Читать книгу Marriage Made in Shame - Sophia James - Страница 10

Chapter Three

The stone was cold, rubbed smooth with the echoes of time. He had tried to reach her, through the tapestries of Christ under thorns, but the choking smoke had stopped him, the only sound in his ears the one of a ghastly silence.

His dagger was in his fist, wrapped around anger, the Holy Water knocked from its place on the pulpit and falling on to marble pocked with time. The spectre of death had him, even as he reached for Henrietta, the trickle of red running down his fingers and her eyes lifeless.

* * *

Gabriel woke with the beat of his heart loud in his ears and his hands gripping the sheets beneath him.

The same bloody dream, never in time, never quick enough to save her. He cursed into fingers cradled across his mouth, hard harsh words with more than a trace of bitterness within as his eyes went to the timepiece on the mantel.

Six o’clock. An hour’s sleep at least. Better than some nights, worse than others. Already the first birds were calling and the working city moved into action. The street vendors with their words and their incantations. ‘Milk maids below.’ ‘Four for sixpence, mackerel.’ The heavier sound of a passing carriage drowned them out.

Unexpectedly the image of the water-blue eyes of Miss Adelaide Ashfield came to mind, searing through manners and propriety on the seat at the edge of the Bradfords’ ballroom as she cursed about her ten more weeks.

Where did she reside in London? he wondered. With her uncle in his town house on Grosvenor Square or in the home of Lady Harcourt? Did she frequent many of the ton’s soirées or was she choosy in her outings?

Swearing under his breath, he rose. He had no business to be thinking of her; she would be well counselled to stay away from him and as soon as he had caught those who were helping Clements in his quest for Napoleon’s ascendency he, too, would be gone.

The society mamas were more circumspect with him now, the failing family fortune common knowledge and the burned-out shell of the Wesley seat of Ravenshill Manor unattended. His father had squandered most of what had been left to them after his grandfather’s poor management, and Gabriel had been trying to consolidate the Wesley assets ever since. The bankers no longer courted him, neither did the businessmen wanting the backing of old family money to allow them an easy access to ideas. It would only be a matter of time before society turned its back altogether.

But he’d liked talking with Adelaide Ashfield from Dorset. This truth came from nowhere and he smiled. God, the unusual and prickly débutante was stealing his thoughts and he did not even want to stop and wonder why.

She reminded him of a time in his life when things had been easier, he supposed, when conflict could be settled with the use of his fists and when he had gone to bed at midnight and slept until well past the dawn.

What would happen after the allotted ten weeks? Would her uncle allow her to simply slip back into the country with her fortune intact, unmarried and free?

His eyes rested upon the gold locket draped on the edge of an armoire to one side of the window.

The bauble had been Henrietta’s. She had left it here the last time she had come to see him and he had kept it after her death. For safekeeping or a warning—the reminder of love in lost places and frozen seconds? For the memory of why a close relationship would never again be something that he might consider? He had tried to remember how the fire in the chapel had begun, but every time he did so there was a sense of something missing.

For a while he imagined it might have been he who had started it, but subsequently he had the impression of other hands busy with that very purpose. Hers? Her husband’s? The men they associated with? The only thing Gabriel was certain of was the hurt and the stab of betrayal that had never left him.

But perhaps he and Miss Adelaide Ashfield were more alike than he thought? Perhaps she had been hurt, too, by someone, by falsity, by promise. It was not often, after all, that a young and beautiful girl held such an aversion to marriage and stated it so absolutely.

He would like to meet her again just to understand what it was that she wanted. The Harveys were holding a ball this very evening and perhaps the Penbury party had the intention of going? He had heard that Randolph Clements’s cousin George Friar might be in attendance and wanted to get a measure of the man. Wealthy in his own right, the American had been staying with the Clements for a good while now, but some said he was a man who held his own concealments and darkness.

The inlaid gold on his ring glinted in the light and Gabriel frowned as he recited the Anglican prayer of resurrection beneath his breath. Turning the circle of gold and silver against his skin, he positioned it so that the inlaid cross faced upwards.

Fortuna.

He suddenly felt that he had lost the hope of such a thing a very long time ago.

* * *

Arriving at the Harveys’ ball later than he meant to, the first person Gabriel met was his friend Daniel Wylde, the Earl of Montcliffe, with Lucien Howard, the Earl of Ross, at his side.

‘I am only down from Montcliffe for a few days, Gabe, trying to complete a deal on the progeny of a particularly fine pair of greys I own.’

Gabriel’s interest was piqued. ‘The Arabian beauties that were standing at Tattersall’s a year or so back? The ones that caused a stir before they were pulled from auction.’

‘The very same. Perhaps you might be interested in a foal for the Ravenshill stables?’ Lucien Howard’s voice was threaded with an undercurrent of question.

‘My means are about as shaky as your own are rumoured to be, Luce. I doubt I could afford to feed another horse, let alone buy one.’

Daniel Wylde laughed heartily before any more could be said. ‘Find a wife, then, who is both beautiful and rich. That’s your answer.’

‘Like you did?’

‘Well, in all truth, she found me...’

The small and round Miss Greene and her younger sister chose that moment to walk past and gaze in Gabriel’s direction. He had stood up with her in a dance earlier in the Season as a favour to their bountifully blessed aunt and the girls had seemed to search him out at each ensuing function.

A plethora of other ladies milled around behind them, each one seemingly younger than the next. And then to one corner he noticed Miss Adelaide Ashfield. Tonight she was adorned in gold silk, the rich shade making her hair look darker and her skin lighter.

She was laughing at something the girl beside her had said though at that very moment she looked up and caught Gabriel’s glance. From this distance he could see something in her eyes that drew out much more in his expression than he wanted to show. With shock he broke the contact, his heart hammering.

Not sexual, but an emotion far more risky. He almost swore, but a footman chose that exact moment to pass by with an assortment of drinks on a silver tray.

The liquor slid across panic and soothed it. He saw the question that passed between Montcliffe and Ross, but he turned away, the card room as good a place as any to drown his sorrows.

‘If you will excuse me, I might try my hand at a game of whist.’

‘But a waltz is about to begin, Gabe, and the girl in gold in that corner looks as though she would welcome a dance.’

He left saying nothing though the sound of their laughter followed him for a good many yards.

George Friar was not yet here. He’d hoped to have a word with him, not to warn him off exactly, but to allow the colonial to understand the danger of becoming involved in political intrigues against England. Still, Gabriel was prepared to wait, and it was early.

* * *

A hundred pounds later Gabriel acknowledged his mind was not on the game and cashed in his chips.

‘Thank you, gentlemen, but that is me out for the evening.’

Francis St Cartmail pulled his substantial winnings over in front of him. ‘Are you sure you will not stay, Gabriel? I could do with as much as you can lose.’

For the first time that evening Gabriel smiled as if he meant it. ‘Daniel and Luce are out there somewhere. Get them to sit down with you.’

The other shook his head. ‘Ross is skint and Montcliffe is a responsible married man. He spends his extra on the horses he sees with potential and, by God, he is doing well with it, too.’

‘You can’t get in on the game?’

‘Never really interested, I am afraid. But I am off to the Americas in a month or so on the search for gold.’

‘You think you will find some?’ A fresh spurt of interest surged.

‘I do. Come with me. I’d be happy to have you along.’

The invitation was both sincere and unexpected and Gabriel thought that if he had not been consumed in his revenge for Henrietta’s death he might have even taken him up on it.

‘I met a man a few months back who told me to look for gold in North Carolina, Francis. He said the town of Concord was the place I should journey to and his brother-in-law, Samuel Huie, was the man who would show me where to look. He said Huie had found a nugget as big as his fist while he was out fishing one day. As he did not seem like a man who often embellished the truth, I believed the yarn.’

‘Well, I will keep the information in mind and if I find it in the place you mention, I will keep bring some back for you.’

‘Then I wish you all the luck in the world.’

* * *

‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Ashfield.’ Mr George Friar’s words were laced with a slight American accent as he drew Adelaide to one side of the room. ‘Are you enjoying your time here in London?’

‘Indeed, sir.’ This was a complete lie, but she knew if she had said otherwise she would have a complicated explanation in front of her.

‘I saw you speaking with Lord Wesley the other night at the Bradfords’ ball. Is he a particular friend of yours?’

Unexpectedly the blood rushed to her face and Adelaide cursed her reaction, especially when she saw the man’s obvious curiosity.

‘I am newly come to London, Mr Friar. I barely know the earl.’

‘But you have heard the stories, no doubt? He is not to be trusted and it would be wise for any woman to keep her distance.’

Such a confidence made Adelaide shiver.

‘A strong opinion, sir. Is he an acquaintance of yours?’

The man shook his head. ‘No, but he led the wife of my cousin astray and it cost her her life, an ending she did not in any way deserve.’

‘You are implying then some sense of blame on the part of Lord Wesley, sir?’ She had made a point of asking Lucy and her other acquaintances here about the chequered past of Gabriel Hughes since meeting him, partly out of interest, but mostly out of the feeling he was somehow being wrongly dealt to. She could not explain her connection with a man who appeared to be everything she had always abhorred and yet... ‘From the stories I have heard it was your cousin’s wife who had absconded with her lover in the first place?’

This time Friar laughed out loud. ‘A woman who is not afraid to voice all that she thinks is a rare jewel in the London court. Why are you not married ten times over already, Miss Ashfield? Can these English lords not recognise a veritable treasure when they see one?’

She brushed off his nonsense though a part of her was pleased at such praise. ‘A woman’s need for a husband is overrated in my opinion, though my uncle is not to be persuaded otherwise.’

For a moment his visage was one of shock before he managed to drag his expression back.

‘Well, Miss Ashfield, I have always applauded honesty in a woman. Would you take a walk with me, perchance, so that I might tell you a story?’

Adelaide looked around. She could see Lord Berrick making his way towards her and wanted to avoid him.

‘Perhaps a turn on the terrace for privacy might be in order.’ Friar said this as he saw where she looked.

She did not wish to be alone with Mr Friar, she thought, remembering Lord Wesley’s warning, but glancing through the glass she observed others lingering there and enjoying the unusual balminess of the evening.

It could not hurt for five minutes to listen to what he had to say, surely, and with the growing warmth in the room she would appreciate a little fresh air.

Once outside Adelaide could tell Mr Friar was trying to think up what words to give her next as he looked over the small balustrade leading into the garden. Finally he spoke.

‘There are some who would say that the Earl of Wesley is not the fop he pretends to be. My cousin, for example, was completely crushed by the loss of his precious wife. He does not believe her demise was an accident at all.’

‘What does he believe, then?’

‘If I could speak plainly, I would say he thinks Wesley killed her for he had become tired of her neediness as his lover and wanted her gone.’

Shock ran through Adelaide at the bitterness in his words and also that such an accusation should be levelled at Gabriel Hughes. ‘Presumably the courts thought otherwise, Mr Friar, as I heard there was a case of law to be answered for it.’ The thought did cross her mind as to why she should be such a stalwart in her defence of a man whose reputation was hardly pristine, given everything she knew of Lord Wesley had come through gossip.

‘Indeed they did, Miss Ashfield, but justice and money walk hand in hand and the Wesley title holds its own sway in such decisions.’

‘Such are the words of those who perceive their case lost by some unfair disadvantage that they can never prove. Better to move on and make your life over than look back and wreak havoc with all that is left.’

‘You are not the more normal sort of débutante, Miss Ashfield, with your strong opinions.’

‘I will take that as a compliment, Mr Friar, for I am older and a lot wiser. Wise enough to know that people can say anything of anyone and yet the saying of it does not make it true.’

He laughed, but the sound was not pleasant. ‘Have you ever been to the Americas?’

When she shook her head he continued.

‘I own a large property in Baltimore, in Coles Harbor on the west side of the Jones Falls River. I have come to England to find a partner who might enjoy the place with me, neither a timid bride, Miss Ashfield, nor a young one. I need a woman who would cope with the rigours of the New World and one with enough of a fortune to help me build my own legacy.’

‘I see.’ And Adelaide suddenly did. She had left the relative safety of the frying pan that was Lord Berrick and jumped into a fire.

It was how the business of marriage worked in London, after all, brides were only a commodity and an article of trade. Men put their collateral on the table and a prudent woman weighed up her options and accepted the most favourable. For life. For ever. It was exactly as Aunt Eloise had said it would be, was it not? Women sold their souls for marriage and regretted it until the end of time.

The thought of it all held her mute, but George Friar seemed to have taken her silence as acquiescence, for he leaned forward and took her fingers in his own before his lips came down hard upon the back of them.

Cold, wet and grasping. She could not believe he would dare to touch her like this out here amongst others, but as she broke away and looked around she realised everybody on this end of the terrace had left to go inside.

Mr Friar hadn’t released her, either, his fingers still entwined in hers and allowing no means of escape, the expression on his face ardent as he breathed out rapidly.

‘Oh, come now, Miss Ashfield, I am certain we could do better than that. You look like a woman with a great deal of sensuality about you and, if I say so myself, I am considered something of a catch by the unmarried women of Baltimore. A new life, an adventure and the opportunity to use your considerable fortune in a way that could double it again. Take the chance of it whilst you can. Caution can be most stultifying.’

Adelaide thought quickly. She needed to diffuse this situation and get back inside without causing even more of a scene. ‘I am sure you are as you say, sir, a veritable catch, but believe me when I tell you that I have no want for a husband despite my presence here.’ This explanation solved nothing, however, for his grip tightened as he pulled her towards him. ‘I will ask you one more time to please let me go, sir.’ She hated the slight shiver in her words as he met her glance directly and lifted his brows. A game? He thought it such?

‘One kiss, then, to convince you. Surely that would not be amiss?’

The sharp slap of fingers on his cheek and his legs caught on the edge of a pot plant tipping him off balance. Even as she reached forward to stop him tumbling he was gone, falling over the balustrade in an ungainly surprise and lying prone and motionless on the path below.

My God, had she killed him? Forgetting about convention and her own safety, she scrambled down after him and saw in relief that he still breathed.

She could hardly just leave him here, but to do otherwise would involve her in discussions she would rather not be a part of. A movement from above surprised her, but she knew who it was immediately.