Gabriel closed his eyes and reached blindly for Arabella’s hand. She curled her fingers around his, and his heart swelled. “Thank you, Mother,” he said at length when he felt sufficiently in control of his voice. “Words cannot express the gratitude I feel right now.” How was it that in the blink of an eye, the burden that had been weighing him down for months and months had suddenly been lifted clean away? The relief coursing through his entire body was so heady, he was almost drunk with it.
“Think nothing of it, my son,” she murmured. “I’m just so pleased that after all this time I can do something for you. I want nothing but the best for you, and of course”—she directed a smile at Arabella—“my new daughter-in-law.”
Gabriel ventured to ask his mother about her own marriage. “Tell me about your new husband. I take it you are happy . . .”
His mother’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. I’ve known Colonel Renfrew—Douglas—for some time, so when he proposed a little over a year ago, I couldn’t say no. He’s such a noble, kindhearted man. He resigned his commission after Waterloo, and so now we’re free to roam about as we please. For the most part, though, we tend to divide our time between Edinburgh and the Continent.” Her forehead creased into a troubled frown. “I’d learned about Michael’s passing soon after it happened via British friends. They seemed to think it was some sort of illness that took him. I was in Paris at the time. Even though we were quite estranged, the news did come as quite a shock.”
“Yes, he’d been ill.” Gabriel didn’t want to visit the fraught subject of his father’s demise right now, so he said, “Why didn’t you mention in your last letter—the one you sent in September last year—that you’d remarried?”
His mother’s smile was faint. “I suppose I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I hoped that you’d read both of the letters I sent to you after your father passed away, but I couldn’t be sure. I imagine your father threw all the others straight into the fire.”
“He didn’t. He kept them all. After he died, I discovered them all bundled up neatly in a locked box in his desk. But I didn’t look at a single one until this April when I needed to find you.” Gabriel clenched his fist on his knee. “I was so angry, I just couldn’t bring myself to read them before then . . .” He thought his bitterness had dissipated, but it seemed it was still simmering just below the surface.
His mother nodded, remorse etched into every feature. “I understand, Gabriel. Honestly, I do. What I did was unforgivable . . .” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard. Her eyes shimmered with tears as she whispered, “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”
Gabriel couldn’t disguise the harsh, accusatory edge to his voice as long-suppressed resentment and grief surged in a great wave. “Why? Why did you? I would have done anything to go with you, but you left me with him. Abandoned me. You knew how bad he was. How he despised me. There were rumors you absconded with a lover . . .” He shook his head, unable to go on.
“I’m so sorry, my dear boy. I deserve your censure. And there’s no easy, neat answer.” Caroline dashed tears from her eyes. “I think I might need a little more brandy.”
Gabriel stood abruptly. “Of course.” He needed more brandy too.
Once he’d replenished everyone’s glasses, he reclaimed his seat and waited for his mother to continue her tale.
“I didn’t want to leave you.” She began so quietly, Gabriel almost missed what she said. Her breath caught, and her every word seemed to be weighted with guilt and regret as she added, “But I just couldn’t stay . . .”
A sigh shivered through her, and a flicker of sadness crossed her features. “Your father and I, we both fell head over heels in love during my very first Season. Even though my father didn’t approve of Michael whatsoever—he was a known rakehell—I was so besotted, I decided to risk all to be with him. I couldn’t refuse him when he proposed that we elope. But then, a few years after we were wed”—her expression grew troubled—“Michael began to change . . .”
Her gaze flitted to Arabella. “I fear I’m going to be most indelicate. I hope you can forgive me.”
Arabella smiled. Compassion gentled her voice. “I’m not easily shocked, Caro. But if you would like me to leave, I will.”
“No, stay, Bella.” Gabriel gripped her hand. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”
His mother’s nod was imperceptible, and a tear slipped down her ashen cheek. Inhaling another shaky breath, she continued her story. “After you were born, your father began to drink and gamble more than he’d ever done before. He was always restless and constantly sought new, more exciting diversions. But when he began to bed other women, quite openly, I couldn’t bear it. I was heartbroken.” Her gaze slid away and she sipped her brandy as though fortifying herself for what she would disclose next. “But it was worse than that,” she whispered. “Michael wanted . . .” She touched her throat and closed her eyes as a violent shudder washed through her. “He wanted me to do all kinds of shameful, wicked things too. Depraved things not only with him but with other women. And sometimes other men. He insisted I drink to excess. Take laudanum. And I was so very terrified I’d get the pox.”
Bloody blazing hell. Horror seized Gabriel’s heart while black, bloody anger stormed through his veins. He gripped his brandy glass so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his hand. “I had no idea,” he whispered. “The filthy, evil bastard. If he were still alive, I swear to God, I’d tear him limb from limb.”
“You were so young, Gabriel, and such a kind, sensitive boy. I did my best to keep everything hidden from you. I don’t know if you remember, but when you were seven years old, I tried to leave with you. Thanks to my father, I had the financial means to live independently, but everything went wrong.”
A memory stirred of a carriage ride in the dead of night. Angry shouts and the blinding flash of a lantern. His father’s face twisted with rage and his mother’s sobs. Gabriel had always thought it was a nightmare, but it seemed it wasn’t. “I remember,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with strain. “We left Hawksfell late one night. But Father gave chase and caught up, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He was so irate . . . He threatened to . . .” Caroline closed her eyes for a moment and her lower lip quivered. “Suffice it to say, I knew I couldn’t take you with me when I left him the second time. He’d hunt us to the ends of the earth to find you, his heir. So I waited until you were thirteen and had started at Eton. I convinced myself you didn’t need me anymore. That you would be all right. That your uncle Stephen would look out for you. But I knew deep down those were the lies I needed to tell myself to justify my actions. There was never another man though. I left because I had to, not to be with someone else.”
Gabriel felt as though a barely knit wound in his heart had just split open, releasing a fresh rush of pain. “I remember the letter you sent, just before my first semester ended. You promised me that you would come back someday. But you never did. You didn’t even say goodbye.” His voice emerged as a fractured whisper. “You lied to me. You broke my heart.”
There were tears streaming down his mother’s cheeks now. “I’m sorry, my baby boy. I’m so, so sorry.” She pressed a hand to her lips, but she couldn’t contain her sob.
In that instant, Gabriel’s heart nearly cracked in two. Abandoning his seat, he gathered his mother into his arms. “I forgive you, Mama. I forgive you,” he said in a choked voice against her hair. “I understand why you left. If I’d known you were living through such hell, I would’ve insisted you leave too.”
Gabriel glanced over his mother’s head and could see that Arabella was openly crying as well. He gave her a shaky smile, which she returned. There was no judgment in her gaze, only compassion. He was struck all over again at how remarkable she truly was.
And he realized, for the very first time, he never, ever wanted to put her through the agony his moth
er had been forced to endure.
His heart might not be capable of love, but for Arabella’s sake, he wanted to be a better man. For her, he would curb his libertine ways and hold to his promise to stay true.
Sometime later, when they had all sufficiently recovered, his mother took her leave, promising to bring the marriage lines to Langdale House tomorrow morning.
“Your mother is quite an extraordinary woman,” Arabella said as Gabriel closed the door to her sitting room. “And beautiful too. You look just like her.”
He tugged his cravat loose. “Do you think so?”
“Aye. Definitely.” Arabella blushed when he removed his coat and then began to work on his waistcoat buttons. She hovered in the middle of the Aubusson rug, a garden of dusky red and yellow roses beneath her pretty, slipper-shod feet. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly. Her warm hazel gaze drifted over his body, and when her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips, lust arrowed straight to his groin.
He tugged his shirt off and shot her a wicked, lopsided smile to make her blush grow deeper. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’m undressing. And then I’m going to take great pleasure in removing every single stitch from your delightful body, dear wife. Oh so slowly.” He advanced toward her with unhurried, purposeful strides. He lowered his voice. “We’re going to make a baby, Arabella. And if you don’t have any objections, I’d like to start right now.”
“I don’t,” she said huskily. Even though her cheeks were bright with color, she lifted her chin, challenging him. “Not if you can make me feel as wonderful as you did this afternoon.”
He caught her against his naked torso, thrilled to feel her pliant body shiver in his arms as he brushed a teasing kiss over her delicious, petal-soft lips. “That, my darling Bella, is something I can guarantee, not just tonight but every night. I’ve decided my new mission in life is to give you so much pleasure, you’ll never want to get out of bed again.”
The way she fervently returned his next kiss suggested that she really didn’t object at all.
Chapter 18
The Beau Monde Mirror has it on good authority that there was quite a set-to at a certain gentleman’s club in St. James’s.
Speculation is rife, but could there be some truth to the rumor that there was a very real pretender to the Errant Earl’s title?
In any case, it seems there’s no love lost between Lord L. and his equally errant cousin.
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page
White’s, St. James’s, London
August 4, 1818
Gabriel leaned back in his seat, a brown leather wing-back chair in a relatively quiet corner of White’s, and sighed with contentment. What a damn fine day he was having.
He was gratified that Arabella was doing what she loved. This afternoon she’d planned to meet with Lady Chelmsford, Lady Malverne, Lady Charlotte Hastings, and Miss Olivia de Vere at the Mayfair Bluestocking Society’s rooms on Park Lane to discuss her charity work while he’d spent a few hours at Gentleman Jackson’s with Nate, MacQueen, and Max. And now he and his friends were enjoying a quiet tipple to celebrate the fact that his title was well and truly safe before he headed home to spend the evening with his thoroughly delectable, thoroughly willing wife.
He certainly could get used to married life if it were like this all the time.
“I still can’t believe your mother turned up in the nick of time,” said Nate as he waved over a footman to refill their champagne glasses. “Talk about the devil’s own luck.”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Gabriel. “To say I’m relieved would be an understatement. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with a very public legal battle. Things were bound to get messy. My family name has been dragged through enough muck over the years. I’m also glad for Arabella’s sake. Having to face such a huge scandal when the ink is barely dry on our wedding certificate wouldn’t have been fair to her either.”
Max smirked. “Well, that’s a first for you, Langdale. Showing genuine concern for a member of the fairer sex. I’m beginning to think you pair are a love match after all.”
MacQueen nodded. “Aye, I swear he talked about naught else but his wife on the way to Gretna Green and back. If he didn’t have his own carriage, I would’ve been tempted to throttle him. No offense intended, Langdale. Your wife is a bonnie lass to be sure, but for the life of me, I don’t know what she sees in you.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “MacQueen, believe me, I’m still trying to work out what she sees in me too.”
“Have you spoken with your cousin yet, to tell him the news?” asked Nate after a tray of bacon-wrapped oysters and Scotch quail eggs arrived. “I imagine he’ll be none too pleased that his plans to become the next Earl of Langdale have been well and truly quashed.”
“Not yet.” Gabriel reached for a Scotch egg and popped it in his mouth. After a night of vigorous bed sport, and an afternoon of boxing, he was famished. He patted his breast pocket. “I have my mother’s marriage lines right here, and I was rather hoping Timothy would drop by White’s this afternoon or early this evening so I could show him he hasn’t a hope in Hades of staking a claim.”
MacQueen gave a low whistle. “That’s a bold move, Langdale.”
Gabriel shrugged. “You know me. I rarely do things by half measures.”
“Oh, we know,” said Nate with a wry smile.
Talk turned to what all their plans would be for what remained of the summer; Nate was returning to his Gloucestershire estate, Deerhurst Park, with Sophie on the morrow, Max intended to spend time at his ducal estate in Devonshire, and MacQueen would remain here in London. Even though he tended to avoid Hawksfell Hall like the plague because of its isolation as well as the painful memories it evoked, Gabriel decided he might like to show it off to Arabella after all. Yes, some quiet time rusticating by the shores of Grasmere, making new memories with his lovely wife, sounded perfect.
“He’s here.” Max leaned forward, elbows on his pantaloon-clad thighs. “And he’s seen you.”
Gabriel looked up. Sure enough, Timothy had walked through the door and was smirking at him from across the club floor. Sipping his champagne, Gabriel watched his cousin saunter toward him, Timothy’s arrogant sneer growing more pronounced the closer he came.
Gabriel decided there was nothing he would enjoy more than wiping that smile off the conceited prick’s face.
“It won’t be long before they don’t let your sort in here,” Timothy said as he stopped, bold as you please, in front of their small group. His pale gray eyes, with their unusual feral light and pinprick pupils, were riveted on Gabriel.
So Timothy was still taking too much opium. Gabriel couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised. He put down his champagne glass with studied nonchalance and got to his feet. “That’s where you’re wrong, I’m afraid. Ennobled bastards like me are welcome anytime. Drug-addled, second-rate scoundrels with delusions of grandeur like you . . .” He shrugged a shoulder. “Perhaps not.”
“You’re accusing me of being drug addled?” Timothy scoffed. “Now that’s rich. Even a simpleton would know that if you’re a bastard, you’re not entitled to the earldom.”
An audience was gathering behind Timothy, but Gabriel didn’t mind if his cousin was about to receive a public setdown. A lesson in humility was well overdue.
“Oh, I might’ve left out I meant ‘bastard’ in a purely figurative sense.” Gabriel pulled out his parents’ marriage lines from his coat pocket and unfolded the parchment. Stepping closer, he thrust the paper under Timothy’s nose. “Not only were my parents married in Scotland, they wed a few days later in England. The bishop’s license was issued by none other than the Archbishop of York.” Gabriel’s mouth twisted with a wry smile. “I know who’s well and truly rogered, and it’s not me, old chap.”
Timothy’s face paled and his eyes widened as his gaze slid over
the paper. A muscle flickered in his jaw. Beneath his bespoke Savile Row tailored clothing, his whole body vibrated with barely constrained rage.
“What, you’ve got nothing to say, cuz?” prodded Gabriel, tucking the marriage lines back into his coat.
Timothy bared his teeth and leaned forward. “Fuck you and that piece of paper,” he spat. Spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t wipe it away. “Everyone knows your mother was a whore anyway. She might’ve been married to the Earl of Langdale, but I’d wager my left testicle Michael Holmes-Fitzgerald wasn’t your sire.”
“How dare you insult my mother.” With a low, guttural growl, Gabriel launched himself at Timothy, but Max and MacQueen were at the ready and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcibly hauling him back.
“Not here,” warned Max in his ear as Gabriel struggled against the implacable hold of his friends, particularly MacQueen’s; the man was built like a Highland bullock. “You don’t want to get banned because of this cur. He’s not worth it.”
Max was right. Even so, it took some effort for Gabriel to conquer the overwhelming urge to knock the living daylights out of Timothy right in the middle of White’s.
“I’d suggest you get out before I call you out for impugning my mother’s character.” Gabriel forced the threat through clenched teeth. “Even if you won’t own up to your raging opium-eating habit, you’ll at least acknowledge that in the field, I’m bound to put a bullet right between your eyes before you even think about pulling the trigger.”
Although Timothy was visibly seething, his countenance paled. Everyone knew that Gabriel Holmes-Fitzgerald was a brilliant marksman. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, Langdale. But you’re not. And someday, someone is bound to put you in your place.”
How to Catch an Errant Earl Page 28