“And do we know the author of the letter?” Bel asked curiously.
Gabriel glanced to the open door. “What is keeping Tantine Lyn?” He noted Sanders had set himself the task of righting the room.
“You are avoiding my question,” Bel accused.
Gabriel countered, “As are you.”
With a snort of amusement, Lía said, “You two are cut from the same cloth.” Turning to her elder sister she continued, “Our Gabriel is a mature male. Likely, he would prefer not to explain to his aunt with whom he has kept company.” To Gabriel, she added, “Lyn has developed an affection for Doctor Thatcher. She is likely smoothing the man’s feathers.”
“That popinjay?” Gabriel frowned.
Lía explained, “Your aunt has remained a widow most of her adult life. If my twin can find happiness with Doctor Thatcher, then I, for one, would welcome him into the family.”
Gabriel grumbled, “She deserves better.”
“A point upon which we agree,” Bel said softly.
Footsteps announced Lyn’s return. “Lía,” she said as she stepped into the room, “I pray you do not mind sharing a room with me. Mr. Bradshaw has only three available. Doctor Thatcher shall take the smallest of those vacant.” She turned to the valet, “Mr. Sanders, I am afraid you must make a pallet on His Lordship’s floor.”
“That be perfectly acceptable, Lady Hyatt. In the war, a pallet in a warm, dry room would have been worth a king’s ransom.”
Bel reached for her gloves. “Perhaps we should permit Mr. Sanders to tend to Lord Godown while we freshen our things. I suppose we must get by with a maid from the inn to meet our needs.” She stood tall. “We may spend time with our nephew a bit later. I am certain Gabriel requires his rest.”
Each of his aunts made her way to the bed. Lía squeezed Gabriel’s hand. “I told them even with an injury you would recover. I save my prayers for miracles until they are truly required. In that manner God does not turn his head when I ask for something special. I said such a prayer for you.”
Gabriel interlaced their fingers. “God answered my prayers by giving me a magnificently resilient family. I am humbled by your love.”
As Lía moved away, Lyn took her place. Although they were twins, the sisters looked nothing alike. Lía: petite, eagle nosed, strawberry hair, green eyes, and a heart-shaped countenance. Lyn: some four inches taller than her twin. Auburn hair, oval face, high brow line, and chocolate eyes. One definitely resembling the Crowdens, while the other their mother’s family. Lyn bent to kiss his forehead. ‘I am thankful you have made a turn for the better. Rest easy. Your family shall be close.”
Gabriel caught her fingertips. “Throughout this ordeal, I thought only of returning to the safety of Gossling Hill.”
Lyn caught Lía’s arm to brace her sister’s step. As they exited, Bel sat on the bed’s edge. “Whoever the author of the letter,” she said evenly, “I am grateful to his insight. I could not bear the thought of your suffering in this room without someone to tend to you properly. We could have lost you, and none of us would have been the wiser.” She openly shivered.
Gabriel’s countenance displayed his sorrow for having worried her. “I will not disclose more than to say I was not alone. Someone–an angel full of grace–saw to my recovery. Otherwise, my fears of never seeing any of you again would have become a reality.”
“Some day,” she said softly, “you must permit me to extend my gratitude to this angel.”
Gabriel returned her steady gaze. “Some day, we will both sink to our knees in appreciation.”
As she stood, his aunt’s gaze fell on something behind him. “What is this?” She reached over him to retrieve a drawing. “Of whom is this a rendering?” Bel thrust the sketch into Gabriel’s hands.
He studied the picture. A man wearing a sling. Scruffy beard. Clothed as a farmer. “I hold no idea,” he said with a knitted brow.
“Give it to me.” She snatched the page from Gabriel’s hand to examine it for herself. “This is the man who was standing in the doorway of this very room when Mr. Bradshaw showed me to your quarters.”
Gabriel’s heart lurched. “He was what?” He took the rendering once again. Studying the picture, he realized he stared at an image of the man who had attempted to kill him. “Sanders?” he ordered. “See what you can discover of this man, but be careful. He is not to be trusted.”
“I understand, Sir.” Sanders folded the page and placed it in his inside pocket before disappearing from the room.
Bel followed his valet’s retreat before saying, “What is all this, Gabriel? Sketches of a man you do not recognize. A man who attempts to enter another’s quarters without permission. An undisclosed angel of mercy who writes to your family of your near demise.”
Gabriel elbowed himself higher in the bed. “Aunt Bel, you know I cannot speak of my work for the government.”
She stood suddenly and began to pace. “You served your six years as penitence for a crime you did not commit,” she declared. “We have lost my dear brother and your most beloved mother to a lie that broke both their hearts. God cannot have you also. I will not tolerate it,” she said adamantly.
“It is not my time,” Gabriel said sympathetically from where he lay on the bed. He hated himself for how his foolish indiscretions had affected his family. Every time he considered how his trusting a woman completely had ripped his future from his grasp, he cursed his very existence. He had learned a hard lesson at Gardenia Templeton’s hand.
“You served your time of atonement,” his aunt declared. “Two years past time to walk away from whatever King and Country has asked of you. No more, Gabriel. You must promise me you will leave this behind. Promise as I promised my dear Renard on his death bed I would see you married and rebuilding the title and the Crowden name.”
Gabriel thought to tell her it was not so easy as simply walking away, especially after someone had made an attempt on his life, but he said, “I recently told Lord Worthing it is time I claim the kind of happiness he has established with Lady Eleanor.”
Bel’s eyes searched his countenance, and Gabriel schooled his expression. “Do you speak the truth?”
Gabriel nodded his agreement. “It is time I marry and set up my nursery.”
“Thank God,” she murmured. It hurt him to witness his aunt’s anguish. He would do his best to place a smile upon her lips. She appeared about to say more. Instead, she said, “I shall check on my sisters. When Mr. Sanders returns, have him inform us of your readiness for the afternoon meal.”
“I will not be joining you for meals,” he cautioned.
Bel’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “Of course not; yet, you may feel well enough for company.” She turned toward the door.
“Aunt Bel?” Gabriel despised being so needy, but he could not but wonder of Grace’s absence. A glance about the room said nothing of her personal belongings remained. Not her hairbrush on the dresser or her wool socks drying before the hearth. Surprisingly, he missed those little touches when he had opened his eyes earlier. It was amazing how quickly she had found a place in his life. His aunt paused with her hand on the door latch. “Was the stranger the only other person in the room when you encountered him?”
His aunt’s lips turned up at the corners. “If you are asking whether the letter’s author tarried, she did not. Should I ask the inn’s proprietor if he has knowledge of the lady?”
“Who said I asked about a woman?” Gabriel said tersely. Once his aunt set her mind on an idea, she was like a hound to scent.
“No one said,” she said coyly. “I simply made that particular assumption after all your secrecy.”
Gabriel’s own mouth showed how much he enjoyed this battle of wills with a self-assured woman. Perhaps that quality was Grace Nelson’s appeal. “I will question Mr. Bradshaw later.”
“As you wish, Gabriel,” she said before she disappeared.
His gaze searched the room It was almost as if Grace was never here, he tho
ught. Yet, he held very real memories of his Grace. And she was his. In his heart, he knew as such. Even if he never saw her again, he knew she had freely given himself to him.
Sanders’ return interrupted his thoughts. “The bounder is gone, Your Lordship,” his valet announced. “The innkeeper sent the man packing after finding him snooping about your room.” Sanders immediately resumed his duties as he summarized what he had discovered. “The gentleman sported a wound, which Mrs. Bradshaw tended.”
Gabriel sat taller as Sanders piled the pillows behind his back. “I was aware of the man’s injury. I trailed him to this inn, but I was too weak to pursue him further.”
“Whoever you found, Sir, to tend you did the job right. We could have used such care in Belgium,” Sanders said with real admiration.
“I could not have asked for better,” Gabriel said softly. “Now, tell me what else you discovered.”
Sanders pulled a chair close. “The stranger has been lurking about the inn for over a week. Yesterday, a man in a fancy phaeton joined him. Mr. Bradshaw said the aristocrat claimed to be earl, but the head groomsman said he overheard the man with the sling call the other ‘baron.’ The scene, by the way–the one in the sketch–is what a person can see outside this room’s window. It is likely this Mr. Wright. That is what the stranger called himself: Jonah Wright. This man called Wright likely stood below in the stable yard and watched this room.”
Gabriel wondered if Jonah Wright had observed Grace while she drew her sketch. He certainly would not wish her in danger. “What else do we know of this nobleman?”
“Not much. He and Wright played cards throughout the night. Bradshaw reports they shared a few heated discussions during the evening, but they had their heads together in close affinity.”
Gabriel waited for the other shoe to fall. Something did not feel right. “Anything else?”
“This baron turned earl met with a woman early on. She left with him shortly afterwards.”
Gabriel’s heart clenched. He did not require confirmation that the woman had been Grace. Had he been totally hoodwinked by a woman again? Had he permitted Grace Nelson’s spinsterly looks to deceive him? What did he know of the woman? Counting their time in London, he held the lady’s acquaintance for less than a sennight, and he had been under a fever’s influence for half of those days. Could she have been a purposeful distraction? While he slept away his fatigue, had Grace searched his belongings? Had Wright been in the room with Grace’s permission? Gabriel had overheard her speaking in whispers to a man. The possibility of her betrayal cut him to the core. “Did anyone have a description of the lady?” he asked tentatively.
Sanders refused to meet Gabriel’s eyes when he said, “The main claimed the lady to be your marquise, Sir.”
Gabriel suppressed the groan of frustration that filled his throat. Grace Nelson had only shown a kindness because someone had paid her to do so. And why not? he thought. He had enemies who would pay well in order to place someone near him. To undermine his trust. Especially when he was most vulnerable. And Miss Nelson likely required the funs. With Kerrington and Wellston instituting a halt to Viscount Averette’s manipulations of the parish funds, the man likely dismissed Miss Nelson without a reference. Grace was likely near destitute, but it still rubbed his conscience raw to think he had misjudged her. “I secured the assistance of a former acquaintance of Thornhill’s to aid me in my time of need. I could not very well announce my condition to the world with our Mr. Wright taking refuge in the same inn as I; therefore, I told Mr. Bradshaw I had come north to meet my bride,” Gabriel explained.
Sanders sniffed indignantly. “And the innkeeper believed such poppycock?”
“It sounded more realistic when the Marquis of Godown said it.”
Sanders refolded one of Gabriel’s neck cloths. “I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. “What may I reveal to your aunts, Sir?”
“Nothing. I have satisfied the Three Roses with my promise to seek a wife and establish a family. If my aunts acknowledge I have spent the last week with a genteel lady, I would be honor bound to apply for the woman. I am certain the Roses will not press the point. They have other candidates in mind for my bride.”
“In addition to attending to your ablutions and clothing, what would you have me do, my Lord, in regard to the lady and your attacker? It would give me great pleasure to be of service in this matter.”
As he would not be announcing his investigation into the true identity of Jonah Wright and Grace Nelson’s connection to the man to his aunts, using Sanders as an intermediary between him and Lowery would be a luxury. “I will keep your offer close to my heart, Mr. Sanders. For now, if you will complete a quick inventory of my belongings. For the moment, I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of my signet ring. Are there other items missing? Afterwards, you may assist me in making a more presentable appearance. It will please the Three Roses to see me on my way to health.”
Chapter Seven
Grace held no idea how long she had remained unconscious. Her head throbbed as she cracked one eye open to survey her surroundings. She rode in an open carriage. Her brother’s she recalled, and then the realization of how she had utterly and completely failed Lord Godown sent her into the deepest despair. She squinted her eyes tightly shut to block the truth. Had His Lordship met the intruder’s challenge? Surely if he had succumbed to his attacker she would know. Gabriel Crowden owned her heart. She knew it impossible for their joining, but it did not stop her from loving the man.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again. She reached tentatively to wipe away moisture from the point of her chin only to come away with blood on her fingertips. Then she recalled her brother striking her–preventing Grace’s exodus to save Lord Godown. As Geoffrey had not noticed her recovery, Grace permitted herself a moment to evaluate what she had discovered regarding her brother’s actions. Clearly, Geoffrey held a connection to the man who had attacked Lord Godown. He might pretend no knowledge of the stranger, but she had witnessed the brief exchange between them. Knowing her brother’s volatile temperament, she decided not to confront Geoffrey regarding what she had observed. Over the years she had learned her brother was not a very good liar. If one asked him the same question over a several days, Geoffrey would tell a slightly different tale each time. Eventually, Grace could put together the pieces to form the whole truth. As for her actions, she must construct an excuse for her frantic reaction.
She wondered how much her brother knew of her time with Lord Godown. If Geoffrey thought she had spent the week with the marquis, he would demand a marriage. Even if Lord Godown were his enemy, her brother would manipulate the connection for his own benefit. Therefore, Geoffrey was not aware of her time with His Lordship. The man at the inn had not shared that particular fact with Baron Nelson.
Secondly, she must discover why her brother had been at the inn. With their unexpected reunion, she had foolishly permitted him to distract her from that important fact. It was a favorite of Geoffrey’s tactics: to put a person on the defensive before his opponent could discover her brother’s perfidy. Grace had been so long from home she had forgotten how to counter Geoffrey’s manipulations. He had accused her of wantonness, which had frightened her because it was close to the truth. Yet, in her heart Grace knew her actions had not concerned Geoffrey: Her brother’s actions were what proved suspect. Therefore, she must delve through the stories and the lies to discover the truth, and, if necessary, send Lord Godown a warning.
Suddenly, her brother’s hand was thrust into Grace’s face. He pressed a handkerchief into her grasp. “Do not permit the blood to soak through the seat cushions,” he grumbled.
Grace propped herself up on one elbow. “Thank you,” she said softly as she pressed the cloth to her chin. She would likely be sporting a bruise over the next few days. With difficulty, she righted her position. Grace made a point of looking out over the landscape. Geoffrey’s carriage easily handled the road’s curves and rolling hills. “Where are we?�
�� She would like to comment on his deplorable actions, but Grace feared a return of her brother’s temper. When he had a stinging hangover, Geoffrey had been an unpredictable force. He had always been one of those who could not control his desires or his disappointments.
Evidently, his temper had not completely cooled because he accused, “What was that madness at the inn?”
Grace’s mind raced for a logical explanation. “I apologize,” she stalled in hopes of appeasing his nature. “I…I thought I had left my letter of reference from Viscountess Averette behind. I knew I could not find another position without it.” She ended on a rush.
“And that was reason to act as someone from Bedlam?” he hissed.
Contritely, she said, “I acted reprehensively.” Grace thought Geoffrey should apologize as well, but she knew he would not think it appropriate. Her brother would consider it a weakness to apologize to a woman. She did not totally understand from Geoffrey’s personality came. Neither her father nor her paternal grandfather displayed Geoffrey’s cantankerous tendencies. Some in the family accused Geoffrey of having a temperament similar to her mother’s eldest brother, a man Grace had never met because Uncle Lloyd Bredlowe had settled in Canada a quarter century earlier. There were scandalous rumors the man had taken an Indian bride and lived among the woman’s tribe. “As if he were some sort of heathen,” her maternal grandfather used to say whenever someone mentioned Uncle Lloyd. “Might we not ignore my impetuous response? We have so little time together.”
Geoffrey grumbled, “I suppose it is possible, but you must know I am not our father. I will tolerate no tomfoolery from you. I have enough with which to contend with our sister.”
To better support herself against the carriage’s sway, Grace straightened stiffly. She balanced precariously close, but she made a point of not brushing against her brother. She vaguely recalled slumping against Geoffrey’s shoulder when she collapsed; yet, she had awakened with her head rocking against one of the joints seaming the phaeton’s back to its sides. When her brother commented on Mercy, Grace immediately wondered what their youngest sister suffered under Geoffrey’s reign as Baron Nelson. “Is Mercy unwell?” she asked.
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 10