Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace

by Regina Jeffers

  “You have asked Aunt Bel to marry you?” Gabriel exclaimed.

  Shepherd smiled with satisfaction. “I have, and Rosabel has agreed to make me the happiest of men.”

  Gabriel extended his hand in genuine regard. “If Aunt Bel can find happiness, I would be more than pleased to welcome you to the family.”

  Shepherd appeared relieved. “Rosabel and I have agreed to limit those who know our plans until we have the opportunity to speak privately with the current Duke of Granville.”

  Gabriel’s grin faded. “Cousin Hyatt will not be pleased to have his mother marry a man without a title. “

  “That is where you will repay my ‘kindness,’” Shepherd said lightly. “I expect you to champion my cause within your family.”

  Gabriel stood. “It is the least I can do. You have my support.” He started toward the door. “This news will irritate Thornhill to know of our new connection. I will keep your secret for now, but you must promise you will permit me to tell Fowler. It already rubs His Grace raw to know you support Kerrington’s ascension to high office.”

  “I will permit you the pleasure of bringing Thornhill more pain,” Shepherd followed Gabriel to the door.

  With a deep steadying sigh, Gabriel shared, “For the next week, I am to Lincolnshire for the Brants’ Winter Ball.”

  “Then you still pursue Miss Haverty?” Gabriel noted Shepherd’s frown of disapproval, but the man kept his opinions from his tone.

  “I do,” Gabriel said simply. “If things go well during this house party, I will propose to the lady. I would prefer the business complete before Christmastide.”

  “You must do what is best, Godown. Just remember marriage is forever.” Shepherd held the door for him. Gabriel refrained from a response. What could he say? He already felt the impact of forever on his soul.

  *

  Two days later, Gabriel braced himself against the sway of the carriage over the poorly tended roads. He had declined the Havertys’ offer to join them in their coach. “It will take all my resolve to withstand the inane chatter of Miss Haverty and her parents over the next week,” he had mused aloud. It had been “heaven” last evening as he had taken accommodations at an inn not on Mr. Haverty’s itinerary. Although not of the first tier, the small inn permitted him time to reexamine his choices–to determine if he could tolerate a lifetime married to Alice Haverty. “Do I possess a choice?” he asked himself for the hundredth time. His aunts had assured him they had spoken quite honestly with Mrs. Haverty regarding his immediate need for an heir, and the lady had agreed to prepare her daughter for the marriage bed.

  “Miss Haverty will likely be nothing more than a stiff board beneath me,” he grumbled. “A lifetime of such dubious pleasures.” He sighed deeply as the image of a slender neck and a tight knot of chestnut-colored hair resting at Grace Nelson’s nape arrived uninvited. “An heir and a spare,” he said dismally, “and then I can return to my former ways. I owe my title my contrition, but I will tolerate no more once the lady produces the male line. Then, my marquise may live at Gossling Hill with our children, and I will remain at Fugol Hall with my Parliamentary duties and my discreet associations. We will be the perfect example of an English aristocratic marriage.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Although he certainly had his vices, Gabriel had never considered himself as depraved. That is until he had entered Lord and Lady Brant’s home some eight and forty hours prior. He had thought the Havertys censorious, but they were amateur critics compared to the Brants. It was not as if the Brants were Evangelicals and steeped in religion; they were simply stringent in their living. His hosts, for example, served only one glass of wine with supper.

  “A man must keep his wits about him,” Lord Brant had declared the first evening of the gathering. Instead of port and cigars for the men after the meal, his host had strong tea served with a large dose of very strict opinions.

  Multiple times, Gabriel had bitten back the retort that had sprung to his lips. He had thought he might require several decanters of brandy to tolerate Lord Brant’s company. Instead, he had traced aimless circles on the rim of his wine glass. He had told himself he would survive this boredom, marry Miss Haverty, take her to Gossling Hill, and then never subject himself to Brant’s company again. But just in case, he had sent Mr. Sanders to the village to secure several bottles of liquid courage. Twice today, he had refilled his flask from the bottles his valet has snuck into Gabriel’s chambers.

  Last evening, he would have preferred a game of cards to the parlor games Lady Brant had organized, but it seemed cards, especially those that involved wagers, were the devil’s making. The Brants’ attitudes went a long way in explaining why less than a dozen of the ton had accepted the viscount’s hospitality.

  “May I refill your tea, Lord Godown?” Miss Haverty had asked with a shy smile. Gabriel wondered if she was as innocent as he first thought or whether she had practiced pleasing mannerisms, just as she had practiced how to pour tea without spilling even one drop. She was a conundrum he was not certain he wished to unravel.

  “No, thank you,” he said cordially. It was not the lady’s fault she had been saddled with parents who lacked sensibility. “I believe I have had enough.”

  “Would you join us for the games, my Lord?” she said politely.

  Gabriel forced a smile to his lips. “Only if I might convince you to address the Brants’ instrument first. You truly have a remarkable voice.” He had not flattered the woman. When he had first heard Miss Haverty play and sing, he thought it angelic. If he could importune her to entertain them regularly, then he might form affection for her. He certainly did not want to spend hours being intimate with a woman who possessed no admirable qualities other than a comely countenance. He would build upon those things he enjoyed about the girl.

  “If you insist, my Lord,” she said meekly.

  Gabriel lowered his voice. “Miss Haverty, I would have you play and sing because it brings me joy. But I would forego those pleasures if you find doing so makes you uncomfortable. Our relationship must not be one where my demands are met by your obedience.”

  Her eyes grew in size. “I fear I do not understand, my Lord. Do you wish a wife who would defy your wishes?”

  Gabriel wished to take her hand. To caress her arm. To make her more at ease with him. “I am saying I would never purposely place you in a situation that embarrasses or defiles you. If you ever experience the slightest angst, you must tell me so at once. I will understand.”

  “Do you speak with honesty, my Lord?” she whispered anxiously.

  “Absolutely. I wish you only the best.”

  *

  When he had returned from a long pounding ride, Gabriel found Lord Abbott in the drawing room with Lady Brant, Mrs. Haverty, and Alice Haverty. The future earl and Miss Haverty shared a settee.

  “Abbott.” He bowed to the viscount. “I was unaware of your joining us.” Gabriel purposely sat across from the couple.

  “I was as surprised as you, my Lord,” Miss Haverty said with the first genuine smile Gabriel had observed upon her lips in nearly a fortnight.

  Lord Abbott had come to his feet upon Gabriel’s entrance, but now he reclaimed his seat beside Miss Haverty. “I had told the Havertys I could not attend, but my plans changed. Thankfully, Lady Brant opened her doors to a weary traveler.”

  Gabriel paused before asking, “Then it was Miss Haverty who extended the invitation?” Only last evening he had attempted to find some common ground upon which to build a relationship, but he would not bed a woman who preferred another. A marriage of convenience would be difficult enough without either of them having his heart engaged elsewhere. Immediately, his thoughts fell to Miss Nelson. What a hypocrite he was! His heart had known another, but that information was beside the point. He had put any good feelings he possessed for Grace Nelson aside. He was sincerely set on becoming a worthy match for Miss Haverty.

  The lady blushed thoroughly. “Oh, no, my Lord!”
she protested. “It was nothing of the sort.”

  “Of course, it was not. You are not the type of female to vie one admirer against another,” Gabriel said with a bit of sarcasm.

  Lord Abbott sat taller. “I find your tone offensive, Lord Godown.”

  Gabriel pretended nonchalance, but every fiber of his being screamed of betrayal. Would he never find a woman who spoke the truth? To Abbot, he said, “What a pity! And I had thought myself congenial.”

  Lady Brant said, “Gentlemen, I expect you to conduct yourself with proper decorum.”

  Gabriel retrieved his gloves and stood. “Absolutely, Lady Brant. You may count on me to be the perfect gentleman.” He bowed to the room. “That being said, I should freshen my things from my ride. If you will excuse me, Ma’am.” Some dark inexplicable emotion rushed through him. With another bow, Gabriel strode purposely from the room. The thought of being placed in such an awkward position angered him more than he realized. Although he had committed himself to fulfilling his responsibilities, a woman barely from the schoolroom would not play him. He would not tolerate it. Not again.

  Reaching the main stairs where he encountered Lord Brant, Gabriel expelled a long ragged breath. “My Lord,” he said mechanically with a nod of greeting He glanced upward to see to young girls exiting toward the private wing of the house. He also caught a glimpse of a female’s skirt tail as she led the children away.

  Only a brief glance of a nicely turned ankle, but somehow that brief moment sent his chest pounding harder than he could ever remember. Noting the girls skipping after the woman, he said, “I was not aware, my Lord, you had small children. I have been your guest for three days and have seen nothing of them. I beg your pardon for not properly acknowledging them.”

  Brant stopped beside Gabriel on the stairs: Brant in descent and Gabriel ascending. “The girls are Lady Brant’s by a prior joining. You will find, my Lord, they are exceptionally well behaved. In truth, you have not met my wife’s daughters for they have been staying with their governess at one of my other properties. They have only just returned. Lady Brant wished for her children to be a part of the Stir Up Sunday celebration tomorrow, and, of course, the upcoming Christmastide.”

  Gabriel had to ask. “How long have the children known your governess? She must be a worthy steward if the girls are so exceptionally trained.” It was foolish to ask after every governess he encountered, but Gabriel could not stifle the words.

  Brant glanced to where girls’ laughter could still be heard in the distance. “I am not certain,” he began. “I leave such details to Her Ladyship. I suppose Miss Melsont has been with us some four or five months. Lady Brant is quite pleased with the woman.”

  Four or five months, Gabriel thought. Too long to be Grace. A part of him knew disappointment. Would he always be searching for her countenance among the unseen in aristocratic households? “If you have found a competent servant, my Lord, count yourself among the fortunate.” Gabriel nodded his parting. He was to be among the Brants’ guest for another week. Somehow, he would prevail. Miss Haverty would be his. Perhaps, he should begin negotiations with the lady’s father. Following the afternoon meal, he would request a private meeting with Mr. Haverty.

  *

  Pleased with his initial talks with Mr. Haverty, Gabriel had actually enjoyed watching Miss Haverty’s attempts to waylay Lord Abbott’s maneuverings. Evidently, her father had spoken to the lady regarding the inappropriateness of her recent actions. Tonight, Miss Haverty had spent the majority of the evening seated beside her mother. When Lord Abbott offered to turn the sheet music for her when she played the pianoforte, Miss Haverty refused the gentleman’s company.

  The only part of the conversation with Haverty that had cut at Gabriel’s overactive need for privacy was when Haverty informed Gabriel of his knowledge of the Crowden will. “Your cousin, Lord Isaacs, confided in me,” Haverty announced. “Isaacs meant to explain your urgency in begetting an heir. Your cousin’s clarification went a long way in alleviating Mrs. Haverty’s concern for Alice’s sensibilities.”

  When next he saw him, Gabriel planned to have a very stern talk with his cousin. It was not of Isaacs’ dominion to discuss Gabriel’s private life, and certainly not the legal ramifications of Renard Crowden’s will. “It is a bit unusual,” Gabriel said through tight lips. “Yet, it is not uncommon among the aristocracy to do what is required to maintain a title. As my future marquise, Miss Haverty would be expected to produce an heir. The timing is the only part from the ordinary.”

  Later, he had dutifully escorted Miss Haverty on several circuits of the room before spending time with Lord Brant in a game of chess. “They make a handsome couple,” he overheard Lady Brant whisper a bit too loudly.

  Mrs. Haverty responded with confidence, “Mr. Haverty assures me Alice could soon be a marquise.”

  That had been Saturday, but Sunday had a way of changing the best-laid plans. Some people viewed Sunday as the “day of rest” after a tiring week of toiling to make ends meet. Gabriel, on the other hand, saw Saturday as the end of one trial, and Sunday as the beginning of the next, and this Sunday proved him true.

  Over breakfast, Lady Brant announced, “I am praying no one objects, but after services, cook has requested we all join her in the traditional Sir Up activities.”

  “Of course, we will,” Mrs. Haverty assured. “We all look forward to your planned Christmastide celebrations.”

  Miss Haverty added, “Stir Up Sunday announces the beginning of the Festive Days. I so look forward to the days leading up to Twelfth Night.”

  As a youth, Gabriel had always enjoyed the bawdy celebration after the staid ceremony of Christmas, but during the years he had served on the Continent, Christmas and Twelfth Night were often seen as just another day. He smiled at Miss Haverty. “Do you prefer the full celebration of the Season, Miss Haverty?”

  “Oh, yes, my Lord. I would decorate my home with greenery and red ribbons and ask cook to prepare a Christmas goose, as well as the Pudding.”

  He held no objection to knowing the stability of English traditions again, and if decorating Gossling Hill would make Miss Haverty’s transition to her new home easier, he would support her completely. “I think it sounds absolutely delightful, my Dear,” he said in encouragement.

  His sensibility should have told him such pleasantries had always led to a drastic change of circumstances, but Gabriel had permitted the improved situation between he and the Havertys to lure him into the belief his hopes would know fruition. So, when Lady Brant summoned the household to the kitchen to take part in creating the Brants’ Christmas Pudding, he had devotedly escorted Miss Haverty, while Lord Abbott was relegated to offering his arm to the Lord Brant’s elderly aunt.

  Brant’s cook had arranged a simple but tasteful display. A large bowl containing the thirteen traditions ingredients, which represented Christ and His Disciples, stood prominently on the linen lined table. A crystal punch bowl balanced the display.

  “Oh, I love an icy punch,” Miss Haverty said softly.

  He patted the back of her hand. “Then you will have two portions. I will gladly share my libations with you.”

  Lord Brant cleared his throat. “It has long been a Clement Hall institution that we gather together to celebrate the beginning of the Festive Days.” He held a shiny coin aloft. An old silver sixpence. Someone had, obviously, spent time cleaning and polishing the piece. “To bring wealth to our household.” Ceremoniously, he released the coin into the pudding mix.

  Even Gabriel had felt the excitement of the moment. Although he personally found the Brants and the Havertys bearing too much starch in their views, he enjoyed the sense of “family” he had discovered among their mix. He had sorely missed his family while he remained exiled to the Continent.

  Brant continued, “We will each stir the pudding.” He accepted the wooden spoon the cook presented him. With a wink indicating his good humor, the viscount demonstrated how everyone should stir the pudding. H
e recited, and everyone joined him, “Stir up, we beseech thee, the pudding in the pot, and when we arrive home, we will eat the lot.” Brant began to stir vigorously. “Remember,” he said aristocratically, “we will each stir from East to West in honor of the three Wise Men who visited the infant Jesus.” He motioned his wife forward. “Her Ladyship and I ask each of you join us. And do not forget to make your special wish,” their host said with loads of good cheer.

  Normally, in such situations, the Brants would stand on precedence, and Gabriel, as the highest titled aristocrat among their guests, should have followed Lady Brant’s efforts, but he had gestured to Brant to permit the ladies to precede him. As he hung back, he watched in delighted anticipation as the guests took up the task with unbridled gusto. It was the first time he had truly felt relaxed since his arrival on Brant’s doorstep.

  “It is Lord Godown’s turn,” Mrs. Haverty said as he accepted the cup of punch Lady Brant handed him.

  Gabriel graciously accepted the wooden spoon from Brant’s aunt. “Do not forget your wish,” the old woman reminded him as he made the first circle in the mixture.”

  “Of course,” he said good-naturedly. “How could I forget?”

  He made to make a second sweep of the spoon when he heard Mrs. Haverty’s ill-announced stage whisper. “His Lordship wished for a wife before Christmas.”

  Gabriel presented the woman an aristocratic tilt of his head to indicate although he would prefer a bit more privacy, truth remained in her words. He closed his eyes to make his wish, but the sound of children interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see the two young girls he had observed the previous evening.

  “Everyone, these are my daughters, Victoria and Mary,” Lady Brant announced to the group.