by Sophia James
You never loved me in this life, Gabriel, not like I loved you...
Henrietta’s last words before the fire, plaintive, shaking. He still felt her fingers on the pulse at his neck, nails scraping over the bloodline that flowed there, and the world began to fade somehow into a further-away place. It was coming back, his memory, slowly and by small degrees, little pieces of the past fitting into a whole.
‘Sit down before you fall down.’ Daniel manhandled him into the chair by the window, the moonlight silver across his lap. ‘For the life of me, Gabe, I need to understand what the hell is going on with you.
Sitting, he felt better, more able to breathe and think. Betrayal was all mixed up together suddenly, in Henrietta’s neediness and Cressida’s revenge at the ball. Even the British Service’s insistence on a certain persona to confound those in society held the scourge of it. To him as a person, to his life, to his honesty, to the hope of something better and finer and good.
‘After the fire...I lost my way.’
‘The fire in the Ravenshill chapel? The one that killed Henrietta Clements?’
‘I think she wanted to die.’
‘God.’
‘I can’t remember properly, but...’ He could not finish.
‘Rumour has it you were burned. Badly.’
Looking up, Gabriel tried to find the energy to hide all he had been so very careful with. ‘I was. It isn’t pretty.’
‘That’s why you went to the brothels, then, because of the scarring. You didn’t want anyone save the prostitutes to see you like that? Barnsley said you’d been at the Temple of Aphrodite and he wondered if you had said anything of it to me. I told him he must be mistaken because you never used to...’ He stopped momentarily before going on, a new comprehension in his glance. ‘So the body-and-mind discussion of Miss Ashfield’s the other night was more personal than you let on?’
‘Leave Adelaide Ashfield out of it, Daniel. I mean it.’
‘She talked with Christine Howard of mesmerism...’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’
‘...and self-healing. Of reliving the moment when everything changed and moving on with life. Of coming to terms with what has happened to you?’
The heat crawling across his legs and sending the cloth into flame, skin dissolving as other hands had reached him, pulled him to safety, the last of Henrietta Clements’s long hair frizzling into black.
She had smiled at him and then cursed him in the last moments before death. ‘There won’t be another for you. Only me.’
The sudden realisation floored him. Gabriel could barely move with the truth of what he remembered.
‘What is it, Gabe? You look like you have seen a ghost?’ Daniel’s query came softly.
‘I think Henrietta Clements wanted me to die alongside her. The fire was like a pyre...a suttee. If she could not have me here, then maybe in the celestial...?’ He left the statement hanging because he no longer had the energy to continue.
‘And you didn’t remember this until now? God. Perhaps Miss Ashfield’s suppositions about speaking of a defining moment holds more power in it than we both gave her credit for. She’ll be wasted on Lovelace if she marries him.’
If...
Swallowing, Gabriel pushed back his fear to a place where he could manage it. ‘Is there any way, Daniel, that your wife might ask Miss Ashfield to visit your town house again tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Because you want to talk with her?’
‘Alone if I can.’
‘I think that would be a very good idea.’
* * *
Adelaide, accompanied by her maid, Milly, climbed the steps of the Montcliffe town house with a feeling of nervous anticipation. The horror of her dreadful conversation with Gabriel Hughes at the McWilliamses’ ball had kept her up for nights and she knew she did not look her best.
The last time she had been here he had been, too, but Lord Wesley was nowhere to be seen as she gave Lady Montcliffe her greeting once inside the front door.
‘Perhaps your maid could accompany mine and go and find something to eat and drink in the kitchen, Miss Ashfield. That would give us a small opportunity to talk.’
‘Of course.’ Milly happily got up, leaving her alone with Amethyst Wylde, who shepherded her into a small salon to one side of an opulent hallway.
‘I would like to speak honestly with you if I may, Adelaide...might I call you that?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Earl of Wesley is a particular friend of ours and he is a good man, a strong man, a man who is misunderstood in society, I think. He admires you. I know that for a fact.’
Adelaide hated the flush of red that had crept up into her cheeks.
‘He is here today and he has asked to have a private word with you. Is this something that you might consider?’
Adelaide stood, unable to sit longer. The other day she had asked to meet the earl and he had refused. She could not even begin to imagine what he might want to say now, but it could not get any worse than the last meeting, she was sure of it. And he was here, close. She took in a deep breath. ‘I would. My uncle expects me to form a union, but a fortune can be a difficult asset in the marriage stakes, Lady Montcliffe.’
‘The rich must marry the rich, you mean?’ Amethyst Wylde came to stand beside her.
‘Exactly, and Lord Berrick has asked for my hand.’
‘I had heard this said, but I do not recall the man himself.’
‘My uncle prays for an alliance within the ton. My father wanted it, too. There was a letter expressing his hopes for a suitor and his family name was mentioned so...’ She stopped, unable to go on.
‘Strong persuasions, then. As a way of presenting the other side I might tell you that Daniel was almost penniless when I married him and our union has proved a great success. I think a wise woman can find a way to gain exactly what she wants and make it work, and from what I have seen and heard of you, Miss Ashfield, you are more than up to the task. My advice, for what it is worth, is to follow your heart no matter where it takes you. Now if you will excuse me, I shall find Lord Wesley.’
* * *
Adelaide stood in the sunlight by the French doors overlooking the garden, the gentle smell of lemons just discernible in the air. For a moment Gabriel faltered, unsure if what he was about to do was a wrong step or a right one, but then he made himself come forward and the noise had her turning.
She did not wear her spectacles today. That was the very first thing he noticed, and because of it her eyes seemed bigger and much more blue.
Other emotions danced there, too, before she could hide them. Fright. Worry. Joy.
‘Miss Ashfield.’
‘My lord.’
He did not move closer as he shut the door behind him and when a cloud fell across the sun the room darkened markedly. An omen? He prayed not.
‘Thank you for meeting me. I guessed I wouldn’t be exactly welcomed at the Penbury town house and so I asked Lord and Lady Montcliffe if they might arrange this. The rumour that you have agreed to marry Lovelace has come to my ears, you see, and—’ He stopped, biting down on his babble of words. He was seldom nervous, but here he found he was.
Her smile was sad and it came nowhere near to touching her eyes. ‘You of all people should know the danger of listening to gossip.
He was surprised by the ache of relief that went through him at her answer. ‘So it is false, this proposed union?’
‘Oh, parts of tittle-tattle are always true. Lord Berrick did ask me, but I did refuse him.’
‘Because you do not love him?’
‘Could not love him. There is a difference. One can marry a man whom one admires in the hope that love might follow, but if there is no feeling whatsoever in the first place, I doubt a satisfacto
ry union would result.’ Her voice wavered on the last words, the pulse at her throat rapid.
He covered the distance between them and stood just out of touch, watching the secrets he so often saw dancing in the blue of her eyes.
‘You told me once that you never wished to marry at all and that you would like to remain a spinster.’
‘And I believed that to be true...then.’
‘But now?’
‘My place in the world is less certain then it once was and Northbridge is not the home I imagined it to be. I thought to come here for twelve weeks and then return unchanged to get on with my old life, but that will not be so easy now.’ She smiled. ‘I find myself at a crossroads, Lord Wesley, and it is hard to know in which direction to turn.’
It was her bravery, he was to think later, that made him throw off caution and speak.
‘Marry me, then, instead.’
Her mouth fell open and she stared at him, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
‘I am not wealthy and I am not safe in the way your uncle would want a husband to be. There are things about me you do not know and that you may never understand, but I promise to protect you. For ever. My family seat is a pile of burned-out ruins and the town house is heavily mortgaged. But your money should stay in your name, separate to anything I own, because in that way you might understand it is not for riches that I ask this question.’
‘Why on earth...would you ask me, then?’ Her voice was small, barely there.
‘I like the way you reason out things and fight for people and heal them. Besides, Berrick and his stupidity would ruin you and George Friar is not to be trusted.’
The clock ticked in one corner, loud as it measured the passing minute, and outside he heard the rumble of a carriage. Small everyday things counterbalanced against the magnitude of his proposal.
‘Yes.’
He could not quite for the life of himself fathom for a second exactly what she meant.
‘Yes?’
‘I will marry you, my lord.’
‘Gabriel. My name is Gabriel.’
‘I know.’
Neither of them moved, as though in the action the truth of it all might simply disappear, lost in fantasy.
‘Hell.’
She laughed at that, a throaty deep sound that filled the emptiness in him. ‘I do not think one is supposed to swear after such a moment, my lord.’
Had she truly just consented to what he thought she had? Could it possibly be this easy?
No.
The answer came quickly. She did not know who he was, what he was, the ache in his thigh only underlining more uncertainty.
He should take the words back and leave her to find her own direction for she had told him of her refusal to marry Lovelace. She was sensible, clever and honest and he was dangerous, unstable and impotent.
Impotent.
The word hung in the air around everything he did and said now and yet he had not been candid with her, with a bride who would know from the first moment he touched her that all was not as it ought to be.
Was this marriage proposal simply selfishness because he thought he might be cured by Adelaide Ashfield’s touch? Just another worry that he added to the pile of others.
‘I wouldn’t stop you doing the things you wanted to. I envisage a marriage of equality and independence.’
He needed to put these things on the table to counter all the other negatives. Perhaps in the balance, then, something could be salvaged, some sense of rightness, and Adelaide had always stressed how important autonomy was to her.
But would it be enough when she came to understand all that he might not be able to give her? He waited for her answer.
‘My aunts would have liked you, I think, Lord Wesley, and Lady Montcliffe was just counselling me on the fact that a wise woman finds a union allowing her to gain the things that she needs.’
‘And are you wise, Adelaide Ashfield?’
‘Wise enough to know that the sort of marriage that you speak of is exactly what I do want.’
She did not mention love or lovemaking.
‘I also want a man who I can talk to, a husband who understands the power of conversation and debate.’
Even better. Those things he could manage easily. She neither simpered nor flirted as she stated her requirements, rather he had the notion she had not even thought to. Surprising in a woman. He couldn’t help but smile, though a knock at the door brought the others in. His allotted minutes were up and Amethyst Wylde was a woman who was careful with the maintenance of a lady’s reputation.
‘I hope you have had enough time to settle the affairs between you, Gabriel, but Christine Howard has come to call and I thought we could all have some tea.’ Her sharp eyes ran across him as she gestured to her maid to bring in refreshments, a worried look beneath her smile and a hint of curiosity.
‘Indeed we have, but perhaps champagne might be more in order, for I have asked Miss Ashfield to become my wife.’
‘And she has agreed?’ Amethyst asked this question, the timbre of her voice rising.
He turned towards Adelaide, hoping she might say something and was pleased when she did.
‘I have.’ The soft assent brought Lady Christine to her side, though she, too, was looking at him for more explanation.
Digging into humour, he tried to give it to them. ‘The luck of the damned can sometimes take a wondrous turn, though in my defence I have made a concerted effort to explain to my would-be bride all that I am not.’ Despite his levity the shock was easily seen on their faces. The anger he felt because of this was palpable. He did not deserve Adelaide Ashfield and they knew it. She was everything good, and honourable and right.
It was Christine Howard who broke the silence. ‘Well, I think this is wonderful news. Gabriel has always been interesting and kind. I should imagine he will make a sterling husband and at least with your fortune you will be able to rescue his absolute lack of one. That is two down now. Just my brother and Francis to go and all our problems shall be solved.’
Gabriel had forgotten Lucien’s sister’s penchant to state the truth in a way no one else would have thought to, though her take on the impending union seemed to have broken through the reserve. As the tasks of finding the necessary things for a toast ensued, Gabriel used the moment to have a quiet word with Adelaide. ‘I doubt this news can be contained for very much longer, but if you have any regrets you might be wise to voice them now.’
‘Do you?’ The query was fired back quickly to him.
He smiled because amazingly he knew that he didn’t. ‘No.’
‘Then why should I?’
‘Your uncle won’t be pleased.’
‘I am no longer a young girl foolish enough to imagine that his opinions should shape my life.’
‘But you do understand that others’ opinions of me might very well do just the same?’
At that she laughed. ‘I hope I am made of stronger stuff, my lord. Allowing others to moderate one’s private life is not only absurd, but also very dangerous.’
‘And yet the reality of such constant disparagement cannot be overstated.’ He smiled. ‘Even I find it difficult at times.’
‘To live down to your reputation, you mean?’ The fire in her eyes was as bright as the small flash of a shared humour. ‘Are you trying to dissuade me from your offer, my lord?’
He couldn’t lie despite knowing that he should. ‘I most certainly am not, Miss Ashfield.’
‘Good.’ The single word held no hesitation within it and as Amethyst walked across to join them, a servant behind came with a silver tray full of long-stemmed crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne. Two moments later Daniel was pouring the newly found tipple.
‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ he said a
s he finished topping up the last drink. ‘To Gabriel and Adelaide. May their union be as happy as ours has been, Amethyst, and as fruitful.’
Gabriel caught the humour on his friend’s face as he finished. A quiet ribbing held a certain look and he knew Daniel would want an explanation of events as soon as they got a moment together.
But for now he tipped up his glass and drank, the first hurdle jumped and a row of others in front of him.
* * *
The champagne made her feel a little dizzy and Adelaide knew she would have a headache come the morning, but she could also barely believe what had just happened. Gabriel Hughes, the fourth Earl of Wesley, had just asked her to be his bride. The spectres of Lord Berrick, George Friar and Richard Williams faded into the distance as she looked over at the man opposite her.
His hair was queued today, tied back in a severe style, but the cravat he wore was softer. In the light from the window she saw a small scar crossing his left cheek just below the corner of his eye and it seemed to highlight all the danger and risk associated with him.
Yet she could not care. No other man had ever made her feel the way that he did, with his humour and his menace and his manner of speaking that held her in thrall. Even from this distance she could feel the rise of her body towards his, wanting touch and intimacy and closeness. Wanting all the things that a marriage promised, all the things she had for so long been panic-stricken by.
He was beautiful in a way that had her holding her breath and bringing her fists into her sides, the hope of it all overwhelming and irrefutable. Could it possibly be this easy to finally be happy?
In the midst of all the joy Christine Howard at her side leaned forward to take her hand, squeezing it and smiling.
‘I love weddings, Adelaide, and if I say it myself I am very good at knowing what style suits a bride. Amethyst allowed me to help her at her celebration, so if you wish I would be most happy to do the same at yours.’
‘I am not...as beautiful as Lady Wylde,’ she answered slowly.
‘Because you make nothing of yourself. The colours you wear show your skin in a poor light and the style of your hair is old-fashioned and dowdy. But believe me, Adelaide, there is beauty beneath because although you can’t see it everyone else who ever speaks about you can.’