Gabriel's Lady (Leisure Historical Romance)

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Gabe tried very hard to set aside his dismay. How could any woman detest her unborn child so thoroughly? What struck him, however, was the vapid vanity behind this hatred—not to mention her total disregard for his feelings. She knew how eagerly he’d awaited a child.

  Vapid vanity. Certainly not a description that applied to Solace Monroe. But why was he thinking about her? In his present state, he had nothing to offer her, nor should he burden her with his secret agony. Solace was young and had ambition. She was writing and riding and training her beloved dog. Her eyes sparkled with life and love—a purpose—that renewed her each day.

  Gabe slumped on the edge of the bed. Letitia’s words blurred, and once again he felt overwhelmed by the sad truth: his wife had never loved him—not the way he’d adored her. She hadn’t possessed the capacity for that emotion because she’d never looked beyond her own whims and childish desires. He’d married her with such high hopes of giving her something worthwhile to build a life upon, but with each tip of her silver flask, Letitia had drifted further away from reality. And from him.

  Why hadn’t he confronted her about her laudanum habit? They could have afforded the best medical care….

  She lived for being sick. For being the center of everyone’s attention.

  He closed the diary. Gabe trembled once again, for all the things he could have said or done and the way Letitia had rejected his suggestions—and him. It was useless to walk this hall of sadness again and again, but his heart didn’t know what else to do. His sigh escaped and then turned into a sob. At least no one else would know of his failure or the hopes and dreams that had faded long before Letitia breathed her last.

  He heard footsteps on the stairs…held his breath, hoping no one would peek through the door, which stood slightly ajar.

  The energetic steps continued down the hallway and he relaxed. His heart recited those heartrending words again….

  I have ordered a packet of infallible French female remedy, and when it arrives I shall be done with this agony…I shall be happy again! Perhaps my salvation will come in the mail today.

  Angrily, he wiped away fresh tears. Time to put away this sad account of a woman and a life he would never really understand, and find his own salvation. No need to burden Billy with a situation his best friend couldn’t fix.

  Without knocking, Solace entered his room. With a worried frown, she sat on the bed beside him and wrapped her strong arms around his shoulders. She felt damp from being out in the rain, and she smelled of horses. “Oh, Gabe, you must be missing Letitia terribly—”

  “I-don’t understand,” he rasped. “She didn’t want the baby. She took a powder and—”

  Solace’s horrified expression told him he’d crossed the line: he’d blurted out the words he’d sworn he’d never share with anyone. And he couldn’t take them back.

  Chapter Ten

  Solace’s stomach flip-flopped. “There was a baby?” she gasped. Here it was, that secret she’d perceived this melancholy man was concealing, and she had no idea how to make him feel better.

  Gabe Getty looked ten years older; haggard and defeated. He sagged against her. Removed his spectacles to fidget with them. “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Never meant to bother you with that.”

  “Bother me? My God, Gabe!” Solace held his dark gaze, trying to understand this delicate situation. “Are you saying Letitia deliberately…did herself in, to—”

  “No, no!” he rasped. “She was ridding herself of something she never really wanted. I—”

  “And you think it’s your fault. You think you should’ve—could’ve—saved her life.” Solace took a deep breath, frantically searching for words. The man in her arms sobbed softly against her shoulder as she stroked his rumpled hair. When he lifted his head, Gabe’s pain made his velvet brown eyes look too big for his pale face. She saw, too, the abject humiliation of his admission.

  Oh, Daddy what should I do? she prayed. Lord, help me say something that won’t make his situation even more unbearable.

  She took another deep breath, not wanting to rush. Gabe was calmer now. He looked almost peaceful, with his eyes closed and those long lashes resting against his cheek, and Solace sensed she was helping him in a way no one else could.

  “Gabe,” she murmured, “do you remember when we danced at your wedding? I was only a kid, and you were preoccupied with more important matters, but—”

  “That dance brightened my whole afternoon,” he admitted. “Weddings are fraught with emotions and unexpected difficulties, and Letitia was having a bad day.”

  “Even then, I sensed she’d have very few good days. Your bride was trussed up so tightly, she fainted at the altar,” Solace recalled softly. “I vowed then never to wear a corset or let fashion enslave me.” She cleared her throat, hoping she hadn’t overstepped. “Letitia did that to herself, Gabe. She was on the road to self-destruction even before you married her.”

  The room rang with shocked silence. Had she really said that? Solace hadn’t thought about Letitia’s all-encompassing slavery to fashion since—well, since she and Lily and Grace had discussed it on the way home from the wedding. And now she’d just blurted out her opinion, as though she knew everything about Gabe’s pretty wife while he had no idea what was going on.

  “Please forgive me. That sounded very presumptuous.”

  Gabe inhaled deeply. “No, Solace. It’s a very honest assessment of Letitia, and you said it in all sincerity.”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “I-I knew her need for perfection drove her to sip laudanum at the slightest ripple of agitation, yet I overlooked it. Hoped I could someday overcome her doubts. Perfectionism is a form of fear, you know.” Slowly he reopened the velvet diary…flipped the script-filled pages that sounded as fragile as the woman who’d written them. “I was wrong to take this, but Letitia’s diary revealed what my wife would not.”

  He gazed at her then, his face a mask of pain. “Solace,” he said softly, “I’ve admired your honesty—your compassion—ever since that dance in the church yard. If Rex can let you shoot an apple off his head, I can trust you to look at these entries. I’ll value your insights if you care to share them.”

  Solace’s mouth opened and shut. She became fully aware that they sat on the edge of his bed, alone in this room. The air between them—the very breath they breathed—had become charged with dangerous sensations. Gabe Getty wanted her to delve into a secret so dark, so painful, that his marriage might be fully exposed to her. “Gabe, if it’ll upset you more to—”

  “Take a look—although I’ll understand if you don’t care about Letitia’s thoughts and—”

  “Oh, but I do!” she blurted. “I just thought I was too young, or that you’d entered a world so far beyond me that—”

  “People are people, Solace. The Bancroft money didn’t buy Letitia the happiness and health you’ve embraced all your life. Never, never underestimate yourself,” he continued urgently. “You have the strength to defy social convention—to live life on your own terms. I’d do well to imitate you, sweetheart.”

  Again her mouth worked and no sound came out. When he smoothed the pages open and then placed the little book in her lap, Solace gazed down at the entry.

  Letitia’s penmanship was a work of art. This entry, from early in the year, described a Valentine’s Day charity ball she and her mother were planning…line after line of detail about her ball gown, followed by a section where the script grew looser and lost its energy. Gabe’s socialite wife bemoaned her boredom—the sameness of her days and their lack of meaning. She’d written a few gossipy entries then, but nothing about friends or anyone else other than her mother.

  Nowhere did she mention Gabe. It was as though her handsome young husband didn’t exist.

  Solace blinked and swallowed hard. She felt wicked, peering into Letitia Getty’s private life—and yet, what had the young woman revealed, really? Letitia’s soul sounded as emaciated as her body.

  In t
he last entries, the words wandered across the page like a drunkard. Letitia’s desperation poured forth, and it took an effort to read to the bitter, tragic end. It might have been obvious to some folks, but Solace wasn’t sure what Letitia was hinting about. Did she dare ask Gabe? This seemed like a journey deep into the female body and soul, and she wasn’t sure he would want to discuss the subject.

  “What’s this…French remedy she mentions? I don’t mean to upset you more by asking—”

  “It’s an abortifacient.” Gabe squeezed her hand, smiling sadly. “A form of poison, fatal to the fetus yet supposedly tolerated by the woman who wishes to rid herself of an…unwanted child. This is an indelicate subject, so if—”

  “I’ve witnessed the conception and birth of many a foal,” Solace assured him. “Billy’s taught me how to deliver them, and to assist the mare when problems arise.”

  Gabe’s eyes widened. “Letitia would’ve fainted—or vomited—just thinking about animals giving birth. Thank you for understanding, Solace. You’re an angel in my hour of need.”

  Who had ever said that to her? No one.

  Who had ever gazed so deeply into her eyes, searching for answers and reassurance? Solace hoped she was providing those things for this wounded man, and that he would heal now.

  She swallowed hard. Being a good listener in the face of such problems demanded a lot more of her than training Rex and her horses. Had Gabe placed his trust in her wisely? Could she handle such a responsibility, now that this older, wiser man had bared his soul….

  “My stars, what’s going on in here?”

  Grace scowled at them from the doorway, with her fists planted on her slender hips. Her cheeks were flushed with indignation. “You’re more brazen than most, Solace,” she rasped, “but I never dreamed I’d find you—well, in Mr. Getty’s bedroom! On his bed, and holding him in your arms!”

  Her finger trembled as she pointed it, and she looked very much like an old biddy schoolteacher. “I hate to bother Billy and Eve with this unfortunate discovery, but it’s my duty—as the guardian of their children—to inform them about such a breach of propriety!”

  Solace stood up quickly, her face red. “Must you always be the tattletale, Saint Grace?” she retorted. Yet guilt made her waver: anyone might draw the same conclusion her sister had. “I was offering Gabe condolences—”

  “You were holding him so close, his face was in your—your chest!”

  “I’m sorry I placed your sister in a compromising position,” Gabe said in a tight voice. He stood up, gripping the diary. “Our intentions were perfectly honorable, and—”

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” the young governess intoned. “You know that, Solace. You received the same solid Christian upbringing I did. Mama and Papa will be so disappointed in you.”

  “Only if you feel it’s your duty to tell them.” Without a backward glance, Solace stalked past her sister and out the door. Bitterness rose in her throat. Once more she felt like an outsider. Why was it, when she’d reached out to comfort Gabe Getty’s broken heart, her efforts were perceived as inappropriate? Brazen, Grace had called her! How could her timing with animals be split-second accurate while she inevitably bungled her efforts with people?

  As she hurried down the back stairs and out into the drizzle, Solace hoped Gabe would know how much she hurt for him—despite what anyone else thought about her feelings! How horrible, what that man had endured because his wife didn’t want to bear a child! His child.

  She ducked into her haven beneath the lilac bushes, oblivious to the rain that dripped through the leaves. Rex hopped into the swing with her, his tawny eyes shining with concern. He whimpered to get her attention.

  Solace released the breath she’d been holding. Stroking the dog’s soft coat, seeing the love reflected in his expressive face, restored her perspective, just as the cool, rainy morning restored her soul.

  “Maybe if I write him a story—” The drama was already unfolding in her mind. The intense emotions they’d shared made pieces fall into place as though this puzzle had been waiting for her to discover it…to make it all fit, so Gabe’s sad situation made sense.

  “I’ll write it to make him feel better. Concoct a plot and characters to illustrate a husband’s longing…a self-centered yet fearful wife,” she murmured.

  Rex’s ears pointed skyward. His shining eyes coaxed her to go on.

  Feeling better—having a purpose again—Solace hugged her dog close and let her ideas take shape. Grace would not ruin a perfectly honorable situation with her accusations! Positive solutions could arise from even the most questionable circumstances—and she was just the woman to make that happen!

  Chapter Eleven

  Gabe’s hands shook as he opened a telegram the next morning. Would he ever understand women? Bad enough that Grace was holding his “indiscretion” over his head, to be revealed when it would cause the worst stir. Solace had been lost in thought at breakfast, and had avoided him ever since she’d run from his room yesterday. Eve Bristol now watched him with the intensity of a cat focused on a plump mouse: her brown hair was pulled up into a haphazard knot and she wore a paint-smeared smock that smelled of turpentine.

  “We so seldom get telegrams delivered here,” she explained. She glanced toward the stairway, to be sure the children hadn’t heard the front bell. “Usually they relay unfortunate news, so I hope that isn’t the case.”

  Gabe laughed softly. “What worse can befall me after Letitia’s passing? I’m curious about who it’s from since so few people know I’m here.”

  “Everything all right, Mister Gabe?” Beulah Mae peered out from the dining room, where she was brushing crumbs from the tablecloth.

  “I’m sure it is. Thank you!” he replied with forced cheerfulness. Everything he did or said here was subject to the scrutiny—and comment—of the household. It took some getting used to.

  As he glanced down, the name at the end of the telegram made him smile: Michael Malloy! Now there was a man who could handle a houseful of women!

  WANTED YOU TO KNOW ABOUT AN OPPORTUNITY IN ABILENE. A JUDGE HAS DIED, QUITE SUDDENLY, AND YOUR LEGAL EXPERIENCE IN A LARGER CITY WOULD MAKE YOU A CHOICE CANDIDATE FOR HIS REPLACEMENT. YOU COULD LIVE WITH US AS LONG AS YOU NEED TO. LET US KNOW. WE’LL ARRANGE INTERVIEWS.

  HOPE YOU’RE DOING WELL, SON. WE PRAY FOR YOU EVERY DAY!

  MICHAEL MALLOY

  Gabe grinned like a little kid. His mind was spinning with this unexpected news, and he adjusted his glasses to read the telegram again.

  “What is it? Who’s it from?” Eve asked eagerly.

  “Mike Malloy,” he murmured. When he looked at Billy’s wife, he suddenly knew how she’d endured so many personal tragedies: she’d remained true to her calling. Though Eve Bristol was a devoted mother and wife, she was also a gifted painter. She had a purpose, and it gave her a reason to get up each morning…to greet each day knowing what she intended to accomplish.

  Letitia never had an inkling of such things. He’d been falling prey to his inner darkness, as well, but this message from Mike Malloy felt like a directive from God himself.

  “A judge has died in Abilene,” Gabe continued. Was that really his voice, thrumming with excitement again? “Malloy thinks I’d be well suited to the position.”

  “But your wife has just died!” Furrows appeared on Eve’s pretty forehead. “Surely you need time to—”

  “How long was it after you buried those little babies before you picked up your brushes again?” he asked, gesturing toward the cemetery plot outside. He gazed into Eve’s green eyes, which appeared serene despite her rumpled attire. She looked like the classic scatterbrained artist, but she looked happy. Deeply satisfied with her life.

  She blinked. “My portraits had to wait during those dark days, and yet—” Eve smiled then, understanding his point. “I was sneaking back to my studio before Billy ever knew, those nights I couldn’t sleep. The only way I kept my sorrow
and guilt from burying me alive was to paint. It’s what I do. It’s who I am, down deep.”

  “Exactly.” In his excitement, Gabe curled the telegram into a scroll and tapped his palm with it. “This is an opportunity I wouldn’t have been offered if I were still in St. Louis. And practicing the law—ferreting out legalities and details to defend my clients—is what I do.”

  Eve’s expression remained doubtful, but she reached for his hand. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as—”

  “And I appreciate your kindness,” he murmured, already heading to town in his mind. “You and Billy have helped me sort things out more than you know.”

  Eve chuckled slyly. “I suspect Solace has been the biggest help in that regard. Are you taking her with you?”

  Point-blank she’d asked him that! Before he’d even sent Malloy his reply. Gabe cleared his throat, carefully wording his reply. “Solace has always made her own decisions. Far be it from me—or any other man—to tell her what to do.”

  What a perfect answer! It got him out of a conversation with Eve and on the seat of a buckboard beside Billy within fifteen minutes.

  Billy glanced sideways as he clapped the reins across the horse’s back. “So you really want that job, bein’ a judge?”

  “They haven’t appointed me yet. I’ll have to interview with several lawyers and the other judges before—”

  “In Abilene?” Billy waved him off with a snicker. “You’re a shoo-in, Gabe.’ Specially if Mike talks to ’em first,’ cause the locals trust his judgment, no questions asked. And he’s right—your bein’ a lawyer in St. Louis makes their other judges look lackin’ by comparison.”

  He hadn’t thought that. Hadn’t had a chance to think of anything in the short time since he’d received Mike’s note, and the Bristols already had him robed, with a gavel in his hand. “I might not accept the offer. It’s not like I’m destitute, or willing to take any job that comes—”

  “But you’re ready to move on. My kids’re makin’ you crazy.”