Not known for her patience, Gabby had to bite her lip to prevent blurting out questions about her brother.
“It is a fine summer day.”
Lord Kendal’s teasing manner was gone. His eyes studied her, not flirting or laughing with her, but keeping a distance. He also recognized the end of their time together.
She had known this moment would come, when she would have to give up her fantasies of a simple and happy life with him. The sorrow in his eyes was no less than what she was feeling. It was time for her to take her place with her brother. Time to say good-bye to the only man she had ever dreamed about.
“Do you have news?” She tried to not sound as impatient as she felt.
He took her arm and led her to the bench where his sister sat. “I do have news. I think it best if you sit down.”
Gabby startled at the grave tone in Lord Kendal’s voice. His usually mischievous eyes were dim and filled with concern and pity. A chill swept over her skin. A foreboding. The same look her servants had given her when her mother had been escorted from their home, and she’d had to show no emotion at her mother’s suffering.
Lady Henrietta took Gabby’s hand. Her glowing countenance now was clouded. Her eyes watery. Gabby trembled with the lady’s pitying expression. Her heart beat harder, faster.
She looked back and forth between the grave and sympathetic looks. Deep dread settled into Gabby’s heart.
No, this couldn’t be happening. She woke up this morning for the first time in a long time not afraid, without fear for her future.
“Lucien?” The fear was strangling her voice. “Tell me.”
She watched Lord Kendal swallow hard before he spoke. “I’m so sorry.”
Gabby’s mind halted.
“Your brother…” Lord Kendal shook his head. “He is dead.”
It couldn’t possibly be true.
“There has been a mistake.” The words echoed in her head as if she were speaking down a long tunnel.
Lady Henrietta took her hand. “I’m sorry. Your brother was killed in a duel.”
“Lucien is an amazing marksman.” Not able to look at the awful truth in their eyes, Gabby twisted the material of her skirt. Her mind refusing to believe anything these strangers said. “My brother never would have lost a duel.”
Lord Kendal’s eyes and face were flat, contorted in sorrow. She looked away, not able to bear this world of loss and suffering.
“Who told you this lie? How did you discover…?” Her voice quivered.
“It is common knowledge in London,” Lady Henrietta said.
Lord Kendal knelt on one knee before her. He took her hands between his. “I wish it weren’t true. If I could make your brother’s death not true, I would. I know how hard this terrible news is for you.”
The dark, empty abyss was opening in front of her. Memories flashed before her. The screams. She opened her eyes wide, not looking at their faces, but looking up at the bright blue sky. Lucien was gone. There was nothing to do. The crippling pain would come later, like after her parents’ deaths. She had to do something right now or she would shatter into a thousand shards.
“Can you take me to my brother’s residence?” She was alone. No family. Where would she go? “I’d like to speak to his servants.”
Lady Henrietta squeezed her hand. Her voice was slow and comforting. “We will try to find where your brother resided and where his servants have gone. It will take time.”
“Then I must speak to his solicitor. I’d like to go now.” She had to do something. She couldn’t be helpless again, waiting for everyone to decide her fate.
“Today isn’t the day.” Lord Kendal voice had a commanding quality she had never heard before.
“Why not?” She could feel the panic rising in her throat. “I’ve no money. No place to go.”
“You’re not alone. You have Michael and me and our family. You needn’t worry about the future right now.” Lady Henrietta spoke in a soothing tone.
Future. What future? She knew what happened when everyone you loved was taken from you. The hollowness and pain carved deep holes in your heart and in your soul.
Lord Kendal spoke in a soft, soothing voice as if speaking to a child. “I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you. I will find the solicitor and bring him to you. I promise. You trust me, don’t you?”
Gabby looked into his eyes, the color of the first spring leaves. “Sister and I had no other plans except to get me out of England and to Lucien.”
“Neither you nor Mother Therese could have anticipated this. But Mother Therese trusted me, and I hope you will too.”
Lady Henrietta stood. “Let’s go back to the house and get you tea.”
Michael took Gabby’s arm. “Let me escort you inside.”
She didn’t want to be alone right now, but how could they understand her fear and loneliness? Their future, their world, hadn’t just exploded. Yesterday Michael was upset because his sister got married and moved. How absolutely simple and normal.
“If you wouldn’t mind, my lady, I’d like to spend time in the gardens.”
“Of course. I’ll have Mrs. Brompton prepare a tray for you when you come inside.”
“Thank you.” Gabby’s voice cracked, responding to the gentle understanding.
Michael took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Let me accompany you. This isn’t a time to be alone.”
“Thank you. But I want to be alone.” She didn’t want words of comfort or soft platitudes. It was her brother, her loss, and her pain gnawing on her insides.
“But you’re pale and shaking.”
She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking. She just had to move. The day her mother was killed, she rode her horse, risking everything, but she couldn’t just sit and let them know they had beaten her. “I’m fine.”
She saw the surprise and then the hurt flash across his face. “I’ll wait for you in the drawing room.”
She shook her head in refusal. She wanted to lean on him, gather her strength from him, as she had done with the idea that Lucien waited for her, for a new life. She wouldn’t think about her brother right now. Lucien had taught her how to bury her feelings so no one could detect her vulnerability. As she had done when she was orphaned and had to pretend she wasn’t related to her dead parents. She coped then. She would again.
“Gabby, please let me help you.”
Staring into his undefended and open eyes was too painful for her.
“No, please, can you find my brother’s solicitor?”
“Now?”
“Yes.” It was hard to breathe, hard to go on. “I must know the circumstances of his death.” She wasn’t surprised that Lucien had fought a duel. He had a quicksilver temper and was offended easily, much like her father. “Gallic pride” her mother had called it.
She couldn’t keep her voice from quaking. “I’d like to know where he is buried.”
She turned quickly and walked toward a path that would take her down the slope and away.
Chapter Ten
Gabby had endured the scattered rain long enough. She returned to the house, hoping to pass undetected. Despite Lady Henrietta’s pelisse and the warmth of the day, her hands and feet were wet and numb. Climbing the stairs, she hoped to avoid everyone’s pitying looks and words. She didn’t want to reassure them that she was fine when she wasn’t.
Relieved to have escaped anyone’s notice, she walked quickly toward her bedroom. A door on her right opened.
“I’ve been waiting for you, my dear. The tea tray is here.”
Gabby floundered for a moment. The older woman spoke as if she knew Gabby, but they had never been introduced. Gabby curtsied. “My lady.” She would remember this white-haired, doughty woman dressed in bright fuchsia with orange piping, who made quite a dramatic statement with her élan in color choices.
Breaking all rules of polite society, the woman put her arm around her shoulder and led Gabby into a warm, cozy lady’s parlor. �
��Come along.”
The smallish room was overflowing with flowered drapes and upholstery that assaulted the eye with their boldness and ghastly mismatch of colors, much like the lady in front of her.
Gabby quickly checked to make sure her mouth was closed and her face betrayed none of the disorienting surprise she was feeling.
“I can see by your reaction that you weren’t informed of my presence. I’m Aunt Euphemia.”
The warm room was like a furnace blast for her chilled body and her shocked state. Gabby unbuttoned her pelisse, basking in the heat. The woman closed the door. As a guest of the house, Gabby didn’t feel she could refuse to take tea with the family’s aunt.
Gabby placed her pelisse on the back of a chair and waited.
The older woman marched ahead to the settee in front of the fire. She gestured to Gabby toward the tea tray placed on the table. “You must eat a little even though you don’t feel like it. I find a warm, buttery crumpet is quite the thing to settle an upset stomach and mood.”
Gabby moved from behind her chair toward the table. “Yes, my lady.”
“Tut, tut. None of that.” The lady took Gabby’s cold hands into her own. “You must call me Aunt Euphemia.”
Gabby had been taught to respect her elders; she would never be rude to the lady. But call this stranger ‘aunt’?
“You’ve had a rough time of it.” Her rheumy eyes searched Gabby’s face. “Too much loss for someone so young.”
Had they shared her personal news with everyone in the household?
Aunt Euphemia led Gabby to the settee. “You needn’t worry that you must converse. The benefits of my age…no need for silly chitchat on such a horrendous day.” She adjusted her orange turban which was adorned with nesting birds and which had fallen over one eye. “We will not speak of your brother or your pain today. Come sit. We’ll do nothing but sit together in front of the fire. I find the rainy weather chills my bones.”
Gabby sat erect on the corner of the settee, her ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap. Aunt Euphemia plopped down next to Gabby and leaned against the back of the settee, her legs splayed out in front of her. “In my sitting room, I don’t hold to polite manners or polite conversation.”
Gabby had no idea how to respond to such a claim. Already feeling off kilter, she could only nod.
The warmth of the fire penetrated through her damp walking dress. The only sound in the small, toasty room was the ticking of the ormolu clock that looked very similar to the one that had been her grandmother’s sitting room. A peaceful contentment settled into Gabby from the strange woman’s presence. She felt none of the cloying pity or the invasive scrutiny from those wondering how a child her age was handling the murder of her parents. Or now how she was dealing with the news of her brother.
Aunt Euphemia bent over the tray filled with biscuits, breads, cheeses, meats, and fruit. The tray had enough food to feed ten people. Gabby hoped the entire family wasn’t going to appear for tea. She couldn’t face making conversation. But she didn’t want to be by herself—dreading to be alone with her thoughts.
“I believe the tea is ready. Shall I serve you?” Aunt Euphemia asked in French. “Do you prefer I speak to you in French?”
“Thank you, but I’m fine with English.”
“Why don’t you make your own plate while I tend to the tea? Would you prefer chocolate? Shall I ring for chocolate?”
“We always drank chocolate in the morning.” Gabby surprised herself by sharing a moment of her past.
“It is the same with me. I love the aroma of the chocolate when I’m first awake. And I add honey to mine.”
Gabby smiled at the stout woman. “I also always add honey. My father liked to tease me about my sweet tooth.”
“Gwyneth has always loved sweets, but not Cord. To grow as large as he did, he ate endlessly. I always was envious of his ability to eat everything and just get taller and stronger. Not like some of us.” She patted her plump stomach. “He definitely takes after his mother’s side of the family.”
Gabby wanted to giggle. Aunt Euphemia’s conversation was nothing that Gabby had previously experienced—twisted and contorted, rather like the turban she favored, which was precariously cocked to one side.
“Am I running on? I am. Cord…I mean… I am Lord Rathbourne’s and Lady Gwyneth’s aunt. I was told you met Gwyneth at tea?”
“Yes, I met the lady yesterday. A congenial woman.” Gabby didn’t want to tell Aunt Euphemia that she had been delighted by her niece’s lack of propriety.
“I see Gwyneth has had the same effect on you as she always does when meeting new people. I was responsible for Gwyneth’s upbringing after her dear mother died. I encouraged Gwyneth to express her opinions and to think for herself. She is open and spontaneous. In polite society, there are other descriptions for a woman who isn’t held back by society’s silly rules.” Aunt Euphemia raised her eyebrows, her eyes twinkling. “Heresy, I know.”
“I’ve spent two years in a convent. Not particularly conducive to expressing opinions… More about how a proper lady must always behave.”
“Yes, I’ve always found it baffling that the nuns have chosen a life independent of the society’s expectation of marriage then train young women to become good wives—preparation for an institution they’ve rejected.”
Gabby sipped her tea, thinking about her childhood. Aunt Euphemia had encouraged Lady Gwyneth to think for herself. Since Gabby had been alone for these past years, she had been forced to rely on her own judgement rather like Lady Gwyneth.
“You’ve had to make your own way after the loss of your parents, which made you strong and independent. I admire that in a woman, but I hope you won’t mind an old woman giving you some advice.”
Well, maybe Aunt Euphemia wasn’t so unique. Her preface sounded exactly the way Mother Therese began her lectures on self-improvement. “Yes, my lady.”
Aunt Euphemia shook her head vigorously, making the bird on her turban wobble. “No need to be formal here. I feel it is important to know when to follow the rules and when not to. In my sitting room, there is no need.”
She had been wrong. Aunt Euphemia wasn’t anything like Mother Therese. Aunt Euphemia was definitely different. No one had ever given her permission to ignore the rules. Even Lucien expected her to follow the rules, despite his own blatant refusal. “Yes, Aunt Euphemia.”
“My dear, I want you to learn from my mistakes.” Aunt Euphemia reached across the settee and took her hand. “I am a big proponent of self-reliance. But sometimes even strong women need to depend on other people. It doesn’t make you weak to need help from others.”
Gabby felt the grief jamming into her throat and behind her eyes. She needed her brother. Now, she had no one to rely on but herself.
“After the shock you’ve received today, you feel alone. But, my dear, you’re not. I know we aren’t your family and we won’t try to be. But I hope you let all of us help lessen your grief. Like you, Gwyneth has lost her parents and her older brother. And I am told the death of Lord Kendal’s mother was very difficult for him.”
Tears formed in Gabby’s eyes. She hadn’t shed any tears up to this point, but now they wouldn’t stop. And she had no handkerchief to wipe her eyes.
Aunt Euphemia pulled a lavender-scented, orange cloth from her bosom. “Here, my dear.” She handed the handkerchief to Gabby. “It is fine to cry for all you’ve lost.”
Aunt Euphemia leaned back on the couch. She offered no other condolences. She sat in silence, allowing Gabby to cry for the loss of her brother, her parents, her home.
Chapter Eleven
Embarrassment was a familiar feeling to Michael. He often got himself into a pickle, but his usual predicaments had never caused life-threatening danger to his family. He shifted in his chair as he had as a schoolboy called down at Eton. He definitely felt at a disadvantage with his brother-in-law since Henrietta had shared what had transpired because of his rash behavior.
“I need to speak with you.” Lord Rathbourne leaned across his massive desk.
“Rathbourne, I believe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. And now that Henrietta’s explained the entire mess I caused, I hope you will first let me apologize for my actions in France. I never anticipated the danger I would cause to my family by stealing the code book. I’m impressed that you didn’t skewer me.”
“Trust me, the idea did cross my mind. But that would have made your sister very unhappy.” Lord Rathbourne tapped his chin with his index finger. “Your decision to take the book did set off an interesting chain of events.”
“I was a damn fool.”
And something he didn’t expect from this meeting was Lord Rathbourne’s hearty laugh. “Well, there is that possibility.”
“I had no idea of the repercussions. I had hoped to decipher the code and send the results back to England.” His work as a linguist hadn’t prepared him for covert work.
“Not an unreasonable approach, but my men didn’t appreciate how closely you were being watched. You should never have been assigned to France; you’re not a trained field agent. It isn’t a criticism of my predecessor, Sir Ramsay. He made the best decision at the time. Your talents are much better suited to Abchurch.”
“Thank you for your generous attitude. I appreciate your willingness to forgive, even if it is due to my sister.”
“Your sister can be quite convincing.” Rathbourne’s haughty manner softened. “But I am grateful for your willingness to share your incredible talent for the sake of England.”
And damn if Michael didn’t feel embarrassed again to receive such high praise.
“I plan to begin my work with Henrietta deciphering codes from Abchurch.” Michael was a bit disappointed to be returning to the challenging but predictable work of code breaking. After escaping Paris, they had travelled under constant threat of discovery. Although his work in England was top secret and carried inherent danger, he found it thrilling to be chased by assassins throughout France.
“I’ve got another assignment for you.”
A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Page 6