"Don't impute Charlotte because you were caught in a peccadillo of your own creation."
Too true,
she thought bitterly. "No wonder she's been acting so curiously. She must be positively gleeful."
Without warning, tears flooded to the surface, not due to Charlotte's perfidy or her father's censure, but from the staggering sense of loss that was swamping her over the likelihood that she'd never see Gabriel again.
How could she bear to carry on?
"What now?" she queried.
"There's no easy way to raise this." Nervously, he drummed on the desktop. "Might there be a babe?"
"I'm not sure... ah ... how I would know."
"So, it's a possibility?"
At the query, she peered down at the rug, finally too chagrined to maintain eye contact. When she'd been locked in the throes of passion with Gabriel, any capricious outcome had seemed desirable—even a babe—but with her father diligently appraising her in the quiet of his study, his disappointment and displeasure patently clear, she merely felt imprudent and immature, a woman who had recklessly and heedlessly plunged ahead with no regard for the consequences.
Well, they would rain down on her now and, as her father had pointed out, she had no one to blame but herself for whatever shame she would reap, for whatever punishment the earl would deign to mete out.
"Well, darling," he soothed, "don't fret over it. We'll have our answer in a few weeks."
Elizabeth could only concentrate on the endearment. In twenty-seven years, he'd never referred to her as
darling,
and it ignited a spark of optimism that perhaps things wouldn't end too badly.
“I’m sending you to Norwich," he said. "If circumstances take a turn for the worse"—she assumed that he meant a pregnancy—"we'll reassess our position."
"Why?"
"We'll need another location for your confinement.
Someplace secluded and private so that no one will ever know of your disgrace."
As he dismissed her
amour
with Gabriel as nothing more man a humiliation that had to be hidden from others, the tears that had been hovering flowed profusely, and she swiped at them.
How could her great ardor be terminated like this?
"Now, men"—he continued placating her, appearing incredibly sympathetic, more so than she'd ever supposed he could be—"you'll pack your bags and leave for Norwich today. You'll be gone for at least a month. Maybe two." He came around the desk and patted her shoulder. "We want to provide Mr. Cristofore with plenty of opportunity to vacate the premises, so he won't ever plague us again."
She was still staring at the floor, when the import of his statement sank in, and she lurched upright. "You saw him," she accused. "You spoke with him."
She jumped up and, taken aback by her vehemence, he scurried away, seeking the security of his desk once more. "Don't be absurd. As if I would personally confer with such an unrepentant villain!"
"You're lying." Abruptly furious, she braced her palms on the desktop, and leaned across. "Father, what have you done?"
"Nothing. You're spewing nonsense."
She whipped away, berating herself for being so quick to doubt Gabriel. "I don't believe anything you've said."
"You have to, Elizabeth."
"You coerced him into writing that letter, didn't you?" Panicked, alarmed, she could just imagine how dastardly her father might have behaved. "I must talk with him."
"I can't let you."
She cast about, so overwrought that she couldn't spot the doorway. Before she could gain her bearings to flee, the earl was by her side, a restraining hand on her arm.
"Elizabeth, listen to me: the man isn't who you think he is."
"Don't try to convince me of what he's like!" she contended in a near shout. "You don't know anything about him."
"I know more than I wish I did." He was holding tight on to her arm so she couldn't retreat, and he propelled her toward his desk, picking up the papers that had been so neatly piled and shoving them under her nose. "Look at what I have here! Just look!
This
is how little regard he has for you!"
At first, in her distraught condition, she couldn't focus, but gradually, she began to decipher the words, and they were devastatingly harsh.
"
I
,
Gabriel Cristofore, do admit and affirm that I have had illicit sexual intercourse with Lady Elizabeth Harcourt, daughter of the Earl of Norwich
..."
Frenetically, she skimmed bits and pieces.
"...
the relationship was at my complete inducement and instigation... I am fully responsible for any and all damages, including loss of her chastity
..."
She wasn't proceeding rapidly enough to suit her father, and he yanked the pages from her and shifted to the last one. "Here. Read this!"
"As compensation for my agreement never to contact Lady Elizabeth again, I consent to accept the proffered amount
..."
Her attention was riveted on the bottom line, where his signature condemned him.
Yet, even though the inscription was there, and plainly visible, she couldn't believe it. "This is a forgery. It has to be. And the letter, too. You faked them!"
"No, they're real as I am."
"They're falsehoods you conjured. To confuse me. To dissuade me."
"He
volunteered
to write the damned letter, and he couldn't wait to sign the contract."
"You pressured him into it somehow."
"I confess it! I did! With money!
He
negotiated the price for which he'd settle!"
"No, no," she wailed. "Gabriel would never do that to me."
"You'd be surprised at the sins a man will commit if enough cash is waved in front of him."
"So, you're alleging it was all his idea? That he was eager?" She was enraged, incredulous.
"I offered, and he snatched it up like that." The earl snapped his fingers.
"Oh, Father, how could you?" She jerked free of his grasp. "He was the only thing that mattered to me. The only thing I cared about." Tears gushed down her cheeks, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. "The only thing that brought me any joy."
"He never deserved you!" the earl asserted hotly. "Neither your loyalty nor your love, and he assuredly doesn't now! Not after this ... this treachery!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard. "Don't you understand? You were a mark, a prize to be auctioned off when the time was right. He made out like a bloody bandit."
"It wasn't like that!
He
isn't like that." She took a step away, then another. "I'll never forgive you for this as long as I live."
Then, she twirled around and ran as fast as she could.
"Elizabeth!" he bellowed.
Exasperated, he paused for a lengthy period, and his delay permitted her to gain momentum. Then, he was chasing after her, his heavy, authoritative footsteps lumbering down the hall, but rage and anguish were propelling her beyond his ability to catch her.
She had to meet with Gabriel, face-to-face. She had to look him in the eye and ask him if what her father maintained was accurate. If she was standing before him, he couldn't lie to her, he couldn't vacillate or prevaricate. Lest her heart be rent in two, she had to ascertain the facts: how the confrontation had been joined, how the encounter had evolved, how the bargain had been sealed.
Had Gabriel betrayed her? Had her father? Had they
both
schemed against her, neither of them having any authentic compassion or affection for her?
Grievously agitated, she dashed outside, and vaulted into the carriage, barking out Gabriel's direction to her driver who'd been patiently anticipating her arrival. Sensing her perturbation, he cracked the whip so that the horses raced down the drive and into the street, and they were well away before the earl followed her out, still shouting her name.
Charlotte slid away from her covert post next to the hearth, then tiptoed to the corridor and peeked out. No servants were passing by, so she nonchalantly strolled to her bedchamber. As she deliciously replayed the quarrel she'd just eavesdropped upon, a malicious smile crossed her face.
Revenge was so very sweet!
In her room, one of the maids was tidying up.
"You, there! Have my carriage brought around," she decreed. "It's such a splendid day. I believe I'll go shopping. I'm in the mood for a new gown. Perhaps a new hat"
As the inept servant scuttled away, Charlotte tarried at her mirror, primping her curls, and waiting for the announcement that her coach was ready.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gabriel tossed a last handful of clothes into his portmanteau, then walked to the stairs. It had been a long while since he'd packed his bags and fled on the spur of the moment. He and John had escaped numerous locales over the years of Gabriel's childhood, chased by crazed relatives, debt collectors, or angry husbands who'd had enough of John's lecherous habits.
As a youth, Gabriel had enjoyed their hasty exits, viewing them as a grand lark. Upon adult reflection, he was sure they'd been more frightening than he'd ever surmised, but John had always acted as though they were off on another fabulous adventure, carefully hiding the precise level of peril.
He was used to living out of a valise, making do, getting by, but as he reached the foyer, he conceded that he hadn't missed those daft times one bit. There was something to be said for stability, for constancy and balance, and though he hoped his departure would be transitory, he resentfully regretted that he was constrained to leave at all.
For the foreseeable future, he couldn’t remain. Elizabeth would come; he was certain of it. Norwich would temporarily restrain her behavior to prevent her from visiting— either through cajoling or more drastic measures—but eventually, she'd sneak away. She'd be determined to learn why Gabriel had broken off with her again.
Hadn't she previously rushed to him, demanding answers, when he'd tried to separate himself? And that was before they'd become lovers!
She would badger him for an explanation and, coward that he was, he simply couldn't face her. He couldn't justify what he'd done. He could only ran—and hide—a trick at which he'd excelled for most of his life.
John's current sentiments also had to be considered. In light of his father's pique, absence was preferable. He and John were two strong-willed individuals so they'd had their share of differences, their squabbles arid spats, but there'd never been any lingering hostility. They were too close, and had endured too much, to be at odds.
Yet on this occasion, John was fit to be tied, more angry than Gabriel had ever seen him, and not inclined to forgive as was his wont. For once, Gabriel pushed him beyond his limits, but with the way Gabriel was feeling, he wasn't about to apologize.
He
was the one who'd had to stomach the insult and abuse from Norwich.
He
was the one who'd had to bite his tongue as the pompous ass had spewed and strutted in their parlor.
He
was the one who'd perceived the perfect opportunity for enrichment and had grasped it, but was John satisfied?
No. And Gabriel was furious that he wasn't.
Norwich had swaggered off, arrogantly and foolishly assuming that he'd been the victor when, in all actuality, he was too stupid to realize that Gabriel had swindled him out of thousands of pounds—without expending any effort! The earl had paid Gabriel extravagantly to do what he'd been preparing for all along, that being to end the
relazione
with Elizabeth, but John hadn't so much as patted Gabriel on the back for his quick thinking or his clever resolution of a desperate situation. There'd been no congratulations. No compliments. No celebratory toasting to their success.
Instead, John claimed that a grave injury had been done to Elizabeth, when nothing could be further from the truth.
John and Norwich were bitter enemies, and Gabriel had routed the toplofty boor in the easiest deception in which he'd ever engaged, but John couldn't be bothered to display a hint of gratitude. Gabriel was righteously fuming, and he couldn't guess when he might calm.
His affair with Elizabeth had been winding down, but he hadn't been strong enough to end it, nor had she possessed the fortitude to say good-bye and really mean it. They'd continued on, into the realm where discovery was likely at every turn.
Due to their folly, the worst had transpired. Her father had exposed their peccadillo, which had caused the farewell to ensue a tad sooner than expected, and it had been more abrupt than either of them might have anticipated, but the clean break was an apt result. He was convinced of it, so John could go hang.
Despite John's clamoring, Gabriel's ploy—to dupe the earl out of his money—was a fantastic solution that had never occurred to him prior to the earl's unwelcome appearance. He was ecstatic that he'd been shrewd enough to react beneficially, that an extreme profit had been attained from the ordeal.
Norwich was a sly, astute man. He'd deal with Elizabeth carefully, so there was no chance she'd ever find out about the agreement they'd signed. Briefly, she'd be upset, she'd fume and fuss over how they'd been detected, or over why Gabriel had left with no word of
arrivederci.
But her vexation would inevitably pass, and their liaison would be terminated as had always been the predicted outcome.
So where was the harm?
He'd endeavored to explain as much to John, but John wouldn't listen, and Gabriel was tired of attempting to clarify his decision. So he was leaving—and he didn't know when he'd be back. Perhaps never.
With a heavy heart, and a huge amount of temper motivating him, he dropped his bag onto the tiled floor, then went to the stand next to the door and retrieved his coat.
Just as he would have donned it, Mary slipped out of the parlor down the hall.
He groaned. While he liked her very much, and John had picked well, he really didn't know her, and he wasn't comfortable discussing what had happened. They weren't in a position where confidences could be bandied. Besides, she was Elizabeth's friend! No doubt, John had provided her with the shameful particulars as to Gabriel's wretched conduct.
What could he possibly add in his own defense that wouldn't sound appalling?
Up until now, she'd judiciously avoided butting into the mess, apparently feeling that—as a newcomer in the house—her opinions wouldn't be appreciated, and he wasn't thrilled to have her tendering them at this late juncture. In his present mood, he hadn't the necessary composure to be civil, to sugarcoat or minimize, in order not to offend her feminine sensibilities. He was mad as hell, and wasn't about to blithely chat as though naught was amiss.
"Were you going to say good-bye?"
"No."
"Not even to John?"
"Especially not to him."
She chuckled. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for the two of you to cool off."
He shrugged, unwilling to furnish his thoughts on the subject.
"Do you have any idea of when you'll return?"
She was so confident that he would! "I'm not sure."
"Where are you headed?"
"It's springtime, and I enjoy the beach. So maybe Brighton; I haven't decided."
"You can paint seascapes, then sell them to wealthy travelers who are there on holiday." She tipped her head side to side, musing. "Not a bad plan."
How curious that she'd deduced his intentions, when he hadn't yet settled on a strategy himself! All he knew was that he had to be away. The details were up in the air. And she was so assured that he'd be painting once he selected his destination. In periods of trouble or distress, he painted move rabidly than ever, his creativity an outlet that afforded solace and contentment.
"I might do that," he said vaguely. "I might not."
"While you're gone, I'd like to show some of your work to an acquaintance of mine, I'm positive he could help us find a patron for you."
The woman was a ceaseless whirlwind of activity and, in spite of his ill-humor, he grinned. "Whatever makes you
happy, Mary. I have no objection."
"Marvelous."
Surprisingly, she reached for his outerwear and aided him in putting it on, and the kind gesture was immensely touching. Strangely, it seemed as if his mother was helping him, and the silly notion induced him to suffer the old loss in a painful fashion, making him speculate as to how much he'd forfeited by being denied Selena's company.
Would he have been a different man, a better man, had she lived?
"Look after John for me."
"I will."
She was smiling at him so sweetly that he felt eight years old again, and in drastic need of a mother's love and understanding. He didn't want to go! He yearned to stay at home with Mary, to become friends with her, to mend his quarrel with John, to achieve a swift reconciliation.
Get a grip on yourself!
he silently chastised.
He forced evenness into his tone. "I'm glad you're here for him."
"I'm glad he's here for me!" She rose up and kissed him on the cheek. "Send us a note when you have a chance. Just so we know where you are and that you're all right."
He studied her, pondering how lucky John was to have crossed paths with her, then, like an impulsive lummox, he blurted out, "I was certain you intended to scold me."
"For what?"
"Well—" He blushed, incapable of verbalizing his sins.
"Would a thorough upbraiding have done any good?"
"No."
"I didn't think so." A prudent, sensible person, she laughed pleasantly. "I love Elizabeth like a daughter, and I only want what's best for her, but I don't imagine it's you. If it was, you wouldn't be running away."
"I'm not running."
"Aren't you?"
Frantically, he craved the opportunity to account and exonerate himself to this woman who he suspected would comprehend at least some of his confusion and anguish. He longed to tell her about Elizabeth, how it had been between them, to confess that he loved her, how he'd cut off his right arm before he'd maltreat her, but there was no valid reason to expound.
Justifications were a waste of breath. He'd given Elizabeth a chance to cast her lot with him, and she'd declined to seize it. She'd often dallied prospects in front of him, implying that she was envisioning a future, but her insinuations had been nothing but capricious daydreams.
On that one dismal occasion, when he'd grown weary of her artifice, he'd pointed out the obstacles that she'd have to confront if she truly fancied him for a husband. He'd enumerated every hurdle she'd be required to jump, and in response, he'd received a quick and sobering dose of reality: Not only had she shied away from the impediments, she'd never again mentioned marriage.
Elizabeth would never debase herself so completely. He'd adjusted to the harsh facts. He didn't like them, but there wasn't anything he could do to alter them.
"I want what's best for Elizabeth, too," he asserted. "She'll be around, looking for me." .
"Yes, she will."
"It's
best
if I'm not here."
"I agree," she said, and she opened the door. "Go directly to the bank to obtain your money." She patted his pocket, where Norwich's offending bank draft irritatingly rested in a secure envelope. "I know Findley Harcourt exceptionally well. Don't trust him."
"I don't."
"A wise man."
"Good-bye, Mary."
"Not 'good-bye,' " she declared. "How about: See you soon?"
"How about?"
His carriage was ready and waiting, his belongings loaded, and he ambled out into the sunny afternoon. It hadn't shined in weeks. How could it dare to brighten the sky on this horrid day?
He was just about to toss his portmanteau in the boot when charging horses' hooves clopped down their lane. To his dismay, he recognized one of the Norwich vehicles, and he bristled with frustration. Not two hours had passed since Norwich's departure, and Gabriel had packed as rapidly as he could, but it obviously hadn't been fast enough.
What was the matter with the earl? Couldn't he harness his daughter's impetuosity for even a few minutes? How had the man bungled this so hideously? What was Gabriel supposed to do now?
He couldn't speak with her! Couldn't exculpate or rationalize! Nor could he bear to witness her agony! Gad, what if she begged him to change his mind? He couldn't ignore her entreaties. In light of her torment, how could he remain firm?
After all mat had transpired so far, he simply couldn’t tolerate another emotional scene. His well of patience had run dry, and an unaccustomed fury raged through him. At Elizabeth. At her father. At his own. At himself. His sole motivation had been to do what was right, to make the appropriate moves. For her. So that she would be protected and shielded from the earl's undue wrath. But how could he accomplish his goals when she wrongly inflicted herself into the resolution?
Where was her blasted father? Wasn't any of this fiasco his burden to shoulder? Why should Gabriel be the one to dash her hopes? By everyone's reckoning, he'd already done more than enough!
The conveyance rattled to a halt behind his own, and he was enormously relieved to see Norwich, an outrider at his flank, far down the street and pursuing her on horseback. He'd exited his house in such haste that he hadn't even donned a hat.
Gabriel braced, praying there would be some delay before Elizabeth was handed down, and that her father would arrive to handle the mess before her dainty little foot settled upon the walk, but Elizabeth was too distraught to await the coachman. The second the latch was turned, she was out and through, and the retainer had to catch her, lest she fall to the ground. The servant steadied her, then stepped away, overtly aware of his mistress's disturbance and wanting no part of whatever altercation was pending.