by Darcy Burke
He had to strain to hear the last part. He looked over at Poppy, saw the flash of pain and disappointment in her eyes, and felt the emotions echoing in his heart. She covered them quickly, smiling at Dinah with warmth and understanding.
“Of course you should,” Poppy said with honest encouragement. Gabriel knew that as badly as she wanted a babe, she would support this woman’s choice to be a mother.
“I know you hoped—” Dinah snapped her mouth closed, her jaw tightening, and returned her attention to her daughter. She held the girl close, as if she were afraid to lose her. Gabriel would do the same if the babe were his.
Poppy touched Dinah’s arm. “I hoped for you to find peace, to make a choice that you feel is best for you and the babe.”
When Dinah looked back up, her eyes were full of tears. “You were right, my lady. I am in love. I can’t ever let her go.”
“Of course you can’t.”
Gabriel couldn’t believe Poppy’s voice didn’t catch. He didn’t think he could speak if his life depended upon it.
“I’m so glad we could help you become a mother and provide a safe haven,” Poppy said, stroking Dinah’s arm. “When you are recovered, we can talk of the future. Your future—yours and your daughter’s.”
Dinah nodded and dashed her hand over her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about what you mentioned before, about becoming a teacher at Hartwell House. I—I would like that very much.”
Poppy’s eyes lit with joy—true happiness amidst this crushing disappointment. “Wonderful! We will need to work out the specifics, but we have so many plans for Hartwell House, and now you will be a part of them.”
“Thank you.” Dinah looked from Poppy to Gabriel, her eyes welling once more. “I can’t thank you enough—ever. You have changed my life. You have given me life. How fitting that this is St. Nicholas Day.” She smiled down at her daughter. “If she were a boy, I would name her Nicholas.”
“Why not Nicola?” Poppy suggested.
“Oh, that’s perfect.” Dinah tapped her finger lightly against her daughter’s nose. The babe snuffled, and Dinah laughed softly. “Nicola, my love.”
Gabriel needed to go. “Poppy, we should allow them to rest.”
“Yes, we should.” With a final pat to Dinah’s arm, Poppy said goodbye and they left.
They spoke briefly with Judith, who planned to stay with Dinah for a few more days at least. Poppy said she would speak with Mrs. Armstrong about moving Dinah and Nicola to Hartwell House. Gabriel heard them discussing ideas about how to make that happen but wasn’t listening to the words. He’d gone back to that room with his mother.
Somehow, he and Poppy were soon ensconced in the gig. He plucked up the reins and started toward the abbey, his muscles moving as if he were an automaton. After several minutes, Poppy exhaled as she pressed close to his side. “What a long day.”
“I found my mother dead.”
The words cascaded from his mouth like an avalanche of rocks that would crush him if he didn’t flee. Gabriel had nowhere else to run.
Poppy stiffened beside him. He didn’t look at her but could feel her gaze on him like the rays of the sun on a hot summer day. But he wasn’t warm. The night was cold, and he was even colder on the inside. Absurdly, he wondered if this was how Poppy’s brother felt.
“You never told me that,” she said quietly.
“I only just remembered it tonight.”
She put her hand on his thigh beneath the blanket she’d drawn over their laps. “That’s why you went so deathly pale. I worried you were going to faint.”
“It was the smell. Of birth, I suppose.” He shook his head the faintest amount, his gaze trained on the dark road, barely illuminated by the lanterns hanging from the sides of the gig.
“That triggered the memory?”
He swallowed as the recollection filtered back in small pieces—he didn’t want all of it. “I only wanted to see her, to tell her how sorry I was that my brother had died.”
“He was stillborn.”
“Yes. My father told me I couldn’t visit her, that she was tired and not feeling well. But I just had to see her. ” His voice started to break. He gripped the reins, glad the journey was short and they were nearly to the stable.
“Gabriel.” The anguish in his wife’s voice nearly undid him.
“Please don’t, Poppy,” he barely whispered. “I can’t.”
He drove her to the side door and stopped the gig. “Go inside. It’s cold.”
“I’ll go to the stable with you, and we can walk to the house together.”
“No. Please go.”
She turned toward him—he could feel her movements. “I’m not leaving you. Not like this. You’re upset.”
“Poppy, go.”
The sound of her breath drawing sharply into her mouth and the feeling of her body going ramrod straight beside him did nothing to ease the ache inside him. On the contrary, he only felt like more of a failure. She deserved a child, and he couldn’t give her one.
She got out of the gig and walked inside, turning to look at him as she reached the door.
Gabriel couldn’t meet her gaze. He should at least have helped her out of the vehicle, but he was too entwined in himself. In the painful past.
In the dismal future.
He drove to the stable and cared for the horse himself while the grooms managed the tack and vehicle. Moving slowly, he didn’t care how long the task would take. He had nowhere he wanted or needed to be.
Yes, it was St. Nicholas Day. A day for giving and sharing. He’d never been more bereft.
“Tell me how you’re enjoying being married,” Poppy said to Bianca as they drove to Hartwood. If she could manage to keep the conversation diverted away from herself, she would be able to keep from breaking down. And yet, she wondered if it might do her good to discuss her problems with someone. No, not with someone. With her sister.
Bianca laughed, and Poppy seized onto the glorious sound, basking in its joy and warmth. “It’s only been a week. But it’s quite lovely.” She gave Poppy a knowing glance, and Poppy couldn’t help but laugh too.
“I see,” Poppy murmured. “I am glad you are content. You chose very well. Ash is perfect for you.”
Grinning, Bianca situated her cloak around herself, almost preening. “Yes, he is. He’s quite excited about the new Shield’s End.” She cocked her head to the side. “It will be strange not to refer to the Institution for Impoverished Women as Hartwell House. Perhaps we should keep the name.”
“Except Hartwell House will still exist as the school.”
Bianca exhaled. “That’s true. We shall simply have to adjust. Shield’s End will be the institution and Hartwell House will be the school.” She shook her head, smiling. “How lovely it will all be when it’s completed.” She looked over at Poppy. “I was so pleased to hear Dinah has agreed to teach the children.”
The mention of Dinah sliced through Poppy, reopening the wound she’d been trying to heal over the past six days. Doing so was proving difficult, particularly because Gabriel barely spoke to her. He barely spoke to anyone. And he didn’t sleep in their bed.
Poppy had visited Dinah and Nicola several times. They were doing quite well. Dinah was already managing her cottage, and Nicola was a large, healthy babe. Dr. Fisk was very pleased with their recovery. Judith would return to Hartwell House in a few days.
“She’ll be wonderful in the role,” Poppy said. “We’ve discussed how she means to proceed, and she’s given the position a great deal of thought. She would like to begin after Epiphany, but I cautioned her to take things slow.”
“Indeed. She has her hands full, I imagine.” Bianca fell quiet a moment, but her gaze was fixed on Poppy. “Has it been difficult?” she asked softly. “Spending time with Dinah and her babe?”
Poppy tensed. “No.” That was a lie. Why should she lie to her sister? “Yes. But I’m very happy for her—I’m glad she decided to stay and be Nicola’s mother.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier.” Bianca’s brow creased, and her mouth turned down as sympathy clouded her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m most worried about Gabriel, actually.” So much for avoiding the topic. “The birth brought up memories of his mother’s death. He’s been incredibly upset.”
“Did it do the same for you?” Bianca asked.
Poppy shook her head. “I was not reminded of our mother. I don’t remember her at all. Gabriel was much older than I was when he lost his mother.” She stopped before she revealed how worried she was.
“You’ll work through this,” Bianca said with a confidence Poppy didn’t feel. “I pray my marriage to Ash will be as loving and caring as yours is with Gabriel. You support and love each other.” She gave Poppy a small, admiring smile. “It’s lovely to behold.”
Poppy blinked and then looked out the window. She knew Bianca was trying to help, but her words only reminded Poppy of how they weren’t supporting each other right now. And how she wanted to be there for Gabriel. If he would let her.
Poppy sniffed and straightened her spine. “Let us discuss how we mean to proceed today. What do we hope to gain from our visit with Calder?”
They’d discussed paying a call on their brother and had decided it was past time. “We’ve so many things to talk to him about,” Bianca said, pursing her lips. “Where to begin?”
“I should like to lambaste him for not attending your wedding.”
Bianca curled her lip. “He did not approve.”
“What palaver,” Poppy said in disgust. “After I scold him about that, let us castigate him for refusing to support Hartwell House. It’s in a shambles, and he could help fix it tomorrow.”
“Castigate?” Bianca sniggered. “Why, Poppy, am I rubbing off on you?”
“It was bound to happen.” Besides, Poppy had enough strife. She didn’t need any more from her idiot brother.
“We should also mention the assembly. He really ought to attend.”
“Why, so he can cast his dark cloud everywhere?” Poppy grunted softly. “My apologies. I am taking my frustration out on Calder.”
“I can think of no one who deserves it more,” Bianca murmured.
They arrived at Hartwood, and Truro, the butler, welcomed them warmly. “May I say marriage agrees with you, Lady Bianca?” He shook his head. “Forgive me, Lady Buckleigh.”
“It does, Truro,” she answered gaily. “And please do not worry over propriety with me.” She waggled her brows at him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.
“And Lady Darlington, may I say how nice it is to see you.”
“Thank you, Truro. I’m delighted to see you as well. I hope our brother isn’t causing you too much distress.”
Truro’s gaze flickered with surprise and maybe…appreciation. “Not at all, my lady.”
“You can be honest with us,” Bianca said conspiratorially, leaning toward the butler. “We know how His Grace has been. And we’re here to fix it.”
“Well, you can try, my lady.” His eyes widened briefly and he nodded once, keeping his head bowed for a slight moment.
Bianca inclined her head with determination. “We’ll do just that. Will you let the duke know we’re here? We’ll await him in the drawing room.”
Poppy and Bianca gave their outerwear to a footman, then showed themselves to the drawing room. Bianca looked about as if she’d never been there before. “It’s strange to be here as a guest.”
“Yes, it took some getting used to for me.” Poppy wasn’t sure if it was her current situation or Calder’s frigidity, but she’d never felt more uncomfortable here.
“He hasn’t even decorated,” Bianca noted as she crossed to the hearth. “There should be boughs here. And mistletoe.”
“My sisters have arrived.”
The deep voice of their brother made them both turn toward the doorway. He filled it impressively with his towering height and wide shoulders. His frosty gray eyes surveyed them briefly, as if he wasn’t entirely pleased to see them. No, “pleased” wasn’t a word one would use to describe Calder, especially given the harsh lines around his mouth and the near-constant furrows cutting across his brow.
Bianca frowned. “You still need to work on your greetings.”
“You need to work on a great many things,” Poppy added, then inwardly winced. She hadn’t meant to start like that—what was wrong with her?
She was angry. And sad. And in need of something she could fix.
Calder sauntered into the room and went to sit in a high-backed chair situated near a settee. He didn’t invite them to sit. “Out with it, then. Since you came all this way. But do be brief. I am rather busy.”
“With what?” Bianca demanded, marching toward him and dropping onto the settee. “You don’t have a wife. You aren’t helping Hartwell House. You aren’t hosting St. Stephen’s Day. What are you doing?”
“Being a duke.” His ice-gray gaze was colder than a shard of ice, his tone supercilious.
Poppy moved to sit beside her sister. “Well, I am a married marchioness, and I still manage to dedicate time to Hartwell House. And St. Stephen’s Day.” And a host of other things.
“You’re a woman.”
Bianca narrowed her eyes at him. “Careful, Calder, or I’ll chuck something at your head.”
“If you both truly came to berate me, you’ve wasted your time.” He started to rise.
“Do sit down,” Poppy said. “Please. We want to speak with you about Hartwell House. It’s in grave disrepair, and if you reinstated the support Papa gave, we could—”
“No.”
Bianca reached over and clutched Poppy’s hand, squeezing it. “Why not?”
“Because I haven’t the funds.”
“Nonsense,” Bianca argued. “If Papa could afford it, why can’t you? Have you mismanaged things so quickly?”
Calder’s gaze grew—impossibly—colder. “How do you know he could afford it?” His voice was dangerously soft.
Poppy had the feeling she didn’t know this man at all. Her anger began to give way to alarm. “Are you saying Papa mismanaged things?”
“I’m saying you don’t know anything about the estate or what I can afford. Furthermore, you shouldn’t be bothering me about it. You’re both married now.” He gave Bianca a terse look. “I should think you would pay all your attention to your husbands.”
Poppy couldn’t keep quiet. “Yes, we’re married. Why didn’t you come to Bianca’s wedding? We know you were invited.”
“I didn’t approve of her choice of husband. He’s a brutal pugilist who can’t seem to control himself. Why would I support something which I cannot endorse?”
A low groan of frustration bubbled from Poppy’s throat. “What has happened to you? Why are you so horrid, so unfeeling?”
He began to stand again, this time rising fully. “If there’s nothing else…”
“There’s plenty else,” Bianca snapped. “Such as not hosting the St. Stephen’s Day party. Did you know we were going to have it at Shield’s End?”
“It burned down.”
Bianca let go of Poppy’s hand and stood, glaring at him. “Yes, and Ash thanks you for your concern.” She took a step toward him. “Why won’t you answer Poppy? What has made you like this? How can you turn your back on those in need? Several of the rooms at Hartwell House are leaking. The institution is bursting with residents. Until Shield’s End is rebuilt, we have to make Hartwell House more habitable. You must help.”
“I mustn’t do anything. If you and your husband”—he tossed a glance at Poppy—“as well as you and yours want to waste your money on an endeavor that will provide no return, you are featherbrained indeed.”
Poppy rose on shaking legs as she exchanged an incredulous look with Bianca. “Featherbrained?” they asked in unison, their voices climbing.
He shrugged. “There is nothing to be gained from coddling those less fortunate. The institution should be turned int
o a formal workhouse. In fact, I am looking into how to make that happen.”
Their jaws dropped, and it was Bianca who found her voice first. “You can’t. Mrs. Armstrong will never let you turn it into a workhouse.”
“Well, I am the magistrate, and it’s up to me to ensure our community is orderly. Hartwell House may not be allowed to continue as it is. The institution should be run by the parish.”
“Hartwell House is not disorderly.” Poppy sounded as if she were choking. And she supposed she was—on her brother’s cruelty and disregard for those less fortunate.
Bianca touched Poppy’s forearm. “Poppy, don’t bother. I fear he’s lost to us. Just look around you. There’s no cheer. No warmth.” She gave him a pitying look. “And to think I wanted to convince you to come to the assembly.”
He twisted his lips into a frown. “What assembly?”
“The holiday assembly in two days,” Bianca said. “We hold it every year. But then, you aren’t usually here. You haven’t been here in more than a decade. Now you’re back, and you’ve completely destroyed our family’s legacy.”
Bianca went to him, standing just in front of him so he had to look her in the eye. “What happened to you?” she asked softly, trying to infuse her voice with care. It wasn’t difficult. He was her brother. Somewhere in there was the boy who’d led them around the estate playing pirates.
He looked at her, but the connection was brief. His discomfort, his antipathy radiated from him like a stench that couldn’t be scrubbed away. “Nothing.”
“Felicity Garland is back,” Poppy said, searching for the faintest reaction.
There. A slight flicker in his eyes. It faded so quickly she could have imagined it.
He blinked at her, tipping his head slightly as if annoyed. “Felicity who?”
Now she knew he was just lying. Poppy scoffed and turned away from him. “Yes, I daresay he’s a lost cause. Come, let us go. It is far warmer outside than it is in here.”
“Yes, do. Go on back to your husbands. To your happy lives.”