Grace Burrowes - [Lonely Lords 05]

by Gabriel

  “The secret wasn’t exclusively yours to tell,” Sara said, studying Lord Aaron’s portrait. “If you haven’t spoken with the man, how can you know what he’s thinking?”

  “His silence speaks loudly enough, and Gabriel values honesty above all.”

  Sara took the chair nearest the hearth, the very chair Polly had braced herself against the last time she and Gabriel had been intimate.

  “You owe him, Polly,” Sara said. “We all do—you, me, Allie, even Beck and Tremaine. We weren’t going on as well as we should have, not where Allie was concerned. And he cares for that child. You must admit that.”

  She would go to her grave admitting it. “He does, and he would not hurt her by publicly scorning me, but you’re also right that I owe him my thanks.”

  “Allie said he was going out to visit his horse.”

  “She did?”

  “She was intent on learning how to cheat at cards from Beckman, abetted by Tremaine.”

  “A pair of bad influences, though it’s a useful skill if Allie’s to have younger cousins.”

  “I never learned,” Sara said, rising. “I’ll go supervise Allie’s first taste of corruption.”

  “I’ll want a full report.”

  “Polly?” Sara paused at the door. “You said Gabriel values honesty, and I think he does, but he deceived us too, when he had every reason to trust us.”

  “He told me some of his situation eventually,” Polly said. “He was trying to keep us safe.”

  “We were trying to keep Allie safe. I don’t think Gabriel would judge you harshly for that.”

  Polly said nothing, and heard the door close quietly when her sister left.

  She considered the paintings again, the palpable love reflected between two people who’d not been able to be honest with each other for almost two years, the same two years she and Gabriel had been living side by side at Three Springs.

  Honesty was hard, but Sara was right: Polly owed Gabriel her thanks, and if he would hear her out, her apology. Her mind and her heart might settle if she could say good-bye to a man who’d been as much lover as friend, and certainly a friend to her daughter as well.

  Polly put on two cloaks, a scarf, and mittens, and made her way along the shoveled paths to the stables. Once Polly was inside the barn, Gabriel was easy to spot, for there was little other activity save the horses munching hay contentedly in their stalls. Soldier sported a freshly groomed coat and was lipping at Gabriel’s pockets for a bite of carrot or lump of sugar.

  “How is your beast?”

  “Enjoying an excuse to stay tucked up in his stall. Why aren’t you tucked up in my nice, cozy library?” He gave the horse a final scratch on the chest then led him down to his stall.

  “Your library has been turned into a gaming hell,” Polly said, trying to match his casual tone, despite the memories she had of that library. “Beck and Tremaine are teaching Allie to cheat at cards, and Sara is cadging a lesson as well.”

  “A little vice never hurt on a snowy day. You’ve come out in the cold to find me, Polonaise. What can I do for you?”

  So reserved now. Not her imperious, affectionate Gabriel, but instead, Hesketh, escaping to the company of his horse rather than attending his own impromptu house party. When he’d put the horse in its loose box, he came sauntering up the barn aisle, gaze unreadable.

  “I need a little of your time.” And she needed so much more than that, too.

  “If you’ve come to take your leave of me, we needn’t belabor the matter.”

  “I know that.” He was North again, as he’d been two years ago. Silent, self-contained, needing no one, despite shadows in his eyes and fatigue around his mouth. “That wasn’t exactly what I wanted to discuss.”

  He gestured toward the end of the aisle. “The saddle room is warmer, and we can sit. I trust this won’t take long?”

  “It will not.”

  He closed the door to the saddle room behind them and ushered Polly to a bench set along an inside wall. The room was cozy, because the grooms had brought in braziers, and the air was richly scented with clean leather, hay, and horse.

  “Might I sit as well?” Gabriel asked. “The cold has my back twinging.”

  “Of course.” She twitched her skirts out of the way, and he lowered himself beside her, making the bench creak. Her mittens went next, so she could stall a little longer by warming her hands over the brazier.

  “Polonaise?”

  “I’m gathering my thoughts.”

  “Take as long as you please.” His hands were bare and a bit less than pristine for having groomed his horse. She loved those hands, loved the ways they touched her hair, her body, her heart. Loved the competence and elegance and strength of them.

  “I want to explain. You might not want to hear this, but I need to say it.”

  “I will listen until you have spoken your piece, and then you will listen to me.” His voice was stern, forbidding even. He wanted what was fair, and she owed him at least that.

  “What I want to say is…” She bowed her head as the words formed a lump in her throat.

  “Take your time, Polonaise,” Gabriel said, his voice taking on the soft, purring quality she’d not thought to hear again. “You needn’t speak if it’s too painful. These days have been difficult, I know.”

  “Difficult, yes, but necessary, Gabriel, and for that I thank you.”

  “You thank me?”

  “For giving me my daughter.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “For seeing what was before our eyes, for listening to Allie when I wouldn’t, and Sara and Beck couldn’t. We are in your debt. We will always be in your debt.”

  “You most assuredly will not.” Gabriel sounded testy, angry almost. “Friends speak the truth to each other, in the general case. You would do the same for me.”

  “But I didn’t.” Polly managed only a fleeting glance in his general direction. “I didn’t tell you the truth, and I should have.”

  He was silent, and Polly felt her heart physically aching. He was too kind to rail at her, too much a gentleman to berate her for her deceptions now. But she wished he would, because it might give her some sense of atoning for mistrust of him and her pride.

  “Are you finished, Polonaise?”

  She had nothing else to say. Thank you and I’m sorry. The most useless, necessary words in the language.

  “I’ve said my piece.” She reached for her mittens, but he stopped her, closing his fingers around hers.

  “My turn.”

  She nodded, expecting him to turn loose of her fingers, except he laced his through hers and set her hand on his thigh.

  “I will tell you a few more truths now,” he said, studying their hands. “And I will thank you to do me the courtesy of listening, not simply staring at those dying embers until I cease speaking.”

  She internally braced herself, ready for her verbal thrashing.

  Gabriel closed his fingers around hers more snugly. “First, you let the world believe Sara was Allie’s mother out of love for your child. You were right to protect her that way, Polonaise, and you never tried to deceive the child herself. I cannot judge you for this, other than to conclude you are among the most loving, devoted mothers I will ever encounter.”

  He paused, and Polly hunched in on herself, because his words hurt as much as they healed. To hear this from him—and he would not lie to her, would not offer false flattery—was balm to a weary and heartsore soul. But to know he’d give her credit for her motivation even as they parted was ripping that same soul to shreds.

  “There are more truths I would tell you,” he went on, but as he spoke he eased his fingers from hers and settled his hand—warm, steady, and comforting—on Polly’s nape. That he could yet touch her in such a manner soothed the pain of their separation, and she went still lest he withdraw the contact.

  “Only Aaron and Kettering are privy to this next truth.” Gabriel’s voice dropped further. “I have a daughter, Polonaise.
Well, I don’t really have her. She’s being raised in another’s household. Her mother had provided her titled spouse with an heir and two spares, and thus she was permitted her freedom. Her husband sincerely thanked me for getting him a daughter. He’d wanted one, and he genuinely dotes on the child, but she has no idea who I am, nor will she ever. I’ve seen her though, and she has my eyes.”

  He fell silent again, and Polly saw those eyes were closed, and his expression one of old pain.

  Gabriel had a daughter, one he could not acknowledge. It explained his affection for Allie, and so much more.

  “I am not proud of my indiscretion,” he went on, “though I am very proud of the child herself, for she is… Well, none of that. Her father corresponds quarterly, and you can read his letters, for I save them.”

  He went quiet again, and Polly had to wonder why he’d share something so painful and personal with her now. These were not words of parting, but what they were, she could not divine. She sat under the weight of his single hand, and waited.

  And hoped.

  “I had begun to wonder if a consolation hadn’t come my way in the form of someone else’s daughter.” Gabriel’s thumb swept over the soft hairs at the back of Polly’s neck. “I met a dear young lady, who wanted loving and cherishing, whose mother could use the loving and cherishing just as much, if not more. I was not called upon to make a choice for my daughter; you were, and when faced with an impossible decision, you made the only one you could: you chose out of love, and this is why you must allow me the same privilege, Polonaise.”

  His hand moved over her hair, the merest hint of a caress, as tears spilled down Polly’s cheeks.

  “I can’t have babies.”

  “You can have me and Allie and a future. We’ll be Aunt and Uncle to Marjorie and Aaron’s children, and that will be enough.”

  “I’ve deceived you over and over. I’ve lied to you. I am not chaste. I cannot be your marchioness.”

  “Then I’ll tell Aaron to keep the title,” Gabriel said, drawing her against his side. “Nothing would make Lady Hartle happier. I can remain your true North.”

  “You’d do that? Give up all…?”

  “I’ve had nothing, and I’ve had nothing but you and your family to love. It saved me, when all of Hesketh’s wealth and prestige meant nothing but duty and a possible threat to my life. The choice was simple, and had I to do it over again, I would have made you mine sooner.”

  “I am yours.” Polly pressed her face to his shoulder. “I am yours, Gabriel.” No other words could get past the soaring, joyous feelings taking wing inside her. She was flooded with gratitude and a fat, leavening portion of sheer relief, because going on without him would have blighted her soul.

  “And our Allemande?” Gabriel rumbled the words near her ear, bringing his scent comfortingly close as well.

  “She wants us all to stay here and celebrate the holidays with you,” Polly said. “It was going to break my heart when you declined to extend us that much hospitality.”

  “I most assuredly do decline.” Gabriel pressed a kiss to her temple. “You must celebrate not merely Christmas, but every day with me. If your relations will stay for the holidays, then there’s time for a wedding as well, beloved.”

  “There’s no hurry.”

  “Polonaise.”

  “There isn’t.” Polly leaned into him, feeling curiously light, and yet still she cried. “I cannot bear your child, and there will be much to work out with Tremaine if I’m not to get him embroiled in breach-of-contract suits.”

  “We will deal with your illustrious career and your avaricious, untitled man of business later,” Gabriel said. “You haven’t gotten your courses though, have you?”

  Polly straightened but did not leave his embrace. “I’m only a few days late.”

  “Thus begins every interesting condition,” Gabriel reminded her. “And unless you are content to spend the afternoon on this chilly bench, I would like to take you up to the house and turn you loose in my kitchens.”

  “I should like that as well.” Polly rose and his arm slipped around her waist. She wished she were with child, wished she could look forward to parenting all over again, but this time doing it properly, with a partner who loved her and their child as much as she loved him and their baby.

  That was greed talking, she admonished herself as Gabriel escorted her to the house. She had Gabriel and Allie, and that was more, so much more than she’d thought to have.

  “What did you resolve with Beckman and Sara regarding Allemande?”

  “We didn’t really get down to details,” Polly said. “We agreed she needs us all, including Tremaine, and Beck suggested we sleep on it.”

  “He wanted to run ideas past his wife, no doubt, or give us time to come to our senses.”

  “Us?” Beautiful word, though not accurate. “I was the one who didn’t think you’d have me.”

  He passed her a handkerchief she’d embroidered for him months ago. “And I was the one who knew in my bones that with your daughter and your art, your life would be far too complete to take on an uncheerful fellow with a bad back, much less his title and his ring, particularly when that fellow hadn’t quite put his sentiments before you. I was a coward and feared very much to lose my prizes.”

  “Can Aaron keep the title?” She wasn’t going to dignify the rest of it with a response, but she treasured his honesty nonetheless, and his courage.

  “I wish he could, but he cannot. Prinny is issuing another letter patent as we speak, confirming the title and honors and my entitlement to them. Aaron is so relieved, he’s agreed to take on George’s job, and leave the voting, paperwork, and commercial business to me.”

  “So you really are asking me to be your marchioness?” She spoke slowly, dumbstruck by the very notion.

  “My marchioness?” Gabriel stopped and took her handkerchief from her, using it to wipe the last of the tears from her cheeks. “That matters little, but be mine to love and to cherish, and I will be the happiest man on earth.”

  ***

  “I wish you could stay.”

  Polly handed her sister another folded-up nightgown—if such a skimpy, lacy garment qualified as a nightgown—and saw it packed away in Sara’s trunk.

  “If the Earl of Bellefonte and his entire entourage are to descend on us,” Sara said, “I must be back to Three Springs to ready the house.”

  “Nicholas isn’t worried about his countess traveling in such a delicate condition?”

  “His traveling coach is larger than a coal barge, and Nicholas will see to every comfort his ladies could want.”

  “You’re nervous?”

  “A little.” Sara sat on the bed, and Polly settled beside her. “Beck’s older brother is imposing, and though I met all the Haddonfields at the wedding, they are…”

  “Overwhelming. Allie is looking forward to it, though she hasn’t met them.”

  “You haven’t either, but Nicholas will insist on fussing over Allie and congratulating you on your nuptials.”

  “I’d rather meet them and do a portrait at Three Springs than go up to Town with Gabriel and deal with all that parliamentary nonsense.”

  “You’ll miss him.”

  “Terribly. I realize we’ll have the rest of our lives together, and many married couples cannot dwell consistently under the same roof, but yes. I will miss him. He says we need our time at Three Springs, for Allie, but also for you and me. He’ll come down as often as he can, and said he might escort Lady Warne if he can pry her away from Town.”

  “She will enjoy seeing what Beck has done with the property. How is Tremaine coping with all this?”

  “He’s gloating,” Polly mused. “It was his idea to have Kettering put language in the contracts that all sittings shall be at the location deemed appropriate by the artist. Kettering is confident that allows me to do the work at a studio in Town, and Tremaine says he’ll have an appropriate space fitted out by this spring.”

 
“So your menfolk have the situation in hand. How does all this sit with you, though?”

  Sara was not merely a sister, but an older sister with maternal tendencies getting stronger by the week, meaning there was no avoiding the question.

  “I’m… adjusting.” Some days; other days, she reeled. Could a marchioness reel? “We’ve never had menfolk, Sara, not in any meaningful sense, and you’ve never been without Allie. You’ll miss her.”

  “But the change is for the better,” Sara said then eyed her sister closely. “You are worried about something, Polly Wendover. Spill, or I’ll tell Gabriel to forbid you the use of the kitchens.”

  “I’m not worried, precisely.” Polly reached for another lacy confection and began to fold it. “I’m at sixes and sevens.”

  “I am your sister,” Sara said in tones that presaged a sororal lecture on the topic of people who were too stubborn to share their troubles with those who loved them.

  This nightgown had rabbits embroidered on the hem. “Were you ever late?”

  “Many times,” Sara said. “But… Oh, you mean late?” She bit her lip, her gaze focusing on the bunnies cavorting across Polly’s lap. “I was not, not until this situation got under way.” She gestured to her middle. “Are you late?”

  Polly buried her face in the folded nightgown, breathing in the homey scent of lavender. “I’ve never been late before, Sara.”

  Sara put an arm around her and pushed Polly’s head to her shoulder. “You’re carrying, then?”

  “I can’t be,” Polly said miserably. “I heard what the midwife said all those years ago.”

  “The midwife?” Sara took the nightgown from her sister’s hands before the thing could get mangled in Polly’s desperate grip. “That midwife. What did you hear?”

  “She told you and Reynard quite sternly that I wasn’t to be having more children, and conception was very unlikely, because I wasn’t built for it, and my labor had been long and difficult.”

  “You heard that?”

  “Every word. Gabriel should have an heir, and I had to tell him.”

  Sara tossed the bunnies to the foot of the bed. “Oh, my dear. I owe you yet another apology. The midwife divined very clearly who was the father of your child and that you were used ill by your own brother-in-law. She offered that sermon to put Reynard in his place and hopefully to spare you from his further attentions. It worked, I think, but maybe a little too well. You are as capable of conception as anybody.”