by Amelia Grey
He took another step away from her. “I would give you the kiss your pouting lips are asking for if your father wasn’t watching from that window, but there will be plenty of time for that. I’ll see to it. Perhaps later in the week at a party, or maybe I’ll call on you and take you for a ride in the park. For now, I will take my leave and see myself out the back gate.”
Gabrielle seethed with anger. How dare he say she had pouting lips or that she would be like butter melting beneath his hands? She watched him walk away with all the confidence of the titled man he was. So he thought he was in control. So he thought a duke’s daughter would do nicely as a proper wife for him.
He was in for a surprise.
She was no longer the obedient, dutiful person she was just yesterday. That person was gone for good. She rather liked herself as the lady who had the courage to kiss a stranger. And that lady wasn’t going away.
Gabrielle heard the back door open, and she turned and saw her father and her aunt walking down the steps. The duke hadn’t bothered to don a coat or cape, but her aunt was clutching a black shawl around her arms. Fog was stealing in with feathery wisps of mist. The cold air felt damp and threatening. Gabrielle was glad her aunt had come to London and would be staying with her for a while.
“Gabby,” her father said, “now that your aunt is here, I’ve decided to leave for Windergreen the day after tomorrow. The Duke of Norfolk has invited me to his hunting lodge, and I will go there for a few days as well.”
Her heart constricted. “But, Papa, nothing is resolved.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it is. It takes time to settle a breach of contract, and there’s nothing I can do here while that is being done except pray Staunton and his father will be reasonable in what they ask for. I’ll spend tomorrow with my solicitor so he will know what I’m willing to do to settle this thing. Unfortunately, we can’t go any further with Lord Brentwood until that is handled. Your aunt will be of more use to you in the days to come than I will be.” He cut his eyes around to Auntie Bethie and gave her a disdainful look. “I’m sure she’s been involved in more than one scandal in her lifetime.”
Auntie Bethie laughed. “Quite true, Duke. My family never lived down the scandal of my sister’s marrying you.”
“Huh!” he huffed. “You best be glad she did. It has kept you in a fine lifestyle for many years.” He turned back to Gabrielle. “I expect Elizabeth to look after you and not allow you out of her sight. I don’t want to hear one more word of scandal concerning you, or I’ll banish both of you to Northern Coast of Scotland.”
“You’ll have no more trouble from me, Papa,” Gabrielle asserted.
“See that I don’t. And I’ll expect you to take care of your sister. You know how quickly her temperament can change.”
Without further words, the duke turned and went back inside.
Auntie Bethie stepped closer to Gabrielle and said, “Now that the roaring bear is gone, we can talk. You don’t look like you want to, but it would probably be good for you if you did.”
Gabrielle slightly shook her head and turned to watch Lord Brentwood close the gate without looking back at her. “It’s too difficult to explain, and even if I could, you wouldn’t understand.”
“You aren’t giving me much credit for having gained wisdom with my advanced years.”
Staring out over the garden, Gabrielle said, “I’m sorry, Auntie. It’s just that I did the wrong thing this morning, which turned out to be a good thing, which then caused another bad thing.”
Her aunt laughed in a low, gravelly voice. “That’s easy to understand, and it makes perfect sense to me.”
Gabrielle turned toward her aunt and smiled. “No it doesn’t, because it doesn’t even make sense to me.”
“Of course it does,” Auntie Bethie said, trying to convince her. “You did something you shouldn’t have, which must have involved the man who just went out that gate.”
“Yes.”
“It turned out all right because it canceled your wedding, and you are obviously happy about that.”
Gabrielle nodded. Auntie Bethie understood better than Gabrielle thought she would.
“But that something good caused a different bad thing to happen, which I’m assuming is the scandal your broken engagement is going to cause, not to mention your father is quite peeved that he’ll have to settle money and probably lands, too, for your breach of contract. And I haven’t quite decided where the viscount fits into all that, but something about him is bothering you, too.”
Gabrielle looked at her with awe. “You did understand. That’s a fairly close estimate of what has happened because of me and one mistake I can’t take back.”
“I understood because you sounded so very much like your mother when you were talking just now, the way you had that wistful look to your eyes. You want so desperately always to do the right thing, and if you do make a mistake, you must set everything right.”
“That is how I feel, Auntie. But did I really sound like my mother?”
Her aunt nodded and smiled sadly at Gabrielle. “Oh, yes. She always wanted to do the right thing, and it tormented the fires of hell out of her when she didn’t.”
“Auntie.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” her aunt said without apologizing for her indelicate language. “She was always coming to me and saying, ‘Oh, Bethie, what should I do about this?’ Or, ‘Bethie, I did this and such, or I said that and the other, and I shouldn’t have. What can I do?’ She was always in a dither about something. And I would always tell her, ‘Forget about it, dearie. It doesn’t matter.’ But she wouldn’t rest until she made whatever it was right. Now me, I’m a far different person.” She winked at Gabrielle and chuckled low in her throat again.
“Not so much, Auntie,” Gabrielle said.
“Oh yes, I am, and Rosa is more like me. I never cared a bluebell in hell if what I did was right or wrong. I only cared to do what I wanted when I wanted.”
“Shame on you, Auntie,” Gabrielle said with no real admonishment in her voice. “And you know Rosa is not like that.”
She gave her a curious look. “You don’t think so?”
“No, of course not.”
Auntie Bethie shrugged. “Everyone has their own opinion. So tell me what goes on with this handsome viscount who just left. From what little you’ve said and what your father told me about your being in the park this morning, it sounds to me as if Mr. Alfred Staunton is out of favor with you and Lord Brentwood is in.”
Gabrielle inhaled deeply and then said, “Definitely Staunton is out of my life, and yes, Lord Brentwood is in it—for now.”
“And that means?”
“That right now, Papa and the viscount want us to marry, but I’m trying to find a way to keep that from happening.”
Her aunt frowned. “Why don’t you want to marry him? You met him in the park.”
Gabrielle didn’t want to go over all that again, so she said, “I don’t want another arranged marriage, Auntie. And I certainly don’t want Lord Brentwood to marry me because he’s forced to.”
Her aunt gave her a naughty smile. “You could always find another handsome gentleman to kiss in the park. Dare I say that would be an easy way to get rid of the viscount?”
“Oh, no, Auntie,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head as she wrapped the shawl tighter about her. “I’ve learned my lesson about that. Once was enough for me. I must find a way out of this situation without creating another scandal. And I will.”
Six
A certain amount of opposition is a great help to man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind.
—John Neal
It was blasted cold.
Brent muttered more than one curse to himself as he drove his curricle along London’s quiet streets at the break of dawn. The nippy wind dried out his eyes, and his warm breath stirred the frosty air. Most of the streetlights had been extinguished with the coming light, but there were very little stirrings of life moving
along the boardwalks or in the shops he passed. He seemed to be one of the few people insane enough to be on the streets at this ungodly hour.
After leaving the duke and Lady Gabrielle last evening, he’d come home to find that neither his servants nor his brothers had had any better luck finding Prissy yesterday than he’d had. But he wasn’t ready to give her up as lost. He probably could have covered more ground in the park on horseback than on foot or in the curricle, except for the fact that he wanted to carry food and water for her. Besides, if—no, when he found her, should she be hurt, it would be better to have a carriage for her to ride in. For some reason, the idea had come to him that he would have a better chance of finding Prissy at about the same time he’d lost her yesterday.
Brent gently tugged on the right ribbon, turning the horse and entering the park as a pinkish gray lightened the dark sky. The fog had lifted, which was a good sign that there might actually be a few hours of sunshine at some point during the day. He immediately left the well-worn path the carriages usually took around the park and cut across the expansive, uneven ground that led to the center. He traveled a short distance and then stopped.
He gave as loud a whistle as his swollen lip would allow, and then called, “Pris! Here, girl. Come on; let me hear your bark.”
He listened but heard nothing other than the bone-chilling quietness of early morn. He slapped the ribbons on the horse’s rump and continued deeper into the park before stopping and calling for Prissy again. The mare shuddered, snorted, and shook her head, rattling the harness, but there was no other sound to break the silence. Brent repeated this routine again and again until he heard sounds of another vehicle coming toward him. He set the brake and laid the ribbons aside. He tightened the collar of his greatcoat around his neck and blew his breath into his gloved hands to warm them while he waited to see who would emerge out of the stand of trees.
It wasn’t long before he recognized the rattle of milk containers and saw the robust lad and two young women he’d seen with their milk cart yesterday. When the youngster noticed him, he automatically slowed his steps, and the two women cautiously moved closer together.
“Hello there,” Brent said, jumping down from the curricle.
As he walked closer, Brent saw the lad looked to be around twelve or thirteen, and on closer scrutiny, Brent could see the females were not as old as he’d thought yesterday. They were more the age of schoolgirls than young women. One appeared to be maybe sixteen or seventeen, and the other a year or two younger.
“Do you remember me from yesterday?” Brent asked.
The lad stopped the cart, let go of the handles, and straightened to his full height. His gaze remained steadfastly on Brent’s face, clearly distrusting him. Brent couldn’t blame him. With a black eye and busted lip, Brent knew he looked like a ruffian who’d been in a tavern brawl.
“Yes, sir,” the young man said quietly and moved slightly to stand between Brent and the lasses. “I remember you.”
Obviously, the young man’s job was not only to deliver the milk but to take care of the girls with him, as well. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stout and looked strong as an ox. Brent couldn’t help but think Lady Gabrielle would have done well to have had such a watchful lad as he with her yesterday morning. It would certainly have made Brent’s life a lot easier if she’d had.
“I am Viscount Brentwood,” he said, walking closer to the trio. “You have no reason to fear harm from me.”
The lad rolled his hat off his head, showing thick, unevenly trimmed brownish-red hair. He bowed and then fixed Brent with a wary gaze as he said, “I’ve never met a lord before.”
Brent did not doubt that. “No matter. I’m just like any other man you’d meet. What is your name?”
“Godfrey.”
“Very well, Godfrey, I want to ask you some questions.”
“I don’t rightly know how to talk to a lord, my lord. I just deliver the milk for me mum.”
Sensing his fear and wanting to make him feel comfortable so he would talk to him, Brent said, “That’s a very important job you have. Everyone wants their milk when they rise. Tell me, are these girls your sisters?”
The young man cut his eyes over to the two and nodded.
“That’s good, Godfrey. I want you to talk to me the same way you would if you were talking to them. It’s that simple, all right?”
He nodded again.
“Do you remember seeing the small dog I had with me yesterday?”
“Yes, my lord.”
A snicker sounded from one of the girls, and Brent and the lad glanced their way. The younger girl held a gloved hand over her mouth while the older one fixed her with a disapproving glare.
“I… we,” the young man hesitated and cut his eyes around to his sisters. “We remember the dog.”
Only too well, Brent thought. The milkmaid could cover her smile and muffle her giggle, but laughter showed clearly in her youthful eyes.
“Good. Her name is Prissy, or Pris. She answers to both. She wandered away from me yesterday, and I can’t find her. In your travels back and forth, have you seen her?”
“No, my lord,” Godfrey said while nervously twisting and squeezing his wool hat in his hands.
“Do you always pass along the same route through the park each day?”
“Yes, my lord, but sometimes we don’t.”
Brent wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but said, “If you see her and can catch her, bring her to Number 12 Mayfair Lane, and I’ll see to it you are handsomely rewarded.” Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling and threw it to the lad. He caught it up to his chest with both hands. “There will be more if you find her.”
Godfrey’s eyes rounded and brightened. Surprised gasps came from the two girls. “Th-thank you, my lord.”
Brent turned and walked back to his curricle. Within moments he was continuing his search for Pris. It was still too early for the sun to shine hot or bright enough to chase away the gray clouds, but it didn’t feel as cold as when he first arrived at the park. When he was close to the area where he’d last seen Prissy, he once again set the brake on the curricle and jumped down.
He intended to scour every inch of ground, including looking under every tree, bush, and shrub. Frustration mounted as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves and twisted his ankle, so it hurt a little every time he took a step. He knocked his hat off his head by a low-hanging branch, and a limb scratched the cheek that was still angry and swollen from his tussle with the duke’s men. But he found no sign of the pet.
Half an hour later, he was making his way back to the carriage when he heard what he thought was a familiar voice. He stopped and stood still.
“Prissy!” he heard a lady call.
Brent’s stomach tightened. Was he hearing things, or was that really Lady Gabrielle calling for his dog? He looked up at the sky and judged the time to be somewhere past eight. What the devil was she doing back in the park so early in the morn? And probably alone again, too!
He turned and started toward her voice. He heard a deep, menacing growl from Brutus, and Brent knew the dog had smelled him. He hoped that this time, Lady Gabrielle had a leash on the mammoth dog. Brent knew the mastiff to be old, deaf, and half blind, too, but not without the capability of knocking him down.
Brent walked out of a stand of trees and saw Lady Gabrielle and Brutus standing beside a two-seated open carriage, where a small, older lady sat, wearing a ridiculously fancy hat for so early in the day. A servant sat on the bench behind her. He recognized the driver as one of the men who’d chased him down and jumped on him yesterday. The man watched him warily, but he had no reason to fear Brent.
Lady Gabrielle’s bright-blue eyes widened with surprise as he walked toward her. Brutus barked another warning and then started wagging his tail. Brent also noticed the animal was once again unfettered. Lady Gabrielle reached down and patted Brutus’s shoulder and whispered something to him. Hopefully, it wasn’t the comma
nd to attack.
Brent approached them slowly and stopped a respectful distance away from her and the dog. He took off his hat, bowed, and said, “Lady Gabrielle, I must say I’m not at all shocked to find you in the park so early in the morning.”
“Nor I you, Lord Brentwood,” she said, giving him the customary curtsey his title deserved. “Obviously we’ve found something we have in common.”
He gave her a knowing smile. “I think you mean something else we have in common.” And then, not wanting to give her time to answer, he quickly turned his attention to the mastiff and added, “And how are you this morning, Brutus?”
The dog made another woof that seemed only a little friendlier than the first. “Temperamental as ever, I see. Perhaps you don’t enjoy the park on cold mornings as much as your mistress, or is it the early hour that bothers you?”
Lady Gabrielle ignored his comments to her dog and presented to him her companion, her mother’s sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Potter.
He smiled and said, “Mrs. Potter, you are a brave lady to be out on such a dreary day.”
“Balderdash, I’m not brave at all, I’m freezing my—”
“Auntie Bethie.” Lady Gabrielle interrupted her aunt before the last word was uttered, though Brent knew exactly what the loud-voiced lady was going to say.
While Lady Gabrielle was dressed in the same simple black-hooded cloak she’d worn yesterday, her aunt was not so restrained. Mrs. Potter wore a well-cut black coat trimmed at the neck with fur. Her hands were stuffed into a fur muffle, and her legs and feet were covered by a finely woven wool blanket. She was a small woman, and there wasn’t much of her that wasn’t covered in wool or fur, with the exception of a ridiculously tall, short-brimmed hat that was piled high with flowers and pheasant feathers. With sharp features, olive skin, and wide, deep-set brown eyes, she looked nothing like her much fairer and comely niece. Lady Gabrielle turned back to Brent and, with an almost shy smile, said, “My aunt is truly wonderful to indulge me as she does.”
“I’m not wonderful at all,” Mrs. Potter said with threads of humor lacing her lusty tone and a sparkle glinting in her dark eyes. “I’m here because I was coerced.”