Walking down the long hall, Gabriel drew in a deep breath and glanced toward the much-shorter gentleman, who was currently craning his neck to regard the long corridor.
“Oh my, an open-timbered hallway,” Humbly breathed with sincere delight. “So lovely.”
Never having been in the position of host, Gabriel gathered his thoughts and made an effort to appear suitably pleased with his guest.
“It is, I believe, one of the finer halls in all of Derbyshire,” he said as they moved toward the stairs. “Of course, like the rest of the estate, it has been shamefully neglected.”
“I suppose not all people appreciate the difficulties of preserving history,” the vicar said in mild tones.
“No, indeed.” Gabriel briefly thought of his father’s bitter complaints at the drafty rooms and rambling wings. “Had my father had his way, he would have pulled this monstrosity down and built an Italian villa. Thankfully the entail precluded such drastic changes.”
The vicar sucked in a sharp breath, not entirely able to disguise his shocked disapproval at the late earl’s lack of appreciation for his inheritance. Gabriel knew he would be even more shocked by the nights of gambling and dissipation that had left the rooms in shambles and priceless furnishings toppled about like worthless bits of rubbish.
“Good heavens. It would be a sin to destroy such beauty,” Humbly said with a shake of his head.
“My thought precisely,” Gabriel readily agreed, although deep inside he shuddered at the cost of saving such beauty.
He and Beatrice both had been sacrificed upon the altar of Falcon Park.
Almost as if able to read his thoughts, Vicar Humbly abruptly turned his head to regard him with a searching gaze.
“No doubt Beatrice was delighted when she arrived? Not all brides can claim such an ancient countryseat.”
Gabriel grimaced as they made their way down the stairs and he turned to lead his guest toward the back of the house.
“I am not sure delighted is precisely how I would describe her reaction.”
“Overwhelmed, perhaps?”
Gabriel paused before giving a faint shrug. If this gentleman were to remain at Falcon Park, he would swiftly discover that all was not well between Lord and Lady Faulconer.
“Closer to furious, I fear.”
Humbly gave a vague blink. “Furious?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Beatrice had not realized the full extent of my father’s reckless disregard for his inheritance. No bride would be delighted to discover leaking roofs, fireplaces that smoke, and only an old retainer to see to her needs.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in that one word. “You did not warn her of what to expect?”
Gabriel’s hands unconsciously clenched at his sides. “No. A decision I assure you that I deeply regret.”
“Honesty is always best between man and wife, no matter how difficult,” the vicar murmured.
“Rather easier said than done.”
“Indeed.” There was a measure of silence before Humbly sent him a startlingly kind smile. “But do not worry. I am certain that Beatrice has quite settled in and will soon have the estate in efficient order. She is a very intelligent and capable maiden.”
The heaviness that clung tenaciously about him was briefly eased by the vicar’s low words.
It was true that Beatrice had devoted herself to restoring the house. Not only restoring it, he silently corrected, but preserving the essential beauty and grandeur of the entire estate. It would have been far easier for her to leave the difficult task in the hands of the workmen. Or even his own.
Instead, she had overseen the most tedious details, matching fabrics, carpets, paneling, and fixtures to exacting perfection. Not a speck of dirt was moved without her express approval.
Surely that spoke of some acceptance of her situation, he attempted to comfort himself. Such dedication revealed an emotional commitment whatever her dislike for the Earl of Faulconer.
“Yes, she has already performed no less than a miracle. And, of course, the staff adore her.”
“She is very easy to adore,” Humbly said softly.
Gabriel resisted the urge to laugh.
Oh, yes, she was all that was adorable.
To everyone but him.
Reaching the wide doorway to the kitchen, Gabriel came to a halt.
“Here we are. I will leave you in Cook’s capable hands. I must be off to the fields.”
“Certainly.” The vicar gave him one last penetrating glance that seemed to reach to his very soul before nodding his head. “I shall see you at dinner, no doubt?”
“Of course.”
With a sketchy bow, Gabriel turned and headed directly toward a nearby door.
He had been relieved when he had discovered Beatrice’s guest was the simple, elderly vicar.
Now he began to wonder if there wasn’t a great deal more to this Mr. Humbly than there appeared to be.
There was something in those eyes.
Something that spoke of a wisdom and perception that could be deucedly disconcerting.
His lips momentarily tightened.
Just what he needed, he thought with a hint of frustration.
Another problem to plague him.
* * *
For the first time since becoming Countess of Faulconer, Beatrice carefully attired herself in a satin peach gown and made her way down to the salon.
Perhaps it had been rather childish to insist on eating her meals in splendid isolation. No doubt Gabriel thought it was out of mere spite that she did not join him and Aunt Sarah, as was proper. But in truth she had been unable to bear the thought of sitting at the table pretending that they were simply another married couple.
It smacked too closely of the rosy dreams she had harbored during her all too brief engagement. Dreams of intimate life with the man who had stolen her heart.
Tonight, however, she firmly thrust aside her reluctance and called for her startled maid to help her prepare for the evening ahead. She could hardly hide in her chambers when they possessed a guest. Besides which, she was quite certain the presence of Vicar Humbly would ease the icy atmosphere to at least a bearable level.
Heaven knew, he could not make it worse, she wryly acknowledged.
Standing beside the massive arched window, she was absently tugging upon one of the ribbons on her gown when the door opened and the vicar stepped into the room.
A smile curved her lips as his eyes widened in startled awe. She easily recalled her own amazement when she had first viewed the formal room. Built in an octagon shape, the room was dominated by a vast fireplace with suits of ancient armor guarding the corners and heavy shields hung upon the stone walls. One could almost smell the history and pageantry in the air.
“Oh, my,” Humbly murmured as he moved toward Beatrice.
“Quite daunting, is it not?” she demanded in sympathy. “I have not yet decided how to maintain the dignity of the room while adding a bit of comfort.”
“A difficult task, indeed.” The vicar glanced pointedly toward one of the suits of armor standing at eternal attention. “I feel as if I have been whisked to the past. At any moment I expect a knight to stride across the room and challenge me to a joust.”
The mere image of the decidedly rotund vicar perched upon a warhorse and covered in iron was enough to make Beatrice chuckle.
“He would be a very rusty knight,” she assured him.
“Yes, we should no doubt hear him squeaking long before he could throw down the gauntlet,” Humbly agreed with a smile, then he breathed in deeply, obviously as sensitive as herself to the lingering ghosts in the air. “Such wonderful history in every room.”
“It is indeed an ancient holding. I believe that a few of Lord Faulconer’s ancestors fought in the Battle of Hastings and were granted these lands for their bravery.”
“Goodness. I do hope I can find in the library those books that Lord Faulconer spoke of.” Humbly turned to face her wit
h a pleased smile. “Just imagine our sweet Beatrice becoming a part of such an illustrious family.”
Beatrice smiled without humor. Oh, yes. How wretchedly clever she had been.
“Not such a feat considering that I bring with me a large fortune.” She could not prevent the blunt words from tumbling from her lips. There was little point in dissembling or attempting to pretend that hers had been a love match. Not even this sweet, rather vague gentleman was that blind. “Estates such as Falcon Park are always in desperate need of funds. Or so I have discovered.”
Thankfully Mr. Humbly did not appear horrified by her confession. And even more thankfully he did not attempt to deny the fact her fortune had been her primary attraction. Instead, he offered her a glance of gentle understanding.
“You bring with you much more than mere money, Beatrice.” He stepped closer, reaching out to grasp her hands in a comforting motion. “You are an intelligent, competent maiden with a sensible manner that will be of far more value to this household than any inheritance. I have already discovered the vast changes you have made for the better, as well as the fact that you are well respected by the servants. They indeed could not say enough good things about their new countess.”
Beatrice could not help but be warmed by his kind words. Mr. Humbly had a true gift for making one feel uniquely special. It was, no doubt, why she had so often sought his company when she was young, she acknowledged. Despite her parents’ obvious love, Beatrice had always felt awkward and hopelessly plain when in the company of her elegantly beautiful family. It was a relief to be with a gentleman who openly admired her intelligence and even encouraged her eccentric love for mechanical gadgets.
She felt as if she had her own wonderful value as a person when with the vicar.
It was the same way she had felt with Gabriel. At least until she had discovered the truth.
“I am not always sensible, unfortunately,” she said as she recalled her foolishness with a wince of pain. “Like all maidens, I can be easily swayed by soft words and shallow charm.”
A faint frown formed on his brow at her self-mocking tone. “If you are speaking of following your heart, then you are not supposed to be sensible, my dear. None of us can hope to govern our emotions with our minds. That is what makes it all so delightful.”
Delightful?
Gads, the vicar had obviously not had the pleasure of falling in love.
“No, it is not delightful,” she retorted, pulling her hands free and moving to stand in the pool of light given by the magnificent gilt metal chandelier. “It is ghastly. Emotions make a person weak and lead them to the most outrageous folly.”
There was a small silence before the vicar moved to stand before her, his expression obviously troubled.
“Beatrice, what is it? Are you unhappy here?”
Beatrice swiftly caught back the urge to pour out her troubles like a weepy schoolgirl.
Saints above. This man was her guest. She should be ensuring he was smiling with pleasure, not badgering him with her plight the moment he walked through the door.
She would soon have the reputation of one of those self-obsessed, bitter women who all avoided like the plague.
“Forgive me, Mr. Humbly,” she said, summoning a determined smile. “Of course I am not unhappy. I have a great deal to keep me content.”
His expression remained troubled. “Content? Hardly the word I would expect from a new bride.”
“It is enough,” she assured him.
“Beatrice . . .”
The vicar’s concerned words were brought to a thankful end as the door was thrust open to reveal a thin, aging woman attired entirely in black. Beatrice smiled wryly as Aunt Sarah paused with astonishment at the sight of a strange gentleman in such proximity. Although a seemingly harmless widow, Aunt Sarah was a master of manipulation, with a tenacity that would put Napoleon to shame.
“Beatrice, my dear, are you joining us for dinner?” she cried, managing to instill a hint of censure for all the evenings Beatrice did not appear. “How lovely.”
“Yes, Aunt Sarah. We have a guest,” Beatrice retorted in mild tones, far too accustomed to the woman to allow herself to be ruffled. “May I introduce Vicar Humbly? Vicar, this is Lord Faulconer’s aunt, Mrs. Quarry.”
Like a falcon honing in on its prey, Aunt Sarah swooped across the room and sank her talons into the startled Mr. Humbly’s arm.
“A guest. How delightful. And a vicar. Tell me, did your wife travel with you?”
Clearly sensing his sudden danger, Humbly awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah ... no. I have never married.”
“I see.” Aunt Sarah preened with obvious satisfaction. “I myself am a widow. I lost my husband several years ago, poor man. Such a dear, but always so foolish upon his horse. It came as no surprise when he was discovered in a ditch with his neck broken.”
Humbly gave a startled cough. “Oh, I am sorry for your loss.”
Aunt Sarah heaved a dramatic sigh. “It was a blow. And, of course, becoming a widow at such a young age was a terrible burden. I was forced to become dependent upon my family for their support. I do not know what I would do without dearest Gabriel. Oh, and, of course, Beatrice,” she added as a second thought.
Beatrice merely smiled, wickedly enjoying the sight of Humbly struggling to maintain his composure beneath the onslaught of a marriage-mad widow.
“Yes,” he at last managed to choke out.
Predictably unaware of the vicar’s unease or Beatrice’s amusement, Aunt Sarah smiled coyly into Humbly’s flushed countenance.
“Not that I haven’t had several opportunities to marry again. Several opportunities. But when one reaches our age, Mr. Humbly, we become far more wise and less prone to rash decisions, do we not? I have quite decided that only a comfortable gentleman will do for me now.”
Beatrice loudly coughed to cover her burst of laughter at the painfully obvious lure while Humbly cast her a desperate glance.
Really, she had thought the debutantes at Almack’s a desperate crew. They had nothing on Aunt Sarah, she acknowledged with poorly concealed amusement.
“Quite understandable.” Humbly murmured.
Aunt Sarah batted her lashes. “I suppose that you seek comfort rather than the sparkle of youth?”
“I? Well, I . . .”
The sound of the door opening rescued Humbly from his obvious predicament, although Beatrice discovered herself instinctively stiffening. She knew precisely who she would see as she slowly turned to encounter the hazel gaze of her husband.
Attired in a dark coat and breeches, Gabriel appeared much the same as the first evening she had met him. At that moment she had thought he must be the most handsome gentleman in England with that hair the vibrant color of fall leaves and his hazel eyes gleaming with a ready humor. There had been none of the ennui or sardonic boredom that so marked the men of the ton. Instead, he had crackled with a restless energy that had reached across the room and sent a rash of awareness over her skin.
And, of course, there had been that indefinable attraction, she reluctantly conceded. An utterly feminine acknowledgment of his male sensuality that had stirred to life desires she had never before experienced.
Dangerous desires, she thought as a shiver raced through her.
Reaching her side, Gabriel gazed into her wide eyes and offered a potent smile.
“Forgive me for my late arrival. There was some trouble with one of the tenant’s cottages.” He reached out and audaciously claimed her fingers to lift them to his lips. Beatrice caught her breath, unable to halt the poignant heat that flooded her body. “It is a pleasure to have you join us, my dearest,” he murmured.
Beatrice was determined to wrench her hand away. She had made it clear she did not want his false charm or husbandly advances. But even as she told herself that was precisely what she was about to do, she remained gazing into the hazel eyes that seemed to hold a glow of tender warmth. A tenderness that seemed to reach out and touch her
battered heart. It was at last the sound of Aunt Sarah loudly clearing her throat that made Beatrice realize what she was doing and with a faint blush she hastily stepped away from her husband.
Gabriel smiled ruefully, but with his usual composure turned to offer Mr. Humbly a half bow. “Vicar, can I offer you a brandy?”
Like a gentleman being offered a reprieve from the gallows, Humbly eagerly detached himself from the tenacious woman at his side.
“Yes, indeed. I should like that very much.”
Gabriel’s lips twitched as he moved to pour two glasses of brandy from the distant side-table and returned to offer one to the vicar.
“I think you will find this to your taste,” he murmured. “If nothing else, my father did manage to keep a respectable cellar.”
Humbly took a cautious sip, his eyes widening with pleasure.
“Ah, most fine.”
Gabriel gave a pleased nod of his head as he returned to his place at Beatrice’s side.
“I trust that you have been made comfortable?”
“Yes, indeed,” Humbly was swift to assure him. “Beatrice has taken great care of me.”
“The sly child,” Aunt Sarah twittered, edging closer to the wary vicar. “She did not breathe a word to me about having a guest. Had I known, I certainly would have made the effort to ensure the vicar’s comfort.”
Humbly choked on his brandy. “No need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Quarry. I assure you that Beatrice has seen to all of my needs.”
Aunt Sarah pressed her hands to her thin chest. “Trouble? Nonsense. I positively delight in making others comfortable. It is, after all, the duty of poor relatives. Tomorrow I shall see that there is a proper English breakfast and then perhaps later I can show you about the estate.”
Humbly shifted his feet, no doubt considering the fine notion of bolting.
“Most kind, I’m sure.”
“Oh, it shall be lovely. Gabriel and Beatrice are always so busy that I have grown tediously dull in my own company. I quite look forward to having someone to fuss over.”
Perhaps having sent a prayer upward, Humbly was unexpectedly reprieved as the distant sound of a gong echoed through the vaulted chamber.
Love and Marriage Page 22