An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series)

by Audrey Ashwood

  “Well roared, lion1.”

  1 Shakespeare, William, 1595/96 A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Chapter 14

  The look that Lady Rose cast his direction found its way into his heart as unerringly as an arrow from Cupid’s quiver. The fake smile on her face faded to one that he could not see enough of. It was not a radiant one, but one that spread, above all, to the corners of her mouth and then extended to her eyes that flashed at him half-reproachfully, half-provocatively. For a moment, he saw the possibility of a future in which he wooed Rose with words, and she allowed him to kiss her without having to resort to a masquerade.

  Had he resisted the temptation back then, his life would be far less complicated. But he did not regret what he had done – in fact, he did not want to regret his act. As long as Lady Rose kept coming into his life, poised to shake it up, Gabriel would not be able to banish her from his thoughts. He realised that he was still smiling when his coachman asked him where they were heading now. “Home,” came his reply, as Rose disappeared from sight. Had she managed to secretly slip into the house? He had no doubt that she would succeed. Gabriel leaned back. Only a few hours, then he would see her again.

  He had tried to convince himself that the only reason why he could not get her out of his head was that bewildering kiss – however, that would not do her justice. For him, her allure ran deeper than her physical beauty could. There were many attractive, even seductive women, but not one of them was so … alive. He liked her loyalty, bordering on mulishness, and he wished it would not validate a subject as unworthy as Richard de Coucy. What had the man done to make her want to defend him with tooth and nail? Gabriel could not imagine that she would be happy with a man like de Coucy in the long run, not just because he had no morals and no backbone. It was, beyond everything, de Coucy’s hypocrisy that would plunge Rose into disaster, it was as sure as there was carts to horses. Behind her beauty hid a curious, unconventional spirit, and that was a trait that de Coucy would never tolerate in his own wife. She would wither away like a rose in the first frost. The laughter in her eyes would gradually give way to quiet resignation.

  It was hell on earth to imagine what her life would look like in three- or four-years’ time.

  But was he the better choice for Lady Rose? Or was he just trying to whitewash his own desire to have her by his side? Gabriel had never seriously thought about marrying as long as his older brother was still considered the titular heir. But now it was his duty to continue the line of the Cavanaughs, more than ever, since Henrietta was carrying a bastard under her heart and most likely would not make a favourable marriage. Gabriel, who had always considered himself a conservative man and who, at some point in the foreseeable future, would choose a good wife of strict morals, found himself in a moral dilemma. If he was proven right and de Coucy had seduced his sister, Lady Rose’s engagement had to run aground. Albeit, allowing de Coucy to get away scot-free meant that Gabriel was letting go of the woman he wanted for himself. No matter how he twisted and turned the matter, there was no easy solution.

  The carriage slowed down and, as he peered out, they had already stopped in front of the entrance to his house. He was looking forward to a cup of tea and breakfast before tackling his next duties. Today, he wanted to talk to Lady Catherine; also, Henrietta’s delicate condition needed a solution.

  But when he was sitting in the breakfast room buttering his bread roll, to his surprise, Henrietta and Lady Catherine joined him. Over the last few days they had not arrived until eleven o’clock in the morning, and it was still early. He got up and pulled back their chairs before settling back into his seat, wondering if he could raise both problems here and now. How much did his great cousin know about Henrietta’s condition and, if she did not know, could he expect her to hear the shocking news?

  “How are you?” He first turned to Catherine and watched as she was already spreading butter and jam on her second roll. Not that he begrudged her for eating, but she certainly did not look like a patient. Her cheeks were rosy, and her figure was not exactly what one would call emaciated. His sister, over twenty years his junior, with shadows under her eyes and pale complexion, seemed more exhausted than Catherine.

  “Fine,” Catherine replied, taking a sip of tea. “That is, except for a slight discomfort,” she added hastily.

  “We are expecting Dr Hollingsworth for dinner, but if you are not feeling well, I will send for him sooner,” Gabriel said. Catherine’s cheeks turned deep red. “It would be rude to invite him to dinner and then ask for a consultation,” he thought aloud.

  “You invited him for dinner? Why?” Catherine sounded almost horrified and had pushed her breakfast away, as if the thought of the doctor had robbed her of her appetite. Henrietta looked earnestly at her plate and crumbled her toast. What was going on here?

  “Because I think he is a worthwhile conversationalist,” Gabriel answered Catherine’s question. The blush on her cheeks had spread down to her neck and neckline. Now, she was even fanning herself with her hand. Henrietta, on the contrary, did not seem to want to look up. “He told me about his father’s work and about the mental health clinic he runs, with some success, so the doctor claims.”

  Two pairs of eyes turned on him, fear in Lady Catherine’s, while Henrietta’s narrowed with suspicion, but at least, his words had made his sister look at him. “Which one of us would you like to get rid of?” she asked bluntly. “Catherine? Me? Or preferably the both of us? Out of sight out of mind, is that not right, Gabriel?” Her slender fingers kneaded the napkin.

  “Yes, I thought of sending you both to him. But only if you …” He did not get any further, because Lady Catherine cried out and Henrietta stood from her chair and put her arm around the older woman’s shoulder.

  “If we what? Do not show understanding, and do what you think is right? If we will continue to be inconvenient and embarrassing in the eyes of the new Marquess of Cavanaugh?”

  “I never asked to inherit the title and all the responsibilities that go with it,” Gabriel replied gracefully. In the two years he had spent away from home, had all the women gone mad? “Yes, your pregnancy is inconvenient,” he replied in unsparing honesty. “But that does not mean that I do not love you, or that I want to get rid of you or the child, cost what it may.”

  Henrietta sat down again and looked at him, now much calmer. “You still love me?” Now, she was crying, and Catherine put her arm around her shoulders. “Why did you not tell me that earlier?” she asked in a stifled voice.

  “I thought it was obvious,” Gabriel replied. “Otherwise, would I worry about you and your future, if you meant nothing to me?”

  “No,” his sister sniffed unabashedly, dabbing at her tears with the napkin, “I guess not. But it is still nice to hear.” She smiled or at least tried to.

  Well, at least one of his questions was now resolved. Catherine had not fainted in horror when the conversation turned to Henrietta’s child. Thus, she knew about it.

  “We have strayed from the actual topic,” he said. “When I talked to Dr Hollingsworth about it, I had the impression that a stay at his father’s hospital was not only the best solution, but also something he had already discussed with you, Henrietta.”

  “He showed me the clinic, that is right, and my impression was quite positive. Still, I do not think that it is what Catherine needs. What do you think, cousin? “

  “Yes,” Gabriel jumped in, given his relative’s strong reaction to the doctor, “it is an excellent idea. So, Catherine, what do you think of the idea of going to the countryside for a while?” He saw that Catherine’s hands had begun to shake as he addressed her directly, so he added a little more gently, “Speak freely.”

  “I … I do not know,” she stammered. “I … really like being here.”

  “Do you think you could be just as healthy here as with Dr Hollingsworth’s father?”

  “I do not want to trouble you both.” The words came slowly and hesitantly from Catherine’
s mouth. “Without a doubt, staying there will cost a lot of money.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes briefly and longed for the directness of Lady Rose. She would have told him bluntly what she did and did not want. “Can you forget about the money for once? Catherine, what are you afraid of? No one is going to hold up a mirror on how many guineas you will cost us.” He glanced over at Henrietta, who shook her head. “What is it? Now what have I said? “

  “It is not what, but how you said it,” his sister replied fearlessly. “You can see that Catherine is not feeling well, and that she is afraid of you.”

  “There is no reason to be afraid of me.” Was that a snort coming from Henrietta’s direction? Gabriel was not quick enough to confirm his suspicions. “Why can you both not just tell me straightforward what you think instead of being so … indirect? Unfortunately, I am not a mind reader.”

  “Please excuse me.” Catherine rose to her feet and fled. “My … vapours … I do not feel … well. I have got to lie down.” With eyebrows drawn, Henrietta shot him a punitive look and then followed her.

  “Once again, we are no step closer,” muttered Gabriel, who had not failed to notice how skilfully Henrietta had avoided a conversation and decision about her life.

  Of course, a day here or there did not matter, but he did not like people walking all over him as his sister had just done, and even less, when he knew not why.

  Chapter 15

  “Mother, Mrs Prisson and I are leaving now, if that is all right with you.”

  With a kiss on the cheek, Rose said goodbye to her mother as the duchess gave her consent, and she scurried out of the drawing room before any further questions were asked. She had managed to sneak in without her parents noticing, particularly thanks to Annie waiting at the garden gate, but with the infallible instinct of a mother, the duchess seemed to sense that Rose was hiding something from her.

  “Give my best regards to the marquess and Lady Henrietta,” her mother called after her while Rose hurried to the front door.

  Mrs Prisson was already waiting and John, who was accompanying her, now joined them. After her forbidden trip that morning, Rose’s entourage seemed almost queenlike to her. John sat down next to Fester on the coachman’s seat, while Rose’s chaperone asked her to straighten her hood and coat and spread a blanket over her legs, even though the sun was shining. When Rose protested that she was already too warm, Mrs Prisson merely replied that surely Rose did not want to visit Lady Henrietta de Vere in a semi-exhausted state. Rose felt like rolling her eyes, or, better still, sending Mrs Prisson back to the house, but she did not want to push her luck. It would be hard enough trying to persuade her elderly chaperone to keep quiet about accompanying her and the Marquess of Cavanaugh to the home of Rose’s betrothed, not to mention about reporting this to Rose’s mother. But if a sermon on ladylike, or, more precisely, unladylike behaviour was the price to convince the marquess of Richard’s innocence, Rose was ready to pay. Eventually, she would manage to fool Mrs Prisson, even though Rose shied away from betraying the woman who showed her more leniency than she, strictly speaking, should. Mrs Prisson was as blind as a mole, holding a book to her face whenever she allowed Rose a little privacy. It was a mystery to Rose how Mrs Prisson managed to monitor every gesture and conversation as she read her book page to page at the same time. Previously, Rose had thought that Mrs Prisson only pretended to read, but when asked about the plot, Rose’s chaperone could quote whole passages from the books without a hitch.

  It had not been right to drive to Battersea Fields on her own, Rose knew that. But had she had any other choice? Her conscience told her that one always had a choice, but in this case, it was only a theoretical one. Should Rose have told her mother and father about the outrageous suspicion that tarnished her fiancé’s honour? She did not think that either of them would have insisted on breaking off the engagement, for the taint would have stuck to her, but she also did not want to be light-minded when it came to Henrietta’s secret.

  “My Lady, we have arrived.” Mrs Prisson straightened her fluffy hood, got out in front of Rose and waited before she climbed the steps to the Cavanaugh’s house two paces behind her. The butler seemed to have received instructions about their arrival, for he led them straight to the drawing room. There was no sign of Henrietta, but the marquess was already waiting for her.

  “Good day, Lady Rose,” he said, bowing to her before greeting her chaperone. With the sunlight streaming down on his long face through the tall windows, his dark brown eyes took on a warm, almost fiery tone that made him seem much livelier. Even his hair was not severely combed back as usual but curled over his forehead and temples in a daring manner. In fact, he bore little resemblance to the raven she remembered, which could be due to his grey suit. Had Rose ever seen him in a colour other than black? The pale grey, with a flash of a scarlet waistcoat underneath, suited him well. Of course, he did not look as good as Richard, but when one came to consider a dark, brooding type of husband, the Marquess of Cavanaugh was a promising marriage candidate.

  “May I offer you some tea or shall we set off?”

  For the moment, Rose ignored Mrs Prisson clearing her throat in warning. Her chaperone had a whole repertoire of admonitory sounds, conveying varying degrees of disapproval – and this sound was still in the lower third. “Thank you, my Lord. I would prefer to get the unpleasant matter over and done with as soon as possible. Do you know where Lord de Coucy lives?” Rose tried to strike a business-like tone, or at least a neutral one. At the same time, she tried to speak softly, so that Mrs Prisson would assume that she was just going for a ride with the marquess. It would have only been polite to accept his offer of refreshment, but she was tired, restless, and wanted nothing more than to finally put an end to the unedifying affair.

  “Yes. My carriage is waiting by the stables. I will have it brought over, my Lady.” He rang for his butler, issued him with instructions and gave Rose his arm. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, trying to ignore the rising warmth his invitation conjured in her. His expressive voice gave the two words a subliminal meaning that she could not decipher – or perhaps she did not want to. Combined with the realisation that, in some ways, he was not unattractive, her inner unrest increased to a full-grown nervousness. Not only did she get increasingly warm, but her skin also tingled, and her stomach tightened. The feeling was disturbingly similar to the anxious expectation that she had felt when she had sent her short letter to Richard, waiting for his kiss.

  “I suppose your parents did not notice your escapade?” he asked, as she sat opposite him for the second time that day in the confines of his carriage. Mrs Prisson had followed them, sitting beside her like a familiar shadow.

  “No, but I was very lucky and had an ally,” she admitted. At the last second, she remembered who else was sitting in the coach besides her and the Marquess of Cavanaugh, and, as such, did not name her ally.

  He merely nodded and looked out. How long was the journey from his house to Belgrave Square? The carriage crawled ceremoniously through the streets – or, perhaps that was just how it seemed to her. The marquess also seemed impatient, judging by the way he constantly glanced out of the window. As the carriage came to a halt yet again, Rose sighed and took a moment to lean against the back of the enclosed coach in order to look out onto the street, as well. She could not see much but heard a loud shout and coarse swearing that came from somewhere ahead. He half-rose and pushed the door open. “I will be right back. You wait here,” he ordered and closed the door before she could reply. Was it the title and the responsibility it brought that had given him a greater inner strength? She liked his powerful charisma, but did he have to display it just when she could have better used a less vigorous opponent?

  It seemed an eternity before he came back and opened the door. “Up ahead, there has been an accident. I think we should walk the rest of the way,” he said, taking her hand to help her out, and he also extended the courtesy to Mrs Prisson.


  For the first time since the journey, her chaperone spoke up by turning directly to the marquess. “This whole business is very unusual,” she noted. “A detour may be required, but a walk …” She did not finish the sentence, nor was it necessary in order to express her doubts about the suitability of his plan.

  “It is not far, and the weather is nice,” he replied, giving Mrs Prisson a reassuring smile that sent a little sting through Rose. “I promise you that I will take good care of you both.”

  Normally, Rose would gladly have taken the opportunity to explore London on foot, but she had told her mother that she was visiting Lady Henrietta, not that she was strolling with her brother through the most distinguished part of London, where the risk of meeting a friend was not exactly low.

  Yes, or no? Why did even the simplest choice in the presence of the marquess resemble a decision between two evils? But she had spent too long making her decision. Mrs Prisson returned the marquess’s smile with some hesitancy, but she gave her approval and set off with Rose at a moderately fast-walking pace.

  Although they had not gotten beyond Mayfair, Rose not only felt as if she had fallen from the dark into the light, but also from a familiar world into a strange one. She barely noticed how Gabriel reached for her hand and placed it on his arm, because the sun was blinding her, and the voices of onlookers suddenly seemed unbearably loud. But the second of shock passed as she felt the hesitant rays of the English sun warm her. The marquess pulled her aside as two men approached, carrying a bleeding, limping man between them, and with a quick glance, he made sure Mrs Prisson, too, was safe. He pointed to the vehicle with his free hand. “My coachman will take you to the nearest hospital,” he said and ordered the man in the driver’s seat to afterwards rejoin them at de Coucy’s address.” Rose heard the injured party groan and looked around again. The men managed to get him inside the vehicle, without the man losing consciousness. “Come on, my Lady,” said the marquess, reminding Rose of the current plan. He skilfully picked his way through the onlookers and led them away from the hustle and bustle. It was probably good that a dense cluster of people had gathered around the scene of the accident, and Rose saw little more than hats, backs, and legs as the marquess steered them out of the immediate vicinity. The last thing that she heard was the voice of his coachman, making himself heard loudly as he warned the bystanders of his turning manoeuvre.