Perhaps he could suggest other activities they could do together. His brow shot up. He knew just what activity he had in mind, but they would have to work up to that. Slowly. He meant to court her properly, one step at a time.
“Now, Dale, I don’t want a fuss,” he said. “It’s good to be home but no need for a celebration. I mean to slip in quietly.”
“Mr. Finch wouldn’t share the news, my lord. I was at his side when he took your call and promised not to tell a soul except me, not even Mrs. Mallows. She makes enough to feed an army even though it’s usually just the countess and Mr. Grant dining formally.”
“Mr. Grant?” Gabriel felt his heart skip a beat. He recalled Kenner writing him about this man Grant’s salary, an exorbitant sum for a personal secretary, but he didn’t want to question Sophia’s motives at the time. He only wanted her to be happy. But who was this Grant fellow? Perhaps he should have investigated more thoroughly. “The secretary, Grant, joins her for dinner? Is he a good fellow?”
Sophia allowing one of the servants, even one of the upper echelon, to dine with her? It wasn’t like her. She liked to keep everyone in the proper place, and her place was always much above everyone else’s. Always. She enjoyed the distinction of being a countess.
Dale shrugged. “I haven’t spoken with him at length. He seems like a decent sort, once you get past the brash American tones.”
“Right. He was previously employed by the Belmonts, I believe. And he dines with Lady Averford every evening?” Unbelievable.
“Almost every evening.” Dale nodded as he turned the car toward the front of the house. “As far as I know. Not last night though, of course.”
“Take us around the back, Dale. I don’t want a lot of fuss, as I said. Perhaps I can just sneak in without anyone knowing and surprise Lady Averford at dinner. Why not last night?”
“You didn’t know?” Dale sounded surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lord Averford. The countess was preparing for her journey. She went to London on the morning train.”
“London?” What could possibly have drawn her to the place? Had she heard that he was in town?
He’d tried to keep a low profile, going out as little as possible. Though Wilkie had dragged him along to that one reception, insisting they had to put in an appearance to drum up more votes for the Labour Exchanges Act. He hadn’t stayed long, a few minutes at best. Long enough for word to get out, apparently. Sophia had probably heard it from her mother. He should never underestimate the woman’s reach. Sophia’s mother might not get out much anymore, but she always seemed to know everything going on in London.
“To see you, perhaps,” Dale said. “I thought you’d had words before you left, or I would have said something.”
“Of course. Our paths must have crossed.”
“At any rate, welcome home, sir.”
“Thank you, Dale.” Gabriel let himself out of the car, not waiting for the chauffeur to come around for the door.
He took his time heading in, reacquainting himself with the grounds as he ambled. The gardens, the garden house, the fields and orchards beyond, and the air! He breathed it deeply, a restorative balm to his soul. The fresh, clean air of Thornbrook Park. There was nothing quite like it. Not even in Arezzo, Siena, or Florence. Most especially not in Florence. All too well, he remembered the stench of unwashed bodies crowded into the Baptistry of St. John. He removed his hat and waved it around, stirring the air so he could get another gulp.
He planned to go straight to the kitchen, where he would casually ask Mrs. Mallows for a glass of lemonade. It was a warm day and there should be an abundance of lemons from the trees his mother had sent some time ago. Mrs. Mallows would startle at the sight of him, perhaps even call out for Mrs. Hoyle, Mr. Finch, and any other of the servants within earshot. How happy he would be to greet them all!
But no Sophia, the one he wanted most to see, his lovely wife. Beyond lovely. He’d been all over Europe and back, and he had yet to meet a woman who could outshine his own wife. Her staggering beauty had been the first thing he’d noticed about her, so much that he’d forgotten to breathe in her presence more than once. The stunning combination of her raven hair, ivory skin, and cornflower-blue eyes made her nearly impossible to miss and, once glimpsed, absolutely incapable of being forgotten. No wonder Lord Ralston had tried to win her over. What man could resist?
The memory of their wedding night remained his most extraordinary memory to date, the best day of his life barring the day their son was born, which was also the most tragic considering… But that was best left unexplored for now. The pain of losing Edward had cast him into a downward spiral that had lasted for half a year, if not more, and he did not care to relive it.
The memory of his wedding night, however, brought him great joy and he became lost in the recollection of it all too often. Sophia’s gasp when he peeled her gown from her delicate, white shoulders. His first sight of her breasts, slight but symmetrical, enough to fill his hand, and tipped with rosy nipples that hardened at his touch. The way her abdomen tensed and shook when he parted her tender thighs and blew a steady stream of air on her navel, then lower.
She’d sobbed in his arms that first time, and he’d been alarmed until she’d explained that she always cried when she was so supremely happy. Happier than she had ever been. The pain was hardly anything, she’d said, and hadn’t lasted as long as she’d feared when she first glimpsed him. He wasn’t a small man, and he felt a secret thrill that he’d managed to intimidate her with the sight of him, and an even greater satisfaction when he learned he’d pleased her more than hurt her. Aglow with youthful pride, he’d congratulated himself on his apparently tremendous skill in his wife’s bed. She’d quaked! She’d trembled! She’d cried! Clearly, he was a god.
But it hadn’t happened again, not with such a strong reaction, and he began to doubt his prowess. She’d been a virgin, untried, unsure what to expect, and he had impressed her. But after that? He’d tried everything he could think of to bring her to the brink of bliss, and none of it seemed to occasion more than a contented sigh. A tolerant sigh most often, if he were being honest.
Once, when experimenting with a new position, turning her around to take her from behind, she’d squealed and slapped him, letting him know that he’d gone beyond his bounds. Finally, when the idea of going to her bedroom began to fill him with more dread than anticipation, he’d become desperate enough to consider going to his brother for advice. His brother had been quite a favorite with the ladies before he’d gone off to war.
But by the time Gabriel got his courage up to ask, his brother had been shipped off. Fortunately, Sophia had hinted that the maid was letting out all her gowns, and it had dawned on him what such news meant only moments later.
“Are you?” he’d asked.
“Yes!” she’d said, and she began to cry in the same way she had on their first night together, a sure sign that she was beyond delighted too.
And then after Edward’s unexpected death, there’d been next to nothing between them ever again. They shared moments of intimacy, true, but nothing more than glances, smiles, or a touch of the hand. She’d become afraid to let him do more than barely touch her, too frightened of becoming pregnant again and losing another baby.
As soon as he’d caught her in Ralston’s arms, he knew that he should have fought harder to convince her to try again. He’d thought she’d closed herself off from feeling any kind of deep emotion, but clearly he’d been wrong. She yearned for love as much as he did, perhaps more. There was no reason they couldn’t find their way back to each other now after all his time and care in Italy learning how to be more responsive to her needs. No reason at all.
Breathing the Yorkshire air cleared his mind so that he could see a way forward at last. He knew what he had to do next.
Three
Listening to Lord Markham’s problems had encouraged Sophia to
feel better about her own. She needed to speak with Gabriel. Tomorrow, she would head straight back to Thornbrook Park. But for tonight, she would try to be a proper hostess and take Lord Markham’s mind off his troubles.
He was highly entertained when she told him that Lord Wilkerson had mistaken her for Gabriel’s mother.
“Dodgy old fool.” Markham shook his head and reached for the bottle to pour them more wine, but the footman beat him to the task after a pointed look from Sutton as if to remind him. “He can’t see a thing without his spectacles. Once, months ago, he tried to change from spectacles to a monocle. With only one bad eye accommodated, he went all wonky and fell right off the curb on the short stroll from Parliament to the pub. No matter. It led him to his next favorite affectation, the walking stick.”
“Oh dear. We don’t see many of those in Yorkshire.”
“How I miss home!”
“You can always return. You’re welcome at Thornbrook Park, and I’m certain the Thornes would allow you to have a look around your old house.”
Their conversation was interrupted by another ringing of the doorbell. Sutton left his post and, a moment later, reappeared with Marcus and Eve Thorne. “Oh, look who’s here.”
“Stay seated, please,” Marcus urged.
“Yes, don’t get up on our account,” Eve agreed. “We’ll join you.”
Sutton went off, probably to get more place settings, as Marcus and Eve took their seats. “Lord Markham, a pleasure to find you here. We haven’t seen you in some time,” Marcus said. “How are you?”
“Not as well as could be hoped. I’ve been keeping to myself mostly, avoiding the gossips.”
“Oh dear, the divorce.” Eve, seated next to him, reached out and patted his hand. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t believe the news. It must have come as such a shock.”
“I can’t say that you’re not indirectly to blame in some small part, Mrs. Thorne. Forgive me for causing any offense.”
“Me to blame?” Eve’s pale blue eyes widened in shock. “What could I have done?”
Marcus sat on the edge of his seat, ready to argue in his wife’s defense. Sophia suddenly envied her friend a husband who would stand up for her. There was a time when Gabriel would have done the same, but that time had passed.
“Romantic novels!” Markham threw his hands up in exasperation. “She couldn’t get enough of them. Yours and many others. Reading about so many love affairs must have fueled her desire to have one of her own.”
Sophia bit her lip, nervous about her friend’s reaction. Eve had been writing novels for years to great acclaim and success, but apparently not to Lord Markham’s liking.
Eve tipped her head back and laughed. “My dear Lord Markham, you can’t really suppose reading romantic novels inspired your wife’s actions! Some men like murder mysteries, but I doubt reading them makes those men any more inclined to kill.”
“I’m sorry.” He shrugged resignedly. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Do you miss her?” Eve asked. “When you really think about it, didn’t you always believe that you were unsuited?”
Markham paused to think a moment before continuing. “I miss companionship. But I suppose you’re right. Olivia and I were not of the same mind on many things.”
“You see? It was your incompatibility and not Olivia’s reading habits that drove a wedge between you. Perhaps you should start reading romantic novels, Lord Markham. I have a new one coming out in a few months, which is what brought us to London without the children. We’re staying for a few more days.”
“A few days?” Sophia was sorry to hear it. “I was hoping you would accompany me back to Thornbrook Park. Gabriel has returned.”
“Yes, I wondered what brought you all the way to London, Sophia.” Eve sat back to allow Sutton to serve her. “Do regale us with the story as we eat.”
With a sigh, Sophia began to recount how she’d heard about Gabriel’s homecoming. It didn’t bother her that Lord Markham was a guest at the table. He’d been open with her about his own problems, and she felt closer to him for it. She would spare no details.
* * *
Gabriel closed the ledger, tented his fingers, and faced Mr. Kenner across his desk. Kenner slumped in the chair, avoiding eye contact.
“Tell me, Mr. Kenner, how it is that we have nearly doubled profits at a time when most grand old estates are bleeding money?”
Kenner pushed his spectacles up his nose. “The farms, my lord, are doing quite well. Higgins has a generous arrangement with Simpson Textiles, making a tidy sum by providing the rapeseed oil they use to lubricate their machinery.”
“Simpson Textiles? The factory over in Skipham? Managed by the American?”
“Owned by an American. The tycoon Orville Simpson. Yes, the very one. And Tilly Meadow is getting on well too, selling cheeses to markets throughout the countryside, and now Mrs. Cooper’s baked goods as well—pies, cakes, and breads. Apparently, it has become dreadfully passé to bake one’s own bread. Thornbrook Park profits on all ventures thanks to, er, having a hand in making the connections and drawing up the contracts.”
“You? You drew up business contracts enabling the estate to share in the profits? Well done!” He had underestimated Kenner’s cunning and skill. “But what’s this about a guesthouse? There are an extraordinary number of notes on guesthouse profits.”
“Oh.” Kenner cleared his throat. “Indeed. Rather than allow the Dower House to just sit there empty…”
“Empty? What about Aunt Agatha? I’ve been meaning to mention that we need to move her out to make way for my mother’s return, but has she already gone?”
“Your mother’s return? The Dowager Countess is coming back?” Kenner sat up straighter, apparently on alert.
Gabriel nodded. “As soon as she’s concluded her business in Paris, yes. Italy holds no enchantment for her since, well, since her romance with the Conte Miralini went sour. Poor Mother.”
“Ah, I see. Agatha moved into the main house months ago to allow the Dower House to be rented to American guests.”
“American guests? In the Dower House?” Gabriel tried to remain composed at the news, but in his astonishment, he felt his mouth gaping open like a trout on the line.
“I believe they’re calling it a guesthouse, my lord. The visitors stay for a week or two to enjoy the charm of our fair countryside. We provide them a place to stay and a few meals in exchange for profits. A new couple arrived only days ago, a railroad man and his wife.”
“A foreign couple is staying in the Dower House? How do you suddenly know so many Americans, Kenner?” Gabriel arched a brow. “It has to do with this new secretary of my wife’s, doesn’t it? I knew he would be trouble. Has he talked you into putting up his friends?”
Kenner shook his head. “They’re not his friends. I believe they are associates of his former employer, and paying customers, as you can see.”
“I can.” Gabriel studied the ledger. “A tidy sum too. The illustrious Mrs. Belmont. How do Americans attract such wealth?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”
“Ah, well, judging from the recent profits of the estate, you do have some idea. Tell me about this Grant fellow.” Preparing for a more comfortable discussion, Gabriel swung his feet up to his desk, crossed his legs, and stretched out. His good old English boots were back on his feet, and he admired the well-worn yet sturdy sight of them.
“I would rather tell you myself, sir.” A man appeared in his doorway. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair cropped short.
Gabriel dropped his feet back to the floor and stood to his full height. He kept his gaze narrowed and his hands clasped behind his back. It wouldn’t do to hit the man on first acquaintance, even if Grant did strike the earl as a bounder. “Try ‘my lord’ or simply ‘Lord Averford’ if you must. You must be Grant.”
“Grant, yes. Mr. Wesley Grant. Indeed, I am an American.” The man stood ramrod straight, shoulders back, refusing to show that he could be cowed. Could he? “I must confess that it was your wife’s idea to let the Dower House.”
“My wife’s idea?” Gabriel found he loathed hearing about his wife from this arrogant stranger’s lips. “What does Sophia know about guesthouses and such?”
“I suppose she concocted the idea after hearing about them from my former employer. When Mrs. Belmont visited, she suggested making a business of allowing Americans to experience the English countryside, fine as it is.”
“It doesn’t get any finer than here at Thornbrook Park,” Gabriel agreed, hardly feeling appeased by the flattery.
“The Dower House was sitting there empty. Practically empty. There was the small matter of convincing Agatha to take a suite here. We’ve had no shortage of guests over the past eight months.”
“She’s been at it for eight months?” Again, Gabriel tried, and failed, to contain his surprise.
“We’ve been operating at full capacity. There’s a waiting list.”
“No shortage of Americans eager for the English experience?” Gabriel arched a brow.
“Willing to pay top dollar for the English experience. Mrs. Cooper at Tilly Meadow has been more than willing to supply the tarts, pastries, and cheese platters for afternoon tea.” Grant stroked his square jaw as if pleased with pulling off a grand plan, placing into doubt how much of the enterprise Sophia had actually come up with and how much had been Grant’s idea.
“Apple pie?” Gabriel took his seat and gestured for Grant to take the chair next to an apparently flummoxed Kenner. “With Mrs. Dennehy’s cheddar? Mrs. Cooper makes the best apple pie.”
Grant sucked in a breath. “I’m afraid not apple, my lord. Americans like to claim apple pie as their own. I’ve had her working with quince and currant, things that seem more English to American palates.”
The Great Estate Page 3