They had just reached the foyer when they were halted by a large woman with gray hair and a harried expression.
“Oh, Lady Faulconer,” the housekeeper cried in relief.
Coming to a halt, Beatrice regarded the servant with a lift of her brows.
“Yes, Mrs. Greene?”
“Vicar Dunder sent a message that Mrs. Litton has fallen and taken to her bed. He wished you to ensure that she has a proper dinner.”
On the point of assuring Mrs. Greene that she would see to the elderly widow, Beatrice was halted as Gabriel abruptly stepped forward.
“You may tell the vicar that a basket of food will be delivered to Mrs. Litton and that for today he can attend to his duties rather than devoting his attention to the ale at the local inn. You will also tell him that Lord Faulconer is far from satisfied with his efforts among his flock. Perhaps he will be so good as to meet with me so we can discuss the precise nature of his responsibilities.”
Beatrice gasped at the less than subtle threat, but oddly, Mrs. Greene appeared rather pleased at the message she was commanded to deliver.
“Very good, my lord.”
The woman returned down the hall, and Beatrice found herself being led out of the house and toward the distant stables.
“Was that necessary?” she at last demanded, not at all certain what to expect next from her husband.
The features that had been darkened by the sun tightened with displeasure.
“I am weary of the fool passing his burdens on to you, my dear.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “I enjoy helping the tenants.”
“Yes, but you are very busy with the workmen, as well as your inventors. You should schedule your visits with the tenants upon your pleasure, not the vicar’s. You are not his servant. I will not have you exhausted.”
Caught off guard as much by the sharp concern in his tone as by the realization he was far more aware of her busy schedule than she had suspected, Beatrice could only give a slow nod of her head.
“As you wish.”
Suddenly spotting a footman headed to the house with a large basket of flowers from the hothouses, Gabriel beckoned him forward. Then, with seeming concentration, he sorted through the various blooms.
“Let me see. Not a rose,” he murmured, at last plucking out a daisy and waving the footman on his way. “You, my dear, are a daisy. Unassuming, with a delicate fragrance that does not seek to overpower, but instead provides a subtle sweetness.”
Pressing the daisy into her hand, Gabriel once again tugged her toward the outbuildings. Beatrice was barely aware of where they were headed as she regarded him with growing suspicion.
“What is it, Gabriel?” she at last blurted out.
He slanted her a puzzled glance. “What do you mean?”
“You have been behaving very oddly.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged, a mysterious smile tugging his full lips. “I am merely determined to enjoy a few days’ rest after a difficult planting season. That is surely not so surprising?”
“I suppose not,” she reluctantly conceded, although she did not believe for a moment that his peculiar behavior had anything to do with the end of the planting season.
No doubt sensing her inner distrust, Gabriel abruptly angled away from the stables and pulled her toward a large barn.
“This way.”
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“You will see.” Surprisingly, he did not turn from the barn but instead led her through the open door and toward the center of the long, empty structure. “What do you think?”
Beatrice glanced around the musty building with a frown. “I think it is a barn.”
“Yes, it is in need of work, but it is well built and it possesses ample room.”
She gave a lift of her hands. “It is a fine barn.”
The hazel eyes shimmered in the dim light. “I thought it could be a suitable location for you to view your inventions.”
Stunned, Beatrice felt her mouth drop open. “Oh.”
“I will have a fireplace built and I thought you would wish for a desk and a few chairs. It will not be perfect, but at least you will not have to stand in the rain, and it will be considerably warmer when winter arrives.”
Beatrice abruptly turned away, knowing she could not hide her reaction to his kind gesture. No one had ever encouraged her unfashionable interest in inventions. Indeed, she had been continually browbeaten by her family into discovering a more conventional pastime.
The very knowledge that Gabriel was willing to support her in such a tangible manner sent a dangerous flood of warmth through her heart.
“Yes,” she at last whispered.
“Do you think it will do?”
She was forced to clear her throat. “I think that it will do very well.”
“Then I shall have a few of the workmen begin on it immediately.”
Beatrice slowly turned back to face her husband. “Gabriel.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
He moved slowly forward to grasp her hands, careful not to crush the delicate daisy.
“I only wish you to be happy here, Beatrice. It is what I have always wanted.”
She nodded. This man had ruthlessly sought her out to gain control of her fortune. He had deliberately won her affections while hiding his own devious purpose. She had sworn she would never forgive his treachery.
But gazing into those hazel eyes, Beatrice found herself wondering if he did care in some small way.
“It is not easy,” she said in uneven tones.
Gabriel smiled ruefully. “No. I realize that it will take time.”
He stepped closer, almost as if he intended to kiss her. Beatrice felt her breath quicken with anticipation. She did not even think of turning away. Not when she trembled with the force of her need. She wanted to feel his lips upon her own. To taste that magical desire that only Gabriel could inspire.
But even as his gaze lowered to her slightly parted lips, there was a sudden echo of scurrying footsteps, and then the rotund form of Mr. Humbly darted through the doorway.
For a moment the older man merely stood in the shadows, as if attempting to catch his breath. It was only after his eyes adjusted to the gloom that he noticed Beatrice and Gabriel regarding him with startled gazes.
“Oh ... forgive me,” he muttered, a rather flustered heat staining his round countenance.
“Mr. Humbly.” Beatrice stepped forward. “Is anything amiss?”
“No, no. Just enjoying a bit of fresh air.”
His smile held a sweet innocence, but his subterfuge was swiftly foiled as the shrill voice of Aunt Sarah drifted through the air.
“Mr. Humbly.”
Beatrice conjured a teasingly shocked expression. “Why, Mr. Humbly, are you deliberately avoiding Aunt Sarah?”
“Ah . . . ” The vicar straightened the hat that was about to tumble from his head and gave an uncomfortable cough. “Well . . .”
Gabriel gave a sympathetic chuckle. “Do not fear, Humbly. We shall not reveal your whereabouts.”
The vicar gave a small bow. “I am in your debt, my lord.”
“I must meet with my steward. If you will excuse me?” Gabriel turned to lift Beatrice’s hand and lightly kissed her fingers. He smiled deep’s to her startled eyes before nodding toward Humbly and walking from the barn.
Beatrice watched his retreat with a puzzled frown, the daisy still clutched in her hand.
She did not trust Gabriel in this odd mood, she told herself. His capricious manner left her stomach tangled in knots and her thoughts in turmoil. No, it was not precisely Gabriel that she did not trust. It was her own reaction to his sudden overtures of friendship.
It had been a simple matter to hold on to her hurt at his betrayal when she encountered him only on a rare occasion. It was quite another when he was showering her with attention.
“Beatrice.”
/>
Suddenly realizing Mr. Humbly was speaking to her, Beatrice made an effort to concentrate upon the kindly vicar.
“Forgive me, I was woolgathering,” she admitted. “What did you say?”
“I inquired if you were troubled.”
She smiled rather wryly. “Why do you ask?”
“You have a very odd expression upon your countenance.”
“No. Nothing is troubling me. It is just . . .”
“What?” the older gentleman prompted as he moved forward to closely scrutinize her shadowed countenance.
Beatrice gave a restless shrug. “Lord Faulconer has suggested that I use this barn to view the inventions that are brought for my inspection.”
“But that is a wonderful notion,” Humbly retorted in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than standing in the wind.”
“Yes,” she agreed dubiously.
“Then why are you frowning?”
“It is odd.”
“What is?”
“I have never had anyone but you understand my interest in inventions.” She confessed her inner disturbance. “As you know, my parents were very disapproving of such an interest. Not only because young ladies should concentrate upon delicate tasks such as painting and embroidery, but because they claimed that they needed no reminders that their vast wealth came from my grandfather’s patents. Even my few friends think it far too vulgar to be readily discussed.”
Humbly gave a wise nod of his head. “Few among society consider it fashionable to possess original thoughts or interests. Like sheep, they strive to huddle together and follow their leader with blind devotion. I am thankful that Lord Faulconer possesses the sense to admire your unique qualities.”
Beatrice absently gnawed her full bottom lip. “Or else he is merely humoring me.”
Without warning Humbly gave a tinkling laugh. “He is now your husband. By law he is your master. There is no need to humor you,” he said with unshakable logic. “He obviously is attempting to encourage what pleases you the most. A very admirable sentiment.”
Beatrice regarded the vicar with a growing suspicion. It occurred to her that Gabriel’s peculiar behavior began only after the arrival of Mr. Humbly. And certainly she would not put it past the older gentleman to interfere in her marriage. He always did possess a habit of dabbling in the lives of others.
“Did you ask him to do this?” she demanded bluntly.
Humbly appeared suitably shocked by the accusation. “Not at all. I will admit that Lord Faulconer confessed he was saddened by your obvious unhappiness, but I could offer him no reassurances beyond patience.”
Beatrice was not wholly convinced. Humbly could be as cunning as a fox when he chose.
“I will not be charmed into forgetting how I was duped,” she said in uneven tones.
Humbly reached out to pat her hand. “Of course not.”
“I was fooled once before. I could not bear to be fooled again.”
“I do not believe that Lord Faulconer seeks to fool you, Beatrice.”
How easy it was for him to be so certain, she acknowledged with a grimace. She had trusted her instincts before, only to discover they were flawed. She would not be so swift to depend upon them again.
“I must return to the house. If you will excuse me.”
With a distracted expression Beatrice turned to make her way from the barn. She could devote the entire day to brooding upon Gabriel’s sudden displays of kindness. She knew, however, there were no answers to be found in her chaotic thoughts.
Thankfully she had more than enough work demanding her attention.
Moving across the stable yard, Beatrice paid scant attention to her surroundings. She instead considered whether to meet with the workmen or pacify her anxious cook that the meal chosen for that evening was acceptable.
Such dilemmas were far simpler to solve than the mysteries of the heart.
Her steps slowed and too late she suddenly noted the fretful woman hurrying in her direction.
Blast.
Why had she not recalled that Aunt Sarah was lurking the grounds in search of her victim?
It was too late now to dodge into the stables, and Beatrice reluctantly halted as the widow eagerly hurried to her side.
“Oh, Beatrice, I am glad I have found you. I have been searching for dear Mr. Humbly.”
Beatrice smiled in a vague manner. “Have you?”
“Yes, such a lovely gentleman.” Aunt Sarah heaved a romantic sigh.
“He is indeed.”
“And he possesses his own cottage.”
“Yes.”
A decidedly speculative gleam entered the older woman’s eyes. “And I suppose he has a comfortable income?”
Beatrice thought of poor Mr. Humbly still hiding in the barn. Although there was a decided humor in watching the gentleman desperately attempt to avoid the clutches of Aunt Sarah, she could not in all conscience allow it to continue. He was really far too sweet to be badgered in such a manner.
“I shouldn’t think he has much of an income at all.” She determinedly dashed the hopes of the older woman. “His family has always been in straitened circumstances, and a vicar is rarely given more than a pittance for his services.”
Aunt Sarah was not so easily discouraged. “Yes, but a vicar living simply must have some savings?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Not Mr. Humbly. He has far too often taken from his own pocket when he encounters another in need. His own comfort has never been his concern.”
“I see,” Aunt Sarah murmured, a frown beginning to form on her brow. Clearly she was not overly eager to wed a vicar who could offer nothing more than a damp cottage and few amenities.
“Do not fear. As you said, Mr. Humbly prefers to live simply. He will no doubt be satisfied in his small cottage with the barest of necessities.”
“I suppose,” Aunt Sarah agreed reluctantly, then without warning her countenance abruptly cleared. “Unless . . .”
Beatrice did not like the sly glint in the older woman’s eye.
“Yes?”
Aunt Sarah smiled with satisfaction. “Why, obviously those who care for him will do what is necessary to ensure he is well cared for in his later years. Surely it is the duty of his friends to provide an adequate income?”
Beatrice had to admire the woman’s cunning. She had clearly determined that Beatrice would do whatever possible to please Mr. Humbly. Including offering a portion of her fortune to keep him and his wife in luxury.
“I do not believe Mr. Humbly would accept charity,” she said sternly.
“Charity? La.” Aunt Sarah easily dismissed the notion. She possessed no scruples, expecting others to provide for her welfare. “ ’Tis no less than he deserves.”
“Perhaps,” Beatrice admitted ruefully, realizing she had been outgunned. Poor Humbly would have to face this battle on his own. “If you will excuse me, I have a great many duties to attend to.”
Beatrice continued her path to the house, on this occasion keeping her pace brisk enough to avoid any further interruptions.
She made a brief halt in the kitchens to speak with Cook before seeking out the workmen and at last the artist who refused to touch the seventeenth-century canvas without being allowed to travel to London with it and have it examined by the Royal Academy of Art.
All in all, it was nearly four hours before she could make her way to her chambers. She felt in dire need of a hot bath and rest before returning downstairs for dinner.
Pushing open the door to her chamber, she stepped inside. She had taken only a few steps before she came to an abrupt halt.
“Good heavens,” she breathed, her startled gaze moving over the vast bouquets of daisies that were banked about the room.
Standing beside the bed, Beatrice’s maid flashed her a wide grin. “They are a real treat, are they not, ma’am?”
Beatrice was stunned. “Where did they come from?”
“Lord Faulconer had them sent from every hothouse
in the neighborhood,” the servant confessed in pleased tones. “There is also a note.”
Walking toward the dresser where the maid was pointing, Beatrice retrieved the brief message written in Gabriel’s bold hand.
Beatrice,
I hope these flowers bring you pleasure and perhaps a smile to your lips. I wish you only happiness.
Yours to command,
Gabriel
Beatrice dropped the note and pressed a hand to her heart.
Dear heavens.
How was she possibly to resist such charming advances?
And more important, did she truly want to resist?
Gads, what a devilish coil.
Seven
The cottage was small but ruthlessly clean, with new thatching and a handful of well-made furnishings. There was also the sweet smell of fresh flowers that Beatrice had brought along with a large basket of food.
Already having coaxed a bowl of warm soup into Mrs. Litton’s hands along with a slice of freshly baked bread, Beatrice settled in a chair close to the bed and watched the widow enjoy the small feast.
She had not lied to Gabriel. She did enjoy her moments spent in the company of the tenants. Unlike the more sophisticated ton, the people of Falcon Park were honest and straightforward. They did not twitter behind their fans or smile sweetly as poison dripped from their lips. They did not judge others by the beauty of their countenance or elegance of their manners.
Instead, they worked hard and expected the same of others. They also offered a genuine friendship that was based upon loyalty and respect.
It was little wonder she felt far more comfortable in the company of common farmers than in the presence of aristocrats.
Scooping up the last of the hearty soup, the older woman leaned back with a sigh.
“Delicious,” she murmured, her alert gaze at odds with her frail body covered by a woolen blanket. Mrs. Litton might be well into her seventies, but her wits were as sharp as ever and her tongue embarrassingly blunt. “So kind of you, my lady.”
“Not at all.” Beatrice set the empty tray aside and smiled at the widow. “It is a pleasure to have an excuse to visit you.”
Love and Marriage Page 27