by Gabriel
“You know them well.” Marjorie paused with a hand on the door latch. “Has it been very upsetting, having Gabriel come home?”
“Upsetting?” George handed her a large umbrella. “What was upsetting was not knowing for two years if he lived or died, and if he lived, whether he was bedridden, crippled, or mad with pain.”
“You didn’t assume he was dead?” Marjorie took the umbrella, surprised at George’s disclosure. “I don’t think Aaron was sure either, at first. He kept looking down the driveway at odd hours, and he sent post after post to his fellow officers in Spain, and then he just stopped.”
“What’s important is that Gabriel is with us again, relatively whole and happy. We’ll get your mama sorted out, and then you can be about providing the Hesketh heir, hmm?”
Marjorie resolved to ask Polly Hunt to teach her some curses a lady might use in the privacy of her thoughts.
“Talk to Aaron, or the Lord Almighty.” Marjorie kissed his cheek, patted his lapel, and went back out into the rain, feeling somewhat better for having been able to share her concerns with George.
She didn’t see her friend’s eyes narrow shrewdly on her departing person, or hear the quiet, heartfelt oath he muttered in her absence.
***
Polly scooted over, making room for Gabriel in her bed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be anywhere else. It’s storming miserably tonight, and you need me to allay your fears.”
“I fear you’ll hog the covers.” Though when he stretched out beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, she bundled into his warmth gratefully. “It is a wicked storm.”
“Could be worse.” Gabriel commenced tracing patterns on her back, and immediately Polly felt her eyes getting heavy. “Could be snow.”
“I like snow,” she said, determined not to slip off as easily as she had the past three nights.
“I nearly cried at my first sight of snow after leaving Spain. I’d thought never to see it again.”
Snow had nearly made him cry? “What was it like in Spain, Gabriel?” She hadn’t asked him this, because it had clearly been a time of suffering for him, and the moment to ask hadn’t been right. But here, cuddled up with no immediate thought of mischief between them, the fire crackling softly, and the wind howling outside, she wanted to know.
“It’s very different. Exotic, more Eastern than I’d thought it would be, and pretty, in its way.”
“In its way.” Polly snorted. “You nearly died there. How pretty can it be?”
“I didn’t die there. The nuns wouldn’t allow it.”
“Tell me.”
“They were all Sister Maria Something,” he said, “and they were the silliest bunch of women I’ve ever met, always teasing and laughing, and enjoining one another to ridiculous prayers. ‘We must pray for Señor Wendover’s sense of gratitude, because he fails to appreciate this fine, rich broth we bring him five times a day…’ and so forth, but God, they were fierce.”
Who else would he describe as fierce in such admiring tones? “Fierce, how?”
“Like you, Sara, and Allie. They ran off the English surgeon when it was clear all the man wanted to do was bleed me, and they pestered the Arab physician until he was visiting me daily. A chaplain or two was commandeered for my spiritual comfort, and they taught me Spanish whether I wanted to learn it or not. They also cheated at cards, the lot of ’em.”
Nuns played cards? “They didn’t remind you of your mother?”
“She cheated too,” Gabriel said, his lips brushing Polly’s temple, “but no. She was a lady, for the most part, as best I recall.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Eight.”
A cold pang of guilt pierced the haze of well-being Polly felt in Gabriel’s arms. “So you had some sympathy for Allie, who also lost a parent very young.” Both parents, in fact.
“She lost a wretched excuse for a father, but to her, he was as dear, I’m sure, as her mother is.”
Gracious heavens. Polly leaned up and ran her tongue over his nipple, because talking about Allie was the last thing she wanted to be doing when Gabriel was in her bed.
“Cease tormenting me, Polonaise.”
“You’re always telling me what to do.” She swiped wetly at the second one.
“And you’re always ignoring my generous guidance.”
“I’ll give you some guidance.” She glided a hand down his torso to rest her palm over his half-erect cock. “Take you in hand, I will.”
“You’ll go to sleep.” He removed her hand but kept it tucked in his own and folded it against his chest. “Roll over, and I’ll rub your back.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. North.”
He didn’t comment, though Polly suspected he liked her reference to his former alias. She flopped over to her side and presented him with her back, thinking he had the absolute best touch with her aches and pains.
Her physical aches and pains.
“We leave for Town tomorrow.” He fell silent while his fingers spun pleasure up and down her spine then made the most wonderful slow circles on the muscles of her buttocks. “I suppose we could put the trip off.”
He was offering to delay this trip, and she loved him for that. “You’re meeting with your men of business, though, aren’t you?”
“We are.” He squeezed firmly and held his grip until Polly let out a sigh of pleasure.
“Did the nuns teach you this?”
“Naughty, Polonaise.” He added a kiss to her shoulder. “If I said yes, you’d be taking holy orders. The solicitors will be as happy to spend our coin if we wait a day or two.”
His grip on her backside was heavenly, his voice in the darkness lovely, and yet, Polly would send him on his way. “Marjorie is on pins and needles as it is, so be off with you both and have done with it.”
“It might not be that easy. What is this?” His finger traced a thin, puckered line from her nape out to one shoulder.
“An excuse for you to stop what you were doing. I fell out of a tree and landed awkwardly when I was very young.”
“I’ll kiss it better, when I can see what I’m aiming for.”
If only he could kiss all of her hurts better. “You’re a candles-blazing type, aren’t you?”
“I’m whatever you need me to be,” Gabriel rumbled, his hand going still.
“Such a tease.”
“I offer you heartfelt declarations, and you mock me.” He pinched her behind, affectionately, if such a thing could be done affectionately. “Go to sleep, Polonaise, and dream of me.”
“Believe I might.” She reached around and linked her fingers with his, then brought his hand up to cradle her breast through her nightclothes. He allowed it, as she’d known he would.
She wasn’t a stranger to the way men got when intent on gratifying their base urges, so she knew Gabriel was showing a monumental patience with her. He seemed genuinely content to cuddle and talk and tease in these dark, private hours in her bed.
Soon, she knew, he’d take what they both wanted him to take, and likely be on his way, as would she.
So why was she hugging these moments of uncomplicated proximity to her heart as if they were something more than simple bodily comfort between consenting adults?
***
Cold rain dripped down the back of Gabriel’s neck, because unlike Aaron, he’d eschewed a hat for the journey into Town.
“We could stop,” Aaron volunteered. “Hole up somewhere with a toddy or two, wait for this to pass.”
“This pissing weather will pass in about five months, for the fifteen minutes or so known as spring.”
“You sure that gelding of yours won’t suffer for this?”
Gabriel glanced at his sodden brother. “Soldier campaigned in Spain, just like you. He’s tough.”
“You don’t get tough; you get resigned. You bargain with God for no more mud, no more flies, no more puking recruits so scared they’re
shitting their pants. No more drinking with a fellow one night only to be burying him in parts the next. You don’t get tough.”
“What about the glory?”
“The glory?” Aaron snorted as desultory thunder rumbled off in the west. “There was mud, and flies, and death, and more of same. I was never so glad to see a man’s face as I was yours when you walked into the hospital tent.”
“Nor I, yours.” This particular exchange was one they hadn’t had yet, and Gabriel was left to wonder why.
“How did you conclude I was trying to kill you?” Aaron’s gaze was on his gelding’s wet mane.
“Had I truly concluded that, I would not be here, or perhaps you wouldn’t.”
“You’d kill me on a whim?”
The thunder sounded again, closer. “Not on a whim. The day I left Spain, still sporting a deal of stitches, I had convinced myself you were the only logical source of my troubles, and still I couldn’t confront you, much less kill you.”
“Why the bloody hell not? It would have saved me a marriage, you know.”
“Not by then.”
“How long were you there?”
Eternities. “Four months.”
“By choice?”
Soldier stopped and shook all over, like a dog, then resumed plodding down the sloppy track. The effect on Gabriel’s back was exquisitely painful.
“The wound was infected, Aaron. There are pieces of my life I can’t recall, save for the pain and humiliation of lying on that cot, too weak to do more than retch and moan. Had the nuns not kept the surgeons from my bed, you would have been faced with my death in truth.”
“The nuns are enough to make a man consider papism.” Aaron smiled soggily while Gabriel watched him mentally calculating what all had gone on in those first four months.
“I couldn’t take all the piety,” Gabriel said, though he hadn’t minded at all that Polonaise had prayed for his recovery. “I vote we change into dry clothing before descending on Kettering. How about you?”
“Likewise. If I catch a cold, Marjorie will hold you responsible.”
“Is your mother-in-law still in Town?”
“She is, and I hope she tarries longer, because Marjorie asked me to have a word with Pillington when we get back.”
“Lady Hartle still has the same land steward?”
“The very same, though I’m sure he’s seen his three score and ten.”
“From what I’ve seen, he’s falling asleep on the box.” Gabriel stood in his stirrups to ease his aching back and thought of Aaron, campaigning for years in weather at least this miserable. “Where Tamarack land marches with ours, the fences are in disrepair, the flocks look small, there’s a spring going to bog near the deer park, and it would make a perfectly suitable location for a cistern.”
“I’m to make him a list,” Aaron said. “I can’t credit why I’m to do this, when Pillington works for the very woman on the verge of suing us.”
Gabriel did not tell him that men in love were prone to contradictory behaviors. “Marjorie sees only that her brother’s birthright is going to ruin. You might consider having a word with young Dantry.”
Aaron’s brows knitted, and a blink of lightning provided an instant’s bright illumination of the dreary landscape. “That is likely the better approach. He has a couple of years of university left, but should be home for the holidays.”
“You could write to him, let him know what’s afoot here. As the current title holder, it likely falls to him to put his imprimatur on any lawsuit Lady Hartle seeks to bring.” Unless his mother’s scheming included a willingness to commit forgery.
“Hadn’t thought of that either. We should discuss it with Kettering.”
“When we’re warm and dry.” They rode along in silence for the last few cold, wet plodding miles into Town, but as the grooms were leading their mounts into the mews, Gabriel mustered a final question for his brother.
“Aaron, if you hated the military, why stay? You could have sold out at a considerable profit at any point.”
“And done exactly what, Brother? Younger sons are for the church, the military, letters, or occasionally, diplomacy. I’m a horseman, so the choice was obvious.”
“To Papa, but what is the choice now?” And why did Gabriel presume to press his brother this way?
“God knows.” Aaron’s boot sent a loose stone skittering down the damp, deserted alley. “I’ve never thought beyond the day you might come back.”
“You had me declared dead. Why would you have been looking toward the day of my return?”
Aaron turned his face to the miserable sky for a moment, then started walking toward the back gardens of the Hesketh town house. “A good question, but I haven’t an answer. Are we going to eat before we take on the men of law, or just change?”
“Kettering will feed us. He’s sly like that.”
“A fine quality in one’s solicitor.”
Yes, but what about in one’s brother?
***
“You might want me to discuss these matters with you separately,” Kettering said.
“Because?” The question came from Aaron, who was sprawled in a chair, having demolished the substantial tea tray offered initially.
Kettering sat at his desk and twiddled a pencil over, under, and between his fingers. He was a big, dark, curiously elegant fellow, and yet, that nimble twiddling spoke volumes about the way his mind worked. “I’m going to ask things like who has had carnal knowledge of Lady Marjorie, for starts, and what exactly you knew regarding the state of her chastity before you married her.”
“Holy Infant Jesus,” Gabriel expostulated from where he’d propped himself against the mantel, back turned to the fire. “Is that necessary? I thought we were going to deal with the title and succession today.”
“We’re facing two suits, which ought to take precedence over your return from the dead,” Kettering said, “at least as far as I can figure. If you are undisputedly restored to your title, Lady Hartle will be that much more motivated to wed her daughter to you.”
“Two suits?” Aaron muttered from deep in his chair.
“At least. The first will be for fraud in the inducement, suggesting you, Lord Aaron, knew or should have known your brother yet lived, and used the false report of his death to gain the title and the advantageous match to Lady Marjorie.”
“And the second?” Gabriel hated to ask, but forewarned was forearmed.
“For specific performance,” Kettering said. “To enforce the original betrothal contract and get Gabriel Wendover to the altar with Lady Marjorie.”
Aaron shot to his feet. “Is there any chance we can reason with Lady Hartle?”
Kettering flipped the pencil to his left hand without missing a beat. “Reason, how?”
“Offer her damned money, Marjorie’s dower lands back, our firstborn, I don’t know, but I cannot countenance violating Marjorie’s privacy like this.”
“Her mother apparently can,” Gabriel said. “Kettering?”
“We will expect negotiations, but from what Erskine has said, we’re not likely to get far.”
“Said to you?”
“Said to Hamish,” Kettering replied, “to whom his initial correspondence was directed. He delivered it himself to Hamish the elder, and as much as confessed Lady Hartle has the bit between her teeth.”
“He’s lost control of his client,” Aaron said, popping the last tea cake into his mouth. “Gentlemen, it seems we are to have a scandal.”
“Scandal is of little moment, Aaron,” Gabriel said, “as long as I don’t end up having to marry your wife.”
Kettering’s infernal pencil came to a halt. “That outcome, at least, isn’t likely.”
“And why should we be shown that bit of mercy by the gods of legalities?” Gabriel asked, his eye on his brother, who had never looked more miserable.
“I’ve done the research. I can’t find a single case where an English court has ordered two people to marry
who were both unwilling, not in the past hundred years or so. It shades over into church law, and even the church hasn’t a recent precedent for such a thing.”
“Marjorie might not be unwilling, despite declarations to the contrary,” Aaron said, tossing himself back into his chair. “With her mother holding a figurative gun to her back, and knowing Gabriel would treat her decently, Marjorie might eventually accommodate the notion. She has younger siblings to think of. Many younger siblings.”
“Have you considered getting her with child?” Kettering posed the question casually and resumed flipping his pencil.
“Getting her…?” Aaron bent forward, face in his hands. “So Gabriel can raise my son, who will disinherit Gabriel’s son? I thought you were clever, Kettering, not perverse.”
“If she’s carrying your child,” Kettering said, “Lady Hartle might back down, because the offspring could be become illegitimate if the fraud suit succeeds. She has to know we’re years away from any judicial decisions.”
“Clever,” Gabriel allowed, “and perverse, also damned risky to the child.” More to the point, he could not confess to Polonaise that he’d endorse such a scheme, and thus it became untenable.
“Risky to Marjorie as well,” Aaron said. “Let’s not pin our hopes on that strategy.”
“It’s just a thought.” Kettering put down his damned pencil an instant before Gabriel would have grabbed for it. “Suit has not been formally joined, so we have time to gather more information. As a starting point, I want you both to make a calendar for me.”
“Of?” Gabriel asked, because lists of sobriquets for Lady Hartle would likely not aid the situation.
“A list of events,” Kettering said. “From the day each of you left England, to the day you showed up in my office. I want you to post anything that could bear on this situation, but your calendar, Lord Aaron, is the more noteworthy.”
“There’ll be a deuced lot of ‘got drunk and cursed my fate’ on my calendar. It hasn’t been a jolly two years, Kettering.”
Kettering reached for his pencil, but Gabriel snatched it up first.
“I want to know when you first feared your brother dead, what steps you took to confirm or deny the rumors, how long you waited before taking legal action. You’ll need to note when Lady Hartle approached you about marrying her daughter, what your response was, who witnessed it, and so forth. Then I’ll need to know who planned the wedding itself.”