Mary Blayney (22 page)

25

T
HE BUTLER SERVED
the last soup. The duchess picked up her spoon and everyone else followed.

“Gabriel still has a temper,” Lynford said, before taking a spoonful, “but he has learned how to control it so that it may be used as an advantage.”

Olivia nodded. Jess laughed. Rowena watched Lynford as though each word he spoke was gold.

Gabriel tasted the turtle soup and then put his spoon down. Here he was in the townhouse in Mayfair, in the midst of a celebration dinner. How completely his life had turned around in one single day.

“Gabriel, you do not like the turtle soup? Would you prefer something else?” Rowena asked as if it was a rejection that would break her heart.

“It tastes wonderful. Only, the food is so much richer than I am used to.”

“Spreen,” she called to the butler, “please bring some of today’s chicken broth.”

“Yes, your grace,” the butler said, and left the room.

“It is not necessary, Rowena,” the duke told his wife. “He is not interested in this excellent soup, because he went to the kitchen and Olivia gave samples of everything she and cook were planning for dinner.” The duke nodded at Gabriel as he spoke.

“Yes,” Gabriel admitted, “and besides, it is not as though you keep chicken broth on hand all the time.”

“Of course we do,” she said with affront. “With a staff this size, someone is always ill. Just yesterday morning, Magda drank some chocolate, and chicken broth was all that she could stomach after that. Olivia is determined to devise a receipt for the best chicken broth possible.”

“Gabriel,” David said, “Magda is her new puppy.”

They all laughed, and not only because Rowena’s attachment to her pets was amusing. David spoke so rarely. He had not been like that before. It was as though he was not a part of the family yet. Even after almost a year among them again. He watched them as though they were some foreign sort that he had yet to fully understand. David did not make them uncomfortable so much as sad. Gabriel knew that their laughter was relief that the old David was still with them.

Gabriel felt his eyes fill. He bent his head and took some of the chicken broth Spreen placed in front of him. He nodded to his sister. “I think you may have reached perfection.”

Olivia tried to look blasé but failed. “The secret is to slowly boil a whole chicken and then let the broth return to room temperature before you remove the chicken.” She watched him take another spoonful. “When you are a little stronger,” she teased, “maybe Rowena will allow some chicken in the broth. It is even better that way.”

Before Rowena could send Spreen off for some chicken, Gabriel spoke up. “I am delighted to be here. I must tell you that without the help of Charlotte Parnell it may never have happened.”

Gabriel looked at all of them and could not help but smile at their various expressions of concern. “She is one of the most amazing women I have ever met, and I am going to find her.”

“How?” Jess asked.

“Why?” This from Olivia.

Rowena nodded. Lynford did not react at all.

Gabriel ignored Olivia’s question and took a sip of his wine before answering Jess. “I will go to her man of business and see what he will tell me. I will talk to Shelby, the man who is her contact with the government. If neither of them will help me, I will go to Robert Wilton. Lyn told me his home is south of here, less than a day’s ride.”

“I thought you said that he was barely civil to you?” Olivia asked, and then answered her own question. “I suppose you can tolerate some incivility to find her.”

“More than incivility, dear girl.”

“But why?” she asked again.

“She is as fascinated by the night sky as Gabriel is,” Jess joked as he elbowed his brother in the ribs.

“He wants to find out what kind of woman she truly is,” the duchess said with certainty.

“Yes, exactly, Rowena,” Olivia agreed.

“Oh, I think there is a little more to it than that,” Jess said, picking up his wineglass and taking a sip before he spoke again. “I’ll wager that part of the reason is that he wants to prove that he is a man even though he was rescued by a woman.”

“Nonsense,” Rowena said, coming to Gabriel’s “rescue” by ringing the bell for the next course.

The rest of the meal was taken up with family details and news of friends who had married or had children. When Jessup began to tell him of the last boxing match he had attended, Rowena interrupted him in mid-sentence, “Shall we move to the drawing room, Olivia?”

“Of course, if you wish, Rowena.” Before she stood up, Olivia leaned across the table. “Do not make us wait too long. I want to hear of your adventures before you met Mrs. Parnell.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You will hear nothing but stories of nights watching the sky and looking at stars and then long evenings in smoky taverns trading information and not knowing whether it was truth or lies. Not a story I ever want to tell.”

Olivia stood up and went around the end of the table to kiss him. “If that is what you wish, brother, then I shall not ask again. I am so happy you are with us again.” She popped over and gave David a kiss. “You too.”

David looked down and did not seem happy with the attention.

Rowena stood up too. For the first time, Gabriel noticed that Rowena was thickening around the middle. Was she increasing again? The two previous miscarriages that Olivia had told him about could well be the reason that Rowena and Lyn had yet to announce it.

He was almost sure of it when Lynford stood up to escort her to the door. “We will join you shortly. I know how easily you tire.”

She nodded and kissed his cheek. She and Olivia left the room.

“So, are you in love, Gabriel?” Jess asked.

“Jess,” the duke said. “Why don’t you join the ladies?”

“No, thank you, your grace, but I do wonder what else Gabriel has to tell us about his time with the mysterious Charlotte Parnell.”

“Love does not enter into it,” Gabriel insisted. “Curiosity is my besetting sin. I want to solve the endless mysteries surrounding Mrs. Parnell. I will find her, Lyn.”

“You can make your escape tomorrow,” he said, nodding at the window even though the drapes were drawn. “There is no moon tonight, so one of your insane night rides is out of the question.”

“Bugger it, Lynford. I will leave when I want to leave,” he said with a passionate, quiet anger. The rage was so intense and so misplaced that both of them were surprised by it.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said.
Rage and remorse.
It happened all the time and at the most inopportune moments.

“You will leave when you want to leave, brother,” David said with quiet authority. Lyn agreed, though he was looking at David as he did so.

“I will have to wait to speak with her man of business and that major, Shelby.” Gabriel gave a jerky nod and was silent a moment more.

“What is it you want to know, besides that she is safe?” David asked.

“I want answers to a hundred questions, David. Beginning with her true name.”

“L
YNETTE
G
ILRAY
, I
WANT
you to tell me the truth. Could you be with child?”

Her mother resumed the warm-water rinse of her daughter’s hair as though the question were as commonplace as a bath. Lynette smiled and shook her head. “No, Mama, I am not increasing. It is only that I am tired from travel.” She had wondered herself at first and was relieved when she had been spared that embarrassment. She had been fool enough with Gabriel Pennistan and had no need of a constant reminder.

Esther Gilray said nothing but kept on pouring water through her daughter’s hair. “I think this will be the final wash. The brown is almost completely gone.”

“It feels heavenly. Thank you, Mama.” Lynette closed her eyes and hoped that her tears would blend in with the water that escaped to trickle down her neck.

“I am only too happy to wash all of Charlotte Parnell away.”

“Yes, I know you worried.” It was an old and endless complaint. “It was not dangerous or even very exciting.”
Except for the adventure with Gabriel Pennistan.
“The orphanages were always happy to have a child taken. Especially if a donation was made. The biggest challenge was remembering what part I was playing.”

“Hmph” was all her mother said.

Lynette was on the verge of sleep when her mother began again. “You have been home a month since your last trip. I am happy to note it was your very last trip. You should be celebrating, but you are spending all your time in your studio, and you do not eat enough. What happened in London that has you so upset?”

Mama might not understand the first thing about surviving in an enemy camp, but Lynette knew her mother could see the toll it took on her. She was always exhausted and nervy for the first few days. This time it lasted much longer than usual.

“It has been a difficult year. The work I did this winter did not go smoothly, and then I had to hurry back for the last child.”

“That I do not understand. Once Napoleon accepts defeat, will it not be easier?”

“No, Mama, because France will change. Yes, it was dangerous, but Georges and I both thought that it was better to move quickly than to wait. It all turned out as we hoped.”

“Then you rushed up to London.”

“One last bit of acting, Mama. You would have been impressed. Rather like the time you played a boy in that romp where you met Papa.” If Mama would tell that story again, she would forget about the last few months.

Her mama leaned down and kissed Lynette’s wet head. “We are finished. The children will hardly recognize you.”

Once she was in her nightgown and robe, she sat with her back to the fire, stroking the cat on her lap, while her mother combed out her hair. Now she
would
fall asleep, comfortable under a lap robe, the fire warming her back.

“You have to tell me, Lynette. You know you do. I failed as a mother before because I did not insist on the truth.”

The purring cat and the long gentle pull of the comb through her hair was as mesmerizing as the warmth from the fire. She was right, Lynette thought. Mama would nag her to death. That much had not changed. Her eyes flew open. She had not said that aloud, had she? Mama tried so hard.

“How can I explain,” she said, the tears leaking out, “when I don’t understand myself?”

Her mother did not miss a stroke, but Lynette could almost hear her smile. “Is it a man?”

“Yes,” her daughter sighed.

“The one you were paid so much money to rescue?”

“Yes.” The cat jumped from her lap. She could feel the tears bubbling up; even her horror at the weakness could not stop them. “He was not at all what I expected.” She turned to face her mother. “I hate him.” She hated him, herself and the world.

“Yes, darling, I know. I hate him too.” Mama finished brushing her hair. “Tomorrow I want you to go with the girls to feed the ducks. Spending time with the children is the best cure I know for an aching heart.”

Lynette nodded. Was it that obvious? Perhaps only to her mother. She hoped only to her mother.

“Come to bed now, Lynette.”

Mama led her to bed and tucked her in. Lynette closed her eyes and pretended she was a child again. Ten years old and waking from a nightmare. Mama was with her and would not leave. She was now closer to thirty and had lived a nightmare, but was home with her family and safe once again.

26

R
OBERT
W
ILTON’S HOME
was a prosperous place, Gabriel decided as he urged his horse up the drive. The trees that lined the avenue to the house were well established and in full leaf. He slowed his horse and took a moment to enjoy the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves, the light and shadow of the sunlit day. He saw a deer and wondered if it was too early for fawns in this warmer climate. Not for weeks yet in Derbyshire, but Sussex was so much more temperate than home.

The house was not overly large, but the generous windows gave it a welcoming, tranquil air. He had not expected anything this gracious, even if the man was a captain with more than twenty years of prize money to his name.

As Gabriel neared the house, the peacefulness was obliterated by squawking hens racing across the front yard, chased by two boys old enough to know better. He guessed they were both older than twelve. Did they really think the hens would do their bidding? As he watched he realized he was too long from childhood. Chaos was precisely the fun of the exercise.

Gabriel watched them until they were out of sight and then rode to the stable, a well-kept building a short walk from the house. A groom rushed out to take care of his horse. Gabriel handed him a coin and his thanks.

“Would you be wishing for me to show you to the house, sir?” “No, thank you.”

“Mrs. Wilton will be pleased to have a caller.”

Gabriel nodded and was about to walk on when the man added, “Too bad the cap’n’s not about.”

Gabriel stopped and gave the man what he wanted more than coin. His attention.

“Yes, sir. He went off to Edinburgh two days ago to attend his business.” His conversation was artless and friendly. “He travels by land,” he made a sound of disgust, “and will be gone only a few weeks, so Mrs. Wilton will not worry overmuch.”

“Have you been with the Wiltons long?” The Pennistan servants were loyal, but did not act as a member of the family the way this man did.

“I been with the cap’n since his first command. When I near drowned I decided it was time to leave the sea. The cap’n gave me work here. My father was a groom, so learning this job’s been easy enough.”

Oh, so this man
was
part of the family. Gabriel thanked him more formally and walked toward the house. The yard was quiet again. Before he could knock, the door was opened by a properly clad butler. Gabriel had been expecting a man with a peg leg or maybe an eye patch.

When he met Madeline Wilton a few minutes later he could see why the staff might wish for the captain’s quick return. His wife was surely only a short time from her lying in.

She was a lovely woman, in both looks and manner.

“I am so sorry that the captain is not here,” she began once they were seated. That was after she sent her maid for tea, and then asked her butler to check on the progress of painting in the nursery. “Then, Yancy, would you please find the boys and tell them they will do without eggs if the hens are too upset to lay.”

Now she gave Gabriel her full attention, regarding him intently. They spoke of the weather in the nearby village and in London. Of the family and their health, the precociousness of boys when they were on their own. Their tutor, she explained, was away on urgent family business and would be gone for at least three weeks.

Yancy came with the tea and a large plate with a variety of sweets. Madeline Wilton poured and handed him a cup, then offered him the plate. He took one cream cake, proud of his restraint. He wanted one of each kind.

“Your letter came after the captain had left for Edinburgh, though I have no doubt he would have refused to see you even if he had still been at home. We both know that is nonsense.”

Gabriel almost choked on his tea. He had not expected such plain speaking.

“I wish he would consider meeting with us,” Gabriel answered, trying for equal openness, wondering how he could work the conversation around to Charlotte Parnell. “He has the Pennistan stubbornness.”

“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, hiding a smile. “Though I have found there are ways around that.”

“What wife does not?”

She gave him a conspirator’s smile and Gabriel fell half in love with her himself. Wilton had best be as enamored as Charlotte had said and as faithful. This woman deserved nothing less.

A silence settled as Gabriel tried to decide what to do. Did Mrs. Wilton even know of Mrs. Parnell?

Madeline did not seem to mind the quiet. She poured more tea. She offered him another biscuit, but she ate little herself.

He decided to take the leap. “Mrs. Wilton, I was wondering if you were acquainted with Mrs. Parnell, Charlotte Parnell.”

She replied with a cautious “Yes.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“I do.”

He slapped his knee and started laughing. Triumph and relief jumbled together to make him feel as though his heart would explode. He stood up and walked to the window. What was that odd feeling? Ah, yes. It was what being free felt like.

“I would very much like to speak with her,” he said, turning to face Madeline Wilton again. Her expression made him wonder if he had rejoiced too soon. “Will you tell me where I can find her?”

“You wish to call on her?”

“Yes.” He moved closer to where she was sitting.

She looked away this time, as she considered his request. He was not nearly as comfortable with this silence as she had been with the previous one.

“I think you should wait until Robert returns,” she said, her eyes filled with apology. “He is the one who should decide.”

“Can I say nothing to convince you otherwise?”

“I am so sorry, my lord.” Madeline Wilton rose and curtsied. “In this I agree with my husband. She has a right to her privacy. And I will not violate it without first discussing it with him.”

Gabriel did no more than nod and try to wait out the silence, but could see he was embarrassing her. No woman in her condition needed that. “Your loyalty is admirable, ma’am.”

That said, there was nothing he could do but wait for Wilton’s return, or come back when he knew the captain was again in residence.

Before Madeline could accompany him to the door, there was a great crashing sound from overhead. She pressed a hand to her stomach as if to calm her baby but did not look more than slightly startled herself. For his part, the burst of anxiety he felt at the unexpected noise was as familiar as it was frightening.

He hurried into the hall, Mrs. Wilton following at a more decorous pace, only to hear bellowing calls for help from a floor or two above.

“Those boys will not taste a tart for a week,” she exclaimed as she began to make her way up the stairs.

“May I, Mrs. Wilton?” Gabriel asked, pointing up.

“Oh yes, would you, please? There is the chance that someone is truly hurt, and I do not move as quickly as I did a few months ago.”

It was not hard to find his way to the room where the accident had happened. One had only to follow the commotion. Well-chosen swear words. Yells of “Hurry!” and the final “I’m stuck. We’ll not have tarts for a week. You had better run.”

“I’ll sneak some to you,” the other called as he, by the sound of his fading voice, ran away as directed.

Gabriel slowed his run and pushed carefully through the door. It was the nursery, in the process of being painted. That project was now in ruins. Two ladders were knocked down. A tin of paint lay half-tipped. Not yet spilled. Gabriel righted it, then moved it to a corner. Away from the jumble of ladders and boards.

It appeared to him that one of the boys had been trying to walk a board that connected the ladders. It had given way, taking the circus clown with it. The boy was not so much stuck as trapped in the broken boards and ladder steps. When he saw that Gabriel was not his mother, he brightened.

“Oh, sir, if you will help me up, I can escape.”

Gabriel folded his arms. “Then who would be blamed for this? Me?”

“Oh no, sir. We can blame the rabbit. If you let him out of the cage he will make an amazing mess.”

Heaven help Madeline Wilton. She lived surrounded by a domestic battlefield with the two boys about. He helped the trapped one stand and let him run. Gabriel opened the door of the rabbit cage and scooped up the white bundle just as Mrs. Wilton came to the door.

“No one is here,” he said.

“If you are going to make a habit of lying, then I will refuse to give
you
any more tarts.”

“I am sorry,” he said, trying not to laugh and failing. “He told me to tell you that the rabbit must have gotten out.”

She raised her eyes to heaven and then nodded. “How old are you, Lord Gabriel?”

“Old enough to understand that no tarts for a week is a terrible punishment.”

“If they had spilled the paint, I truly would enforce it.” She went through a connecting door. Gabriel trusted that the boys were long gone. Putting the rabbit back in the cage, Gabriel followed her into what he saw was the schoolroom.

There was a large table and chairs. Maps on the wall. Books tidily arranged on the shelf. A table in the corner where someone was designing and cutting out the pattern for a wooden puzzle. The scent of slates, chalk and paint was part of the ambience. Even the way the light came through the window reminded him of his schoolroom days.

He turned to the window, where Madeline was checking inside a large chest. As he moved Gabriel saw something that slowed his world to a stop.

It was a dawn view of Le Havre. He recognized the first light coming up behind the city, casting the buildings into shadow. The church spires were black arrows against the gray sky. The water was a mirror broken into pieces, reflecting no more than the colorless dawn. It was the same sight he had seen the morning he, Charlotte and the children had finally left France.

He walked closer. It was not a drawing or charcoal, but rather done in paper, layers and layers of paper, some fine, some heavier, a few bright white, others more cream and even gray, cut in amazing and intricate detail, each sheet then pressed on top of another so that varying degrees of light shone through when it was put up against a window. It was the size of a pane of glass, and a work of art.

He remembered Charlotte’s intent gaze that morning. How he had turned around because he was afraid someone was following them. It was this scene she had been studying. Memorizing. Charlotte Parnell was an artist.

“I do not think they climbed out the window,” Madeline said. “Oh, that is an amazing piece, is it not?” she said when she looked back to see what he was studying so intently.

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s called a cut-paper transparency, a kind of silhouette. This is a sophisticated form of it, actually.”

“It is far more complex than the portrait silhouettes I’ve seen.” As he spoke he considered how to find out the name of the artist. “Does he do portrait silhouettes as well?”

“Yes, she does, for the artist is a woman, you see.”

“Yes, of course,” he said, doing his best to hide his elation. “There is a delicacy about this work that few men would have the patience for.” Nonsense, but his whole goal was to keep her talking about it.

“She is a truly talented woman.”

“Where does she live? I imagine that Meryon would love to have one done of his wife.”

Madeline had walked toward the door. She stopped her progress and straightened. That was the moment she realized that she was about to give away Charlotte’s secret.

She turned to face him, speaking slowly, as though she were talking her way through a word maze.

“She only works for friends, my lord. I can contact her and find out if she will consider a commission for the duke.”

Now who is lying?
He did not say it, accepting this setback, settling for the conventional “Thank you, I would appreciate it.”

If she was surprised by his lack of persistence, she did not show it. “My lord, I must find the boys. Tying them to a chair may be the only way to quiet them. I had forgotten how much I depend on their tutor to keep them occupied.”

“Let me take a moment to right the ladder. It could be that they will come back. If they do, I will bring them down to you.”

Now she did look tired. Not in the eyes, but in the way she drew a deep breath and her shoulders sagged a little. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” he said as he headed toward the connecting door and she for the stairs. Gabriel righted the first ladder and considered the rabbit.

He picked up the rabbit cage and walked back into the schoolroom, scanning the walls as he passed through, thinking of himself at thirteen or fourteen and wondering where they could hide.

Really, there was only one place their mother had not looked. He went to a cupboard built into the wall and pulled the door open. The boys fell out amid sneezing and groans. How had they managed to fit in such a small space? No matter, he was the one who appeared a genius.

“How did you know where we were, sir?”

“Yes, we must find a way to make it more secure.”

“I was twelve once too, you know.”

“I’m fourteen,” the taller one said, insult edging his words.