“Where did you ask him to wait?”
“In the front parlor.”
“Tell him I shall be right down,” Beatrice commanded. “And call for tea.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Beatrice was struck by a sudden thought. “Oh, and, Hilda, make sure that Cook has plenty of cakes upon the tray. Vicar Humbly possesses a love for sweets.”
“Very good.”
With an excitement she had not felt since arriving at Falcon Park, Beatrice rushed to change her gown to one of pale rose and struggled to tame her willful honey curls into a semblance of tidiness. She even recalled to wash the lingering dirt from her hands and flushed countenance.
There was nothing to be done to make her appear taller or more elegant. Certainly nothing could be done to make her appear to be a countess.
She looked like a farmer’s daughter, and no dresses or pretty ribbons would ever alter that depressing fact.
With a grimace at the reflection in the mirror, Beatrice firmly turned and headed for the door.
She had determined long ago not to regret what she would never be. She was nothing if not practical.
Entering the hall, Beatrice briskly moved toward the stairs. When she had first arrived at Falcon Park she had been horrified to discover the disreputable condition of the ancient estate. Built with a heavily ornate Gothic influence, it possessed a large gatehouse, charming lodges, and a cast iron conservatory. Inside, however, it was dark and damp with furnishings that had long ago fallen beyond repair.
For the first week she had simply wandered the vast halls with a sick sense of regret. Not only at the realization that her marriage to Gabriel was a mockery, but that the home she had always dreamed of possessing had turned out to be a pile of molding rocks.
Hardly the stuff of fairy tales.
Then common sense had taken over. She might not be able to return Gabriel to her knight in shining armor, but she could restore Falcon Park to its former glory.
With her usual efficiency she had set about hiring a workforce from the local area and sent to London for a variety of architects and artists to advise the workers upon the delicate task of repairing the ravages of time and neglect without destroying the precious history of the building.
First had been the private chambers, of course. Beatrice found no charm in having the rain dripping upon her head while she lay in her bed. And then the kitchen and servants’ quarters, which she had swiftly filled with the necessary staff to keep the large house in comfort.
The chapel and dining room were currently under siege as well as the gardens, which she had ordered to be terraced with a wide path to the distant lake.
Oddly, Gabriel had not protested her complete invasion of his home. Even when Aunt Sarah had slyly attempted to stir his anger with her sweet insults of Beatrice’s managing habits, he had merely cast the older woman a steely gaze and informed her that the Countess of Faulconer was in full and complete charge of the household, as it should be.
For a dangerous moment Beatrice had felt her anger momentarily waver. In that brief, shining breath he had once again been the engaging companion who had won her heart. The man who gazed at her not with pity or greed but with a deep understanding of who she was inside.
Beatrice found her steps faltering before she was sternly continuing her path to the front parlor. Saints above, had she not already learned the truth of the Earl of Faulconer?
He had wed her for her fortune.
His ability to make her feel as if she could be so much more to his life than a mere means to saving his estate was not a ruse she would fall for again.
Clearing her futile thoughts, Beatrice pushed open the door to the parlor and stepped inside. The room was dark and highly vaulted with a profusion of pilasters and arched windows. Unfortunately the once-ornate furnishings had become threadbare and dull with age.
But seated like a bright ray of light upon a high-backed chair was Vicar Humbly with his mussed hair, his wrinkled coat, and a smile that could lift the heaviest of hearts.
“Mr. Humbly,” she breathed, rushing forward to throw herself in his arms as he awkwardly rose to his feet.
Sweet comfort flooded through her as he gently patted her back and then stepped away to regard her with his soft brown gaze.
“Beatrice, my dear, how delightful it is to see you again.”
“Whatever are you doing in Derbyshire?”
An expression of near comic dismay descended upon his round countenance.
“Oh, dear, not again.”
Beatrice blinked in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“I was so certain that I had sent a letter warning you of my impending visit.” He heaved a resigned sigh. “No doubt it is still sitting upon my desk, awaiting me to post it. I fear, my dearest, that I become only more absentminded as I grow older. A frightening prospect, is it not?”
Beatrice chuckled at his droll tone. Rather to her amazement, she realized just how good it felt to do so. It had been far too long since she had been amused by anything.
“Never mind. It is a most delightful surprise.”
“How very kind of you.”
“Nonsense,” she insisted, taking his arm and firmly leading him to a nearby sofa. Pressing him onto the tattered cushions, she settled beside him. “It is a joy to have a houseguest. You are my first, you know.”
“Am I?” Humbly gave a wry smile. “Well, I suppose it is hardly proper to intrude upon a newlywed couple. I only beg you will not think me entirely without sensibilities.”
Beatrice stiffened despite her best intentions. To think of herself as a dewy-eyed bride desperate to be alone with her husband was ludicrous.
“I assure you that you do not intrude,” she said firmly. “Indeed, you will be a most welcome distraction. Lord Faulconer is quite busy restoring the fields and cottages.”
Thankfully accepting her blithe response for the lack of desire to be private with her husband, Humbly glanced about the vast chamber.
“I understand his desire to restore Falcon Park. It is a lovely estate. A fine parkland and such a beautiful home.”
Beatrice gave a faint grimace. “I fear it is all sadly in disrepair.”
“Nothing that cannot be put right,” he assured her with a sweet smile. “‘Commit your work to the Lord, and your plans will be established.”’
Beatrice discovered herself easily laughing once again. “Actually we have committed the work to a small army of workmen whom you will swiftly discover manage to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times.”
The sherry-brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ah, but think of the result.”
It was something Beatrice pondered quite often. No matter what her reason for being at Falcon Park, she knew that she would take great pride once the work was complete. Having such a personal hand in the repairs had formed a bond with the house she would never have expected.
“Yes, I have hopes it shall all be worthwhile in the end.”
He regarded her with an oddly knowing expression. “All things that are worthwhile require the most sacrifice.”
“Yes,” she murmured, although she sensed he referred to more than replacing rotting roofs and delicate stained glass windows. It was rather a relief when the door opened and the maid entered to place a large tray on the table before the sofa. “Thank you, Hilda,” she murmured as the servant bobbed a curtsy and left the room. Pouring them both a cup of the suitably hot tea, she loaded a plate of various pastries for the vicar. “You will note I have not forgotten your fondness for sweets, Mr. Humbly.”
The vicar beamed with pleasure as he readily accepted his plate. “How very kind. Oh, my, are those lemon tarts?”
“I believe they are.”
“Heavenly,” he murmured as he took a large bite of the tart.
Settling back on the lumpy cushions, Beatrice regarded her guest with an open curiosity.
“Now, why do you not tell me what brings you to Derbyshire?”
�
�Well, I wished to see you, of course, my dear. And I have an old friend not far from here whom I wished to visit. Unfortunately he is not well and I could not in good conscience impose myself upon his household.”
She smiled in sympathy. “I am sorry your friend is unwell, but very pleased you will be staying at Falcon Park.”
Humbly efficiently polished off his last tart and reached for another. “I do hope your husband will be similarly pleased. I am, after all, a mere stranger to him.”
In truth Beatrice had not even considered her husband’s reaction.
“Do not fear, Lord Faulconer will be delighted to have you as our guest,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “More tea?”
“No, thank you. But perhaps one more of those tarts?”
“Of course.” Beatrice refilled his plate and watched in pleasure as he rapidly consumed the last tart. Thank goodness she had managed to lure a seasoned cook from the local squire. “Tell me how Mrs. Stalwart goes on.”
Humbly wrinkled his nose. “Very well, although quite vexed with me at the moment.”
Beatrice did not doubt that the overly protective woman was decidedly miffed to have her chick so far from her nest.
“She did not desire you to travel such a great distance from Surrey?”
“Precisely.” Humbly gave a sigh. “One would think that I had suggested sailing to the colonies.”
“Well, it is a goodly distance.”
The twinkle returned to his eyes. “Especially for a man of my advanced years.”
“Nonsense.” She was swift to protest. This man would never grow old. Not with his youthful spirit.
“Well, that was not her only complaint. You see, my dear, I am under very strict orders to have my library sorted through so that my books can be packed and moved to my cottage.”
“Your cottage? You are leaving the vicarage?” she demanded in startled tones.
“Oh, yes, I am soon to retire.”
Beatrice felt a poignant pang of loss. There had always been something very comforting in having Mr. Humbly at the vicarage. A constant in an ever-changing world.
“But that is dreadful.”
“Oh, no, my dear, it is entirely for the best,” he said in mild tones. “I grow old and tired and quite looking forward to my days shuffling through my garden and relaxing by the fire with no fear I shall be called out by one of my flock. Besides, the new vicar is quite an exceptional gentleman. I do not doubt that the Church will be in competent hands.”
“But it will not be you,” she said sadly.
Before he could retort, the door was once again pushed open. Expecting Hilda returning to collect the tea tray, Beatrice froze in surprise as the elegant form of her husband stepped into the room.
A tingle of awareness she could not entirely banish despite her fierce attempts rushed through her body. Although he was casually attired in buff breeches and tan coat, he still managed to have an air of coiled power about him. It was in the graceful precision of his movements and authority etched onto the features just a breath from being beautiful.
There was no wonder she had tumbled for him like a giddy schoolgirl, she thought ruefully. Few gentlemen could measure up to Gabriel in looks or charm.
Especially when he had combined his natural attributes with stolen kisses that had made her blood rush and her knees weak.
Thankfully unaware of her inward musings, Gabriel strolled forward and regarded Vicar Humbly with a curious glance.
“I was told that we have a visitor. May I welcome you to Falcon Park?”
Two
“Thank you, my lord.”
Gabriel found the tension that had clutched at his body when he had discovered an old acquaintance had called upon his wife slowly easing. He was not certain what he had expected. Perhaps one of her old suitors hoping to ease her obvious disappointment in her husband. Or an interfering friend who would attempt to convince her to return to the comfort of her home in Surrey.
He now felt rather foolish to discover it was only Beatrice’s old vicar, who had performed their wedding ceremony.
Certainly his arrival had not been worthy of Gabriel’s swift retreat from the fields and his hasty charge through the house, he wryly acknowledged. He had not moved with such determination since leaving Napoleon’s battlefields.
“How delightful,” he murmured, performing an elegant bow.
The older gentleman struggled to push his bulk from the sofa.
“You must forgive me, my lord,” he puffed, absently attempting to tame the handful of determined gray hairs. “It appears that the letter warning of my impending arrival was never delivered. No doubt because it is still sitting on my desk. I fear I have simply descended with my hat in hand.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched at his dry tone. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Humbly. We are pleased to have you here.”
“So kind.”
“Not at all.” Gabriel turned his gaze to his wife, startled to discover her lovely eyes glowing with a warmth he had not seen for far too long. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy that it was not he who had created that glow before sternly gathering control of his futile emotions. “I do hope that Beatrice has warned you that we have been invaded by a small army of workmen?”
The vicar gave a nod of his head. “Yes, indeed. May I say, this is a truly lovely home? No doubt there is a great deal of history within these stone walls?”
Gabriel’s lips twisted as he recalled the dubious history of the Faulconer clan. For one of England’s finest families, there was an embarrassing profusion of scoundrels, gamesters, and even a few outright criminals.
“Most of it is best not remembered,” he admitted. “I fear my ancestors were a motley crew.”
Far from shocked by his lack of snobbish pretensions, the vicar merely chuckled.
“I am certain that most of us could find a few undesirables among our distant relatives. I have it upon excellent authority that my great-uncle was hanged at Tyburn as a highwayman.”
Gabriel discovered himself oddly drawn to this peculiar gentleman. There was a simple charm about him as well as a faint hint of shrewd intelligence deep in his eyes.
“If you are truly interested, I believe there are a few books in the library that trace the history of Falcon Park.”
The vicar appeared suitably pleased. “Thank you. I should enjoy that very much. History has always been rather an interest of mine.”
“Mine as well.” Gabriel slid a glance toward his silent wife. “Beatrice, on the other hand, has her mind firmly on the future.”
As happened all too frequently, Beatrice stiffened at his attempt to forge a bridge between them, but Mr. Humbly was swift to fill the awkward silence.
“Ah, yes, I remember how fascinated Beatrice has always been in the latest inventions.”
“It is how my grandfather amassed his fortune,” she said in low tones.
Gabriel flinched at the direct hit, but Humbly merely smiled.
“A very astute gentleman with a rare gift of realizing the potential of various inventions long before others could see their worth. It always amazed me how he could look at what appeared to me as nothing more than gears and wheels and see magic.”
“It is a gift he has bestowed upon his granddaughter,” Gabriel said, carefully noting the startled glance he received from his wife. “She regularly allows hopeful inventors to display their work in the hope of her patronage.”
His instinct was correct when the vicar clapped his hands together rather than express the disapproval poor Beatrice had endured too often.
“But that is wonderful.”
Delightfully flustered, Beatrice could not prevent the color from flooding her cheeks. It added a decided charm to her plain features.
“I do not claim to possess my grandfather’s talent, but I do enjoy the thought of encouraging those who will keep England at the forefront of the world.”
“A most admirable sentiment. I hope you will include me in your
fascinating hobby,” the vicar retorted with obvious sincerity.
Beatrice gave a wry grimace. “If you wish, although I must warn you that more often than not it is all nothing more than a mare’s nest. When there is money offered, every scoundrel and ruffian is eager to line up at the door.”
Humbly gave a wise nod of his head. “Yes, I suppose that is true enough.”
“It only makes it worse that I happen to be a woman,” Beatrice continued, her light tone not quite disguising her inner frustration at the prejudice she consistently faced. “Too many gentlemen possess the belief that because I wear a dress I cannot possibly also possess a brain.”
“A notion you are swift to correct, I am certain, my dear,” Gabriel said in dry tones.
Her gaze abruptly dropped. “I should hope so. I would not wish to be thought a fool.”
Again.
The word went unsaid, but it hung in the air with a thick vengeance. Gabriel tightened his lips.
Did the most simple conversations need be plagued with animosity? Could she not lower that prickly guard even a moment?
It appeared not, he conceded with an unconsciously weary shake of his head.
Well, he had plenty of troubles awaiting his attention that he could attempt to solve. There was little use in battering his head against a stone wall.
“No, such a dreadful fate when one is foolish,” he drawled before turning back to encounter the vicar’s speculative gaze. “Mr. Humbly, I hope you will make yourself comfortable. Beatrice, I shall see you later.”
About to make a dignified exit, Gabriel was halted as the portly gentleman stepped toward him.
“My lord?”
“Yes?”
“If you do not mind, I would desire to ensure that the young farmer who so kindly brought me from the posting inn has been fed. He refused my offer of payment for his troubles and I would like to think he has received something for his efforts.”
“Of course. We shall go directly to the kitchen.”
Gabriel patiently waited for Humbly to take leave of Beatrice before escorting him out of the room. He did not doubt it appeared odd that he made no effort to bid his own wife farewell, but at the moment he did not trust his temper to endure yet another barb from her sharp tongue.
Love and Marriage Page 21