She grabbed another floral pillow and plunking the soft square on her lap, plucked at the silky gold fringe. “There isn’t any alternative. If Grandpapa is guilty, and I fear he very well might be, I cannot allow him to go to prison for the rest of his life. He’s old and frail and would die within months.
“Nor would I ever consider permitting you and Grandmama to be put out of your home. I suppose we ought to appreciate the duke allowing me any choice at all. He might’ve booted us to the curb and seized all without consideration.”
All outraged sisterly protector, Ophelia snuffled loudly and scrubbed at her damp cheeks. “And here I believed Pennington a decent, chivalrous sort. I even suspected you held a tendre for him. I would never have believed him capable of such vileness. Oh, my darling sister, I cannot bear it. I simply cannot comprehend that you would even consider making such a sacrifice.” She punched her pillow. “God rot the blackguard. If I were a man, I’d call him out.”
Now there was a lovely thought. A duel at dawn. Fisticuffs at four? Swords at six? Sabers at seven? Gabriella snorted at her own absurdity.
What would the pompous, self-righteous Duke of Pennington do if she challenged him to an affair of honor? Had such a thing ever been done? A woman demanding satisfaction? Not with a man, though there were a few isolated instances of women dueling other women.
He wouldn’t accept of course. A duke most certainly wouldn’t concede to duel with a woman. And most definitely not a lady very nearly his affianced. Oh, what a succulent treat that would be for the gossip rags. What that wouldn’t do to his efforts to keep everything hush-hush.
Mayhap she’d pen a letter or two or ten to the most notorious of the tattle magazines.
No, she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t only his name and reputation that would be dragged through the filth. She stopped fiddling with the fringe and shot a frantic glance to her bedchamber door.
Dear God, Grandpapa wouldn’t do something so rash as to demand satisfaction, would he? Did he even own a blunderbuss or a blade of any sort except for kitchen and garden utensils?
Flopping onto her back, she stared at the familiar, pleated fern-green canopy. “The duke is coming to dinner at seven tonight. I must talk to our grandparents beforehand. It will be horridly awkward when he arrives.” She turned her head, reaching for her sister’s hand. “He wants us wed straightaway, as if he almost fears Grandpapa will contrive a way to save Hartfordshire Court. Though, I confess, if all that Pennington said is true, I cannot conceive it.”
“Neither can I,” Ophelia whispered, her voice breaking. “This is awful beyond belief.”
Biting her lower lip, Gabriella closed her eyes for a blink. “Maxwell is ruthless and unforgiving, Fee Fee. He cannot be reasoned with. God knows I tried. I really, truly tried.”
And he was absolutely undeterred in his quest for retribution.
“No. It’s unthinkable. You cannot bind yourself to such a monster.” Ophelia thumped the mattress with her fist. “Grandpapa shan’t permit it. You’ll see. There must be an alternative.”
“I’m of age now,” Gabriella reminded her quietly. “The decision is mine to make.”
Her twin shook her head vehemently. Several pins came loose, and tendrils of hair tumbled to her shoulders. She put a shaky palm to her forehead. “I fear what the shock will do to our grandparents.”
Gabriella’s exact concern.
Swallowing, she dipped her chin in a nod. “I’ve the same worry, and that’s why my mind is made up. Trust me when I tell you, Pennington has thought of everything. He provided me with three options, and I’ve selected the least dire. This way, I am assured you and our grandparents won’t suffer from his wrath. You’ll still have a home, and the duke is willing to cancel the tax debt grandpapa owes the duchy. In truth,” she gave a raspy, unhappy chuckle, “I suppose there is a degree of benevolence in this particular solution.”
She doubted the verity of the words even as she murmured them.
Ophelia snorted and launched the pillow across the room. “Ballocks. He’s a selfish blackguard for reclaiming Hartfordshire Court and entrapping you. I’ll bet my best bonnet, you’re what he’s been after all along.”
Even if nothing was further from the truth, Gabriella adored her sister for the suggestion.
“The knave knew you were beyond him,” Ophelia insisted, torturing the poor coverlet with her nails. “That he was undeserving of someone as wonderful as you, so he resorted to nefarious means to claim your hand.”
Genuine amusement caused Gabriella’s burst of laughter. “Oh, Fee Fee, come now. The duke can have his pick of any number of women. A penniless commoner most assuredly does not top his list of eligible ladies. Rest assured, I never set my cap for him, and there’s no danger of a broken heart.”
He’d already shattered the organ to fragments. She doubted she’d be capable of feeling anything romantic for a very long time.
If ever again.
“Hmph.” Arms crossed, Ophelia glared moodily at the canopy. “Our maternal great-grandfather was an Italian count. That ought to amount to something. And I don’t believe you when you say, you’ve no interest in Pennington. I’m your twin, remember. I know you. You did entertain warm feelings for him.”
“I’ll warrant, I found him charming when we returned from finishing school.” Intriguing and exciting too. “I was also struck by his good looks and humor, and prior to learning he intended to take Hartfordshire Court from us, I may have engaged in silly schoolgirl notions. But that’s all they were. In any event, I have since discovered that a handsome face can hide a blackguard’s heart.”
As she spoke the words, Gabriella knew them to be false. But if the untruth eased Ophelia’s worry a jot, she’d keep vowing to feeling nothing for Maxwell but enmity.
I could have loved you. Those words replayed in her mind, a relentless mantra of what would never be. She could have loved him. Might’ve been well on the way to doing so. But not now. She wouldn’t permit the tender emotion to grow and bloom. Not when he forced her into a union.
He’d have his duchess, all right. A frigid, hardhearted harridan of his creation brought about by the reprisal he demanded. She’d make sure he was as miserable as she, and there’d be no more willing kisses or anything else. Perchance, she’d stipulate they didn’t reside in the same house.
Mouth pursed, she blew out a wobbly sigh before sitting up. Not only would she hate Maxwell, in time, she feared she’d come to despise herself too. For it wasn’t her nature to be vindictive and unforgiving.
She peered over her shoulder at her twin.
Ophelia sat up, but her face remained twisted in indignation as she worried her lower lip.
“Will you come with me to talk to Grandmama and Grandpapa? I don’t think I can approach them with these ugly allegations alone.” Cowardliness was foreign to Gabriella. Nonetheless, assertions such as these…Well, they weren’t easy accusations to make. “I feel an absolute traitor,” she confided. “I know beyond a doubt, it will break their hearts, and neither is as strong as they once were.”
At once, Ophelia pulled her into a fierce embrace. “Of course, dearest. Of course I shall. You may think there’s no other recourse but for you to marry Pennington, but I’m not ready to quit the field quite yet. Perhaps Grandpapa has an explanation or a remedy. Mayhap there’s a way out of this conundrum that you haven’t thought of.”
“Such as?” There was no way out.
Waggling her winged eyebrows, Ophelia gave a wicked wink. “What about poison in his wine? Loosening his saddle’s girth? A fall down the stairs?”
“Shall I bring the shovel, or will you?” Permitting a rueful smile, Gabriella gathered her scattered thoughts and emotions. “Let me freshen up, and we’ll go below. Pray to God the shock doesn’t overwhelm our grandparents.”
Fifteen minutes later, Gabriella had settled comfortably in the parlor, her favorite room at Hartfordshire Court. The sun shone through a beveled-leaded glass window, a
dorning the chamber in a myriad of miniature rainbows. A hearty fire snapped and popped in the hearth framed by a carved mahogany mantel. The outdated furnishings, intended for comfort rather than to impress, gave the chamber a welcoming ambiance.
As she curled her legs beneath her in her usual corner of the blue and gold-striped brocade sofa opposite the fireplace, she examined the room with a fresh eye.
She’d read dozens, probably hundreds, of books in this very spot. Birthdays and Christmastide had been celebrated here as well. She still remembered being a frightened five-year-old and her grandmother’s soft arms embracing her as she whispered soothing, reassuring words in her ear despite her own grief at having lost her son and daughter-in-law so tragically.
Now Gabriella’s newfound knowledge tainted the comforting room. Had the house been furnished when Grandpapa acquired the estate? If not, where had the funds to purchase the furnishings and everything else in the house come from? What about the monies to send her and Ophelia to school? To buy their clothing? Did the sale of the cattle truly provide enough capital to live on?
Were there more dark secrets yet to be revealed?
So much doubt plagued her when once there’d been absolute trust. She wanted to shout at the unfairness, but histrionics and emotional outbursts served no purpose. She’d seen the unyielding granite hardness of Maxwell’s jaw. Recognized the flinty ruthlessness in his steely gaze. He was a man bent on vengeance.
Come hell or highwater.
That was what he’d vowed months ago, and he’d kept his word.
True, it was beyond her comprehension to understand the kind of hatred and animosity that motivated a man to go to the extremes for revenge that he had. But she had been raised in a loving home with caring grandparents, whereas he’d never known kindness or affection. While it was true her grandfather was reluctant to part with his coin, she and her sister had never lacked for essentials, including love.
Sorrow pinched her heart, and she blinked away the sting of hot tears. Had this life been based on a lie? Was all of this, she glanced around the cozy room once more, a lie too?
Despite the robust fire, a shiver skittered down her spine. Just how soon did Maxwell expect the wedding ceremony to take place? Three months ago, she would’ve been over the moon to think she’d gained the attention of a much-sought after gentleman. A man who’d captivated her since their first meeting.
He’d been right about their mutual attraction, though she’d chew shoe leather rather than confess such idiocy to him. There had been something sparking and sizzling between them before he trampled it unmercifully on this path of retribution.
Bearing a tea tray, Ophelia entered, followed by their grandmother, looking much recovered from her bout of ill-health. Her silver-threaded hair twisted into a tidy knot at the back of her head, Grandmama wore her gray gown trimmed in burgundy braid today.
Once Ophelia placed the tray on the low tea table, she promptly set about pouring the fragrant brew. Ah, new tea leaves, and even two kinds of biscuits. A rare treat indeed.
Gabriella caught her sister’s eye and sent her an appreciative smile.
A moment later, Grandpapa shuffled into the parlor. Purplish half-moon shadows darkened the skin below his eyes and weariness etched his beloved face, deepening the many craggy creases. Almost three and seventy, he’d aged much this past year. He’d lost weight too.
Did the secrets and guilt he bore haunt him? Rob him of sleep and peace and his appetite? Well, at least he’d be able to rest easier now, once the truth was aired. Secrets ate away at a person. Gabriella would’ve preferred to have this ugliness kept hidden, despite the cathartic effect of confessing.
“What’s this?” He motioned toward the tea service, in the tiniest hint of disapproval at the extravagance. “New tea leaves and two types biscuits,” his taut eyebrows said.
“Shush, Harold,” Grandmother admonished gently. “We didn’t have a birthday celebration for the girls. I think they’re deserving of an extra dainty.”
He harrumphed but helped himself to a ginger biscuit. “You asked to speak to your grandmother and me, Gabriella?” Wearing the same faded walnut-brown suit he’d donned for years, he assumed his usual place in the parlor, the wingback chair angled slightly away from the fireplace and which afforded him the window light as well.
With an unexpectedly grateful smile, he accepted the cup Ophelia handed him. Once Grandmama had her tea and a Shrewsbury biscuit in hand, her sister picked a seat on the sofa beside Gabriella.
His bald pate shining from the fire’s and the sunlight’s reflection, Grandpapa quirked a wiry gray eyebrow. “Well, what has you both looking like you have a case of the blue devils? Did a beau fail to pay you proper attention last evening?” He straightened, his faded gaze flicking between the twins. “I say, did something untoward occur at the music party last evening?”
Gabriella hid a wince. He couldn’t know.
Before she could answer, he turned his faded gaze on Grandmama. “We’d best send a chaperone along from now on, Irene.” Who? The maid of all work? “We wouldn’t want the chinwags targeting our girls.”
Our girls. Yes, she and her sister had been their girls for these past fifteen years, and Gabriella hadn’t a doubt what she was about to say would crush her grandparents. Either because they revealed the truth, or because she mistrusted them enough to put forth the harsh questions.
Summoning her resolve, she wrapped both hands around the teacup, savoring the warmth. She hadn’t realized how chilled she’d become. Could it be that bitterness had already begun to turn her heart cold? Could resentment truly do so that swiftly? A shiver tip-toed across her shoulders at the wretched thought.
God, what a miserable future she faced.
Yes, but my family will be secure.
With a boldness that astounded her, she lifted her head and peered squarely into her grandfather’s eyes. “Grandpapa, the Duke of Pennington claims he has evidence that you cheated his grandfather at cards and blackmailed the sixth duke into selling you Hartfordshire Court.” She rushed on before he could interrupt. “Pennington will join us for dinner at seven of the clock tonight. He’s demanding you settle Hartfordshire on me as a dowry and that I marry him to keep the scandal quiet.”
The shattering of china wrenched a gasp from Ophelia. “Grandmama!”
Gabriella’s attention flew to her grandmother. Pale as death, Grandmama held a quaking hand over her mouth as she stared aghast at her husband of almost five-and-forty years.
“I told you it was too great a risk, Harold,” she whispered hoarsely. “I told you.”
His jaw stiff and eyebrows forming a harsh vee, Grandpapa set his teacup down. It rattled and clanked, sloshing tea over the rim into the saucer. Shoulders slumped, chin tucked to his chest, he covered his eyes with one gnarled hand.
It’s true.
God above, was everything Maxwell claimed true?
By the reaction of her beloved grandparents, a great deal of what she’d suggested must be. Hands shaking, she set her teacup down too. More from a need to do something, she rose and after tossing a serviette upon the puddle of tea, gathered the broken china and set the pieces atop the table.
She mopped up the tea as best she could, the whole while a righteous anger she didn’t know she could feel toward her grandparents burgeoned in her middle. The emotion welled ever higher and higher until she climbed to her feet and whispered accusingly, “How could you have done something so despicable? Didn’t you consider the long-term consequences?”
Tears sliding down her papery cheeks, Grandmama shook her head and fumbled for the handkerchief in her sleeve. “He did it for me. Everything was for me.”
Struggling for control, Gabriella slowly sank upon the sofa’s arm. “Grandpapa cheated at cards and blackmailed the sixth Duke of Pennington for you? I do not understand—”
“May he burn in hell,” Grandpapa snarled. “I’d cheat him again, and I’d blackmail him again too. I’d do it o
ver and over and over a thousand times for what that devil put Irene through.” He pointed a shaking finger at his wife. “She was the duchess’s companion, and that spawn of Satan forced himself upon her.”
Gabriella felt every bit of color leave her face as a peculiar iciness and a wave of light-headedness engulfed her. She exchanged a horrified glance with her twin, and could see her own shock reflected in her sister’s eyes. “Are you saying…?” Oh God, Gabriella could barely form the foul words. “That he took liberties with Grandmama, and that’s why you cheated at cards and blackmailed him?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Bitterness dripping from each word, he slouched in his chair, looking old and defeated and feeble beyond description. “A peer always escapes justice for his crimes. Nevertheless, by God, I made certain that Benedict, the inglorious sixth Duke of Pennington paid a price.”
“But,” she blurted, scarcely able to comprehend what she’d heard. “He was married. In fact, that’s one of the reasons the current duke is so angry. He claims his grandfather resorted to drink and laudanum after his wife died. He blames you for her death and that of their unborn child as well. Possibly the spare heir.”
“Horseshit!” Grandpapa banged both fist upon the chair’s arms, then slammed them down again. “That’s utter horse. Shit.”
The women gasped in unison. Grandpapa didn’t curse in the presence of ladies.
“Pennington had a penchant for opium and drink long before I took advantage of his vices,” he practically growled. “His poor wife died of a broken heart, because the bastard swived anything in skirts. Whether the woman was willing or not.”
“Harold,” Grandmama cautioned, her face and posture radiating her unease. “The girls…”
“Nay, I’ll not temper my speech. Neither of the twins is a wilting flower.” Grandpapa jabbed his thumb toward his wife. “Your grandmother wasn’t the first, or the last woman he forced himself on. I’ve no doubt he raped the duchess too.”
Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance Page 13