Love's Tangle

by Goddard, Isabelle

  ****

  “You had better devise a plan very rapidly, Mama.”

  Roland plunged into the drawing room of the Dower House out of breath and slightly unkempt. He had almost run down the drive in the hope of finding his mother still at home. She was packing a small basket to take back with her to the Hall.

  “Gabriel is becoming just a little too enamored with our unwelcome guest. I caught them just now riding together—on one horse!”

  “I trust you put a stop to such flagrant conduct.”

  “Naturally, Mama. He dismounted when he saw me. He must know I had no intention of leaving him alone with her, but I will not always be around.”

  “You must not think me unaware. I have watched this unfortunate intimacy grow and made my plans accordingly. Miss Milford has spoken of her intention to find work but that will not be a permanent solution to our problem. If her employment is unsuccessful, she could come back at any time and Gabriel is quite capable of seeking her wherever she goes. It is a husband we need. A husband will take her off our hands for good.”

  “It may be difficult.”

  “Do not be such a faint heart,” his mother scolded. “I already have such a one in mind. A Mr. Ferrers. He is a respectable man, a lawyer I believe, but nevertheless enjoying considerable success as his practice expands. I know for a fact that he is looking for a wife and when he meets Elinor, I am sure he will take a liking to her. She is a little gawky—I find men generally balk at tall women—but attractive enough in a foreign kind of way. The courtship need only be brief. With a little judicious encouragement, he will admire her sufficiently I am sure to make an offer.”

  “And Elinor?”

  “She should be delighted with such a respectable marriage. A girl in her position cannot be too choosy and Mr. Ferrers will provide a comfortable home. He is coming to tea at the Hall tomorrow and she will need to look her best. I will tell her the good news before dinner this evening.”

  Chapter Nine

  “What? Let me get this clear, Lady Frant. You have invited a man to tea so that he can view me?”

  Celia Frant shuddered. “You are unnecessarily coarse, Elinor, and I would certainly not phrase it so. It is simply an opportunity for him to meet you. You would do well to make yourself available and amenable.” This last was said in a severe tone. Elinor’s expression promised anything but amenable.

  But Lady Frant sailed smoothly along as though she was not at this moment encountering rampant hostility. “You never know, my dear, you may find you go on very well together. And in a short time it could lead to a respectable offer. Mr. Ferrers is a professional man, it’s true, but he is doing exceptionally well in his business and has already acquired a sizeable house and a stable of thoroughbreds.”

  “And I am to join them? Tomorrow’s little tea party is by way of being a reconnaissance mission for Mister, whatever his name is.”

  “Mr. Ferrers,” Celia said in a quelling tone. “It would be wise to remember his name.”

  “A reconnaissance mission,” Elinor repeated, “so he can pick over the goods before deciding on a definite purchase.”

  “Really, your language does you no credit. You would do well to be pleasant to him.”

  “And you would do well to cease meddling in my affairs.”

  “How dare you accuse me of meddling! I would never have invited Mr. Ferrers if I had not known the duke’s concern over your future.”

  “The duke asked you to invite this man?”

  “Not exactly. But marriage is the most sensible solution to the predicament we find ourselves in. I have simply helped matters along.”

  “The duke has made known his concerns for my future!” Elinor exclaimed wrathfully. “We will see about that.”

  She banged out of the drawing room and rushed down the stairs and out through the huge oak front door. She went first to the estate office, which was locked and empty, then on to the stables. The grooms were mystified by her appearance since the duke had left hours ago. Was she to walk over the entire estate in order to vent her spleen? Then she remembered the study. It was unusual for Gabriel to take refuge there until after dinner but knowing of the invitation to Mr. Ferrers, he might have gone to ground already.

  ****

  She burst through the door as the duke was pouring himself a very large brandy. He was hoping to sink into the liquor’s warm embrace and blot from his mind yet another disturbing encounter with Elinor. He’d kept himself on a tight rein in that cheerless shack, but only just. And then the ride home, his arms around her trim waist, her body leaning into his—it was too much to bear. As a servant, she had lived her life at a distance unless, he thought drily, she was poking around in rooms in which she had no business. But then he’d brought her into those rooms to live right under his nose and the more he saw her, the more he wanted her; the more he wanted her, the less he could have her.

  His thoughts lost themselves in a haze of remembered pleasure. She had no idea how lovely she was. Today he longed to run his hands through that glorious mass of dark curls, longed to see those misty green eyes cloud with desire, to snatch more than will o’ the wisp caresses from those full lips. He wanted her all to himself. He was about to get his wish.

  “You are unbelievable!”

  Surfacing slowly from his dreamlike state, Gabriel’s eyes flickered in surprise at the rigid figure that confronted him. “Elinor, you are upset. What has happened?”

  “Upset? No, I am not upset. But incandescent with rage—certainly!”

  “Sit down please,” he gestured towards the chair directly opposite, “and tell me the problem.”

  “I will not sit down, and you yourself are the problem.” Her figure was stiff with fury and her eyes flashing fire.

  “Then if you will not sit, I must stand. Exactly how am I a problem?”

  “You have all the arrogance of your class,” she almost spat out.

  “I think we must have already established that somewhere along the line.” His languid tone concealed a rising irritation.

  “You are haughty, controlling and utterly insensitive.”

  “We could exchange insults all evening. Why don’t you get to the point?” He was bristling now.

  “I will, you can be sure. It is not enough that your family has marauded through the neighborhood, causing pain and sadness, but now years later you must bury the evidence.”

  He seemed bemused. “Bury the evidence?”

  “Evidence of their wrongdoing. You and your relatives are determined to rid Allingham of my presence.”

  He looked at her measuringly. “First of all, my family did not go marauding. It was one individual—I presume you are referring to Charles—who now lies dead, and incidentally, unmourned. And secondly, if you are the evidence of his marauding, it seems to me that far from getting rid of you, I have done all I can to make you feel welcome.”

  For a moment Elinor looked shamefaced but only for a moment before she was on the attack again. “Any welcome I’ve received has been conditional—it is clear your family has always been determined to see me go from Allingham. I have already begun my own arrangements to leave—I told you as much a few hours ago. But that isn’t good enough. No, you have to control me to your own satisfaction. I must be married according to your dictate.”

  “Married?” His tone lost its impassivity but Elinor hardly noticed.

  “The best of it is that before I reach this blessed state, I must be touted around the countryside to all the likely men who might be interested in taking an inconvenient base-born daughter off your hands.”

  “What nonsense is this?!” He strode towards her as though he wanted to shake some sense into her but she stepped to one side and without pausing, continued in a voice tight with anger.

  “I have it on the best of authority—your aunt, no less, the sister of my late and unlamented father. And lest I should think she is acting as a sole agent, she assures me it is your concern for my future that has prompte
d her so diligently to seek a mate for me.”

  He looked confounded and said slowly, “Are you telling me Celia has been matchmaking?”

  “Matchmaking is far too romantic a term for the enterprise,” she said bitterly. “And I cannot imagine this is fresh news to you.”

  “You better start imagining then. I have never, ever discussed the topic of your marriage with Celia, let alone asked her to scan the neighborhood for a likely husband.”

  “If that is so, how does it come about that she has invited a Mr. Ferrers to look me over tomorrow? He owns a stable of thoroughbreds, she tells me. I must make sure my teeth are shining and bright or he may pass me over.”

  “This is ridiculous. Ferrers? Who the hell is he?” His annoyance was once more getting the better of him and he made no attempt to apologize for the oath.

  “Who indeed? But we must not quibble. Your aunt seems well satisfied with her choice. An illegitimate child cannot expect to aim too high, you see, even when the prospective bridegroom is paid handsomely to take her off Claremont hands.”

  He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders. “Elinor, you must stop this insane rant. I am not paying anyone to take you off my, our hands. Nor do I wish to impose a bridegroom on you.”

  “Your aunt is merely expressing the family sentiment, I’m sure. Tell her please that she is welcome to entertain Mr. Ferrers to tea tomorrow but I will not be there.”

  “I will tell her more than that.” His voice was stern. “This whole thing has got out of hand. You will hear no more of it, I promise.”

  “I will not be around to hear more. I expect to receive a reply from Malmesbury at any moment and will start on my journey immediately.”

  She turned on her heels and was marching towards the door when Gabriel’s voice called after her, “You cannot really mean to go as a governess.”

  She swung round, her expression still fiery. “Naturally my new position will lack the glory of a husband bought by Claremont money, but I will be well compensated by the pride of working for my living.”

  “Think, Elinor! You are nobly born—and not just on the Claremont side. You cannot spend your life drudging in some humble home.”

  “Humble maybe but blessedly free from humiliation.” She resumed her march towards the open doorway, saying in a clear, cold voice, “I wish to be private until I leave. Pray allow me that indulgence.” With a sharp snap, the door shut behind her.

  Gabriel grabbed the decanter and poured himself another brandy. He needed a second drink and probably a third and a fourth. Of late, he’d rarely felt the impulse but now he decided, he would make a night of it. He did not want Elinor to marry a Mr. Ferrers; he did not want her to marry anyone. How could she believe him to be so crass as to plot such a thing with his aunt? He was incensed with her and incensed with Celia. Ever since the truth of Elinor’s birth had become known, his aunt had been hinting at her departure from Allingham. Perhaps she feared the long dead scandal would be reborn with all its shameful repercussions; perhaps she still held her elder brother in respect and Elinor was a constant reproach to her image of the dead man. Whatever the reason, it seemed she had decided the girl should leave and very soon.

  He drained his glass and sank further into the chair’s ample depths, a morose expression darkening his handsome features. For once he had tried to do the right thing. Elinor had come crashing into his world and turned it upside down. He’d tried to accept the startling discovery of her parentage with equanimity. God knows, his family was nothing to be proud of, dukes though they may be. He’d wanted to accept her into Allingham and then forget her. Instead she’d been a perpetual thorn in his flesh: always finding fault, always reminding him of her damn independence, always there—warm, inviting, delectable. He should have sent her packing from the moment she started poking around the house. He should have seen it could only mean trouble if she stayed. She was a constant disturbance, a constant temptation, and he longed to find peace in his mind and his body. Now it seemed he would get his wish. She was leaving, leaving in anger, and she would never return. A light went out somewhere in his heart and he reached for the decanter.

  ****

  When Alice came to prepare her lady for bed she brought with her a worrying tale of Gabriel’s excess. It was clear the duke intended to drink himself under the table, the maid whispered. It was brandy too. Brandy was wicked, Alice said knowledgeably, even the best French stuff. It rotted your guts and addled your brain. Judging by the volley of bad tempered curses issuing from the duke, the brain addling had not yet progressed far but no good could come of such a bad situation. The duke’s man had given up trying to reason with his master and the household was holding its breath for the mischief to come.

  Elinor dismissed her maid as soon as she could. She heard Alice’s footsteps retreating down the tower steps and climbed from her bed. The household had retired early tonight and she knew that sleep would not come easily. She drew back the curtains and looked out at the encircling dark. A shaft of moonlight had emerged faintly from behind clouds and was slowly cutting a swathe through trees and lawn. She had listened to Alice’s recital with dismay and a little guilt, for she knew she had let rage overcome her and make her unfair. But the thought of Gabriel having any part in the search for an accommodating husband was humiliating. Humiliating, too, that she was considered only good enough to marry an arriviste who doubtless had more money than manners. The sentiment shocked her—she had become as arrogant as the Claremonts. If that is what association with the duke and his clan had done, the sooner she was on her way, the better. And if Gabriel chose to drink himself into a stupor, so be it.

  ****

  Two floors below the duke was doing his best to comply. It wouldn’t be the first time. There were months after his brother had been killed that he drank himself insensible every night, alone and furious at anyone who tried to intervene. But he’d come through and lately he had even begun to think the future might offer a chink of light. A mistake. If Elinor left, he would return to the same, inevitable dreary round.

  He understood her indignation. How could she not be angry at being coupled with this Ferrers—the man was a pygmy—but in truth her anger came from elsewhere, though she would not see it. It was rooted in the mawkish vision of love she clung to. Marriage was a contract, a business like any other, but she refused to see the reality and entertained foolish dreams of an all-consuming passion. She painted the attachment between her mother and his hated uncle as romantic, hopeless emotion. That was a milk and water tale he declined to swallow. It reminded him too much of his own parents’ story. Their rose-tinted vision had left him and his brother orphans. That was the destructive power of love which Elinor refused to accept. He brooded on the iniquity as evening turned to night and glass followed glass.

  As the hours wore on, his drinking slowed but he had eaten nothing and his stomach was in a constant quarrel with his head. He felt aggrieved that he should feel so wretched. Irate too. What right had Elinor Milford to take him to task? He had done nothing since he’d known her to be his cousin but make life easier for her. She had no right to castigate him and he was going to set the record straight. She had assumed the worst of him, assumed he was behind his aunt’s vulgar plotting. She had more or less accused him of selling her into marriage. He would make her apologize for flinging such base accusations at him. They were as false as she. He wanted some recompense for the trouble she’d caused. He wanted her to say she was sorry. By midnight he had worked himself into a towering fury.

  The huge ormolu clock in the Great Hall struck twelve. She would be abed by now, too late to have it out with her. Or was it? Visiting her bedchamber at this time of night might scare her. Did he care? No, he decided, he did not. She deserved to be scared. He walked up the tower steps, hardly missing a stair, and banged loudly on Elinor’s door, arousing much of the household in the process if he had but known it. There was no response so he banged louder.

  This time he heard foo
tsteps moving lightly in his direction and the door was opened a few inches. Her eyes looked dark in the candlelight and her hair was braided over her shoulders. He saw through the crack that she was wearing a low cut nightgown whose lace clung lovingly to her breasts and that her face was flushed from sleep.

  “Your Grace!” she said uncertainly. “It must be past midnight.”

  “I’m well aware of the time, Miss Milford.” He didn’t so much as slur a word. “I need to speak to you.”

  “But surely it can wait until the morning.”

  “It cannot,” and he pushed the door forcibly inwards. She staggered back and clutched the back of a chair for support. “Whatever is it? What has happened?”

  “You have happened,” and his words now were beginning to lose a little of their clarity. “You!” and he pointed dramatically at her. Her expression was uncertain, wavering between alarm and amusement.

  “You have infiltrated my kingdom,” he said grandiosely. “Infiltrated, like a spy, poked around my home and upset my household.”

  She tried to reason with him. “You must know I am no spy. If I have indeed caused upset to your household, I am truly sorry.”

  Reason was not going to be Gabriel’s strong suit that night. “It’s me you should apologize to. I accepted you into my home, a gentlemanly courtesy that I regret. Because I am a gentleman, no matter what kind of rascally relatives I have suffered.” Then in a low mutter, “I should have turned you from the door.”

  “There is no need for these histrionics,” she said crisply. “I am leaving in two days. A message arrived late this evening, a gratifying response from the lady in Wiltshire. So you see, there is nothing to fret you.”

  She moved towards him in an attempt to push him back through the open door but infuriated by her seemingly patronizing words, he grabbed at her.

  “Fret, fret? I have done nothing but fret ever since you came. And you will pay for my discomfort.”

  His arms were around her and his hands burnt through the fine silk of her nightdress to leave an imprint of desire. His face hovered close, then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her hungrily. She tasted the brandy on his lips, tasted the urgent warmth of his touch. He reached for her braid and in a moment had released her hair and lost his fingers in its tangle of curls. His kisses forced her mouth open and she made no protest. Slowly he drew her tongue into his mouth and caressed it with his own, all the while holding her body against his hardening form. She could not have escaped if she had wanted to.