try and strangle the life out of the poor devil, like he had with Chambers.

But even John had begun to try and coax him from the room, and by God, wasn’t that humbling?

“Please, my lord, won’t you come downstairs now?” John said, his placid voice as calm and as unruffled as ever, despite having said the same thing twenty times already. “I believe the gentleman you dispatched to retrieve your correspondence arrived late last night. Worn to a thread, he was, a terrible crossing, by all accounts. Still, after waiting over a week for a crossing at all, I expect he was glad enough to get one.”

Gabriel looked up, meeting the fellow’s eyes and cursing himself for hoping.

“There’s post?”

“Yes, my lord.” John’s eyes were too full of sympathy, and Gabriel looked away. He’d be damned if he’d have his bloody staff pitying him. They could fear him by all means, but not pity.

“Is there much?” Stop it, you bloody fool. You don’t want to hear from her.

“No, I don’t think so, my lord. He has brought some important documents from your lawyer, I believe, as Mr Bainbridge did not wish to consign them to the post and waited to put them in his hands. I believe there is also one letter. That one came from Damerel House.”

Gabriel caught his breath as sweat prickled down his spine. Hope and anger and fear, all of it coiling in his gut and making him want to retch. He waved John away, wanting to be alone for a moment. He would not run downstairs and tear the bloody letter open. He would not.

John went to the door, but paused, turning back to him.

“May I speak plain, my lord?”

Gabriel looked up in surprise. John rarely spoke at all. It was one of the things he appreciated most about the fellow. He was quiet and discreet and he never appeared to be judging him, though he didn’t doubt his long suffering valet thought him perfectly insane.

He nodded, too curious to tell John no.

“I was engaged to be married once, a long time ago,” John said, an uncharacteristic blush staining the fellow’s cheeks. “A lovely girl, she was, sweet and pretty as a daisy. But then, someone told me something about my fiancée … he made allegations.”

Gabriel felt his humiliation deepen as the man spoke. For the love of everything holy, it was bad enough they all thought him mad, but to think they knew a woman had tipped him over the edge. It was too much.

“Well, my lord, it turned out the fellow was jealous. He wanted my girl for himself, and he got her, too,” he said, his voice turning bitter. “By the time I realised what a blasted fool I’d been, it was too late.” John cleared his throat, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. “I’ve regretted that a long time, my lord.” With an awkward nod, he excused himself and left the room.

Gabriel sat, considering John’s words. Was the fellow actually trying to defend the woman - he would not say her name - after everything she had plotted?

If she had plotted.

Don’t pin your pathetic hopes on more lies, Gabriel. What in the name of God would a woman like that want with you? She’s beautiful, she could have anyone. She probably already has. She’ll be hunting bigger fish now, opening her legs to other more inviting prospects. Maybe she’s hooked herself a duke?

No. Stop it. Shut up.

Though he kept telling himself to burn the damn thing, he reached for the pocket inside his jacket and withdrew the small sketch she had given him. Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to consign the wretched thing to the flames. Her lovely face stared back at him, making longing sweep over him. Why did he keep torturing himself like this? Just burn the damn thing. He stared at the flames, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to do it, and tucked the picture back out of sight as his father mocked him for it. He got to his feet, needing to block out his father’s voice. The letter. He would go downstairs and read the letter.

***

By the time he had dismissed the fellow who had brought the post, after hearing lengthy and unnecessary tales of the man’s appalling voyage, he was close to breaking. Finally, however, he was left alone and reached for the papers, casting them aside with little care and less patience as he searched for the letter.

There it was. The sight of her familiar, looping handwriting making his breath come short.

Burn it. Burn it.

Gabriel stared at it, desperation a searing pain in his chest. He got to his feet, tipping the chair over in his haste, snatching the letter up as he went. Striding to the fireplace, he held it out over the flames, but try as he might, he could not let it go. If he couldn’t burn her picture, what hope was there for the letter he had longed for and dreaded in equal measure?

“Just do it,” he muttered, knowing that talking to himself was likely not a good sign. “End this.”

He couldn’t do it.

Sitting down heavily beside the fire, he stared at the letter for a moment before breaking the seal.

My dearest friend,

You cannot imagine my devastation as I write this letter.

Gabriel read with his heart in his throat. His father’s voice was raging at him, chastising him for being a damn fool, a pathetic worm who wanted to crawl beneath the woman’s skirts. But her words curled around him, and he remembered again the things that she’d said, the manner in which she’d said them, the way it had felt to be close to her. As much as he could not believe that she loved him, could not trust in her … he still hoped, still wanted.

His father was right - he was pathetic … but he had to see her again.