“Of course he is not really disinheriting me, because Clarendon and all the rest of the Beauchamp lands were never mine in the first place. But he has declared me to be no child of his any longer. Naturally, my mother agrees with him and they have settled what was to be my dowry on a distant cousin. It is not that I am worried about it because I never wanted any of it anyway, not the brilliant marriage or the public life of someone who is wife to the wealthy, influential husband they would eventually choose for me, but I wish ... I wish ...” Her voice was suspended by tears.
“What do you wish?” Gently, he gathered her hands in his.
“I wish they had cared enough about me to try to understand and not to punish me for doing what I did. I tried to be the Beauchamp my father wanted. I learned everything about our estates. I studied the politics that were his life. I know how to ride and hunt as well as any son he could have had, but it was not enough even to win his attention for a moment. All he wanted was for me to bring him a son-in-law worthy of the family. I told him that I could run Clarendon for him, and for that fool Vivian who will inherit it when Papa dies. I told him he could count on me to see that Clarendon would remain a seat worthy of the Beauchamps, which it will not under Vivian’s indifferent care. But he would not even listen to me.” The tears were running unchecked now down cheeks that were pale with frustration and despair.
Gareth felt his own eyes stinging. He thought he had never seen anyone look so tragic. His heart aching for her and her hurt and loneliness, he pulled Althea gently into his arms.
She buried her face in his neck and wept as she had never wept before. All the longing for love and approval that she had never allowed herself to acknowledge came pouring out, as she clung to him, desperate for the strength and comfort he offered. She had never wanted the wealth, or the power, or the envy of the fashionable world. All she had ever wanted was for someone to see how hard she was trying to live up to what was expected of her. And she had lived up to almost all of it except for one thing—a brilliant marriage to a husband who would be chosen for her by two people who had not the least understanding of the person their daughter truly was. She had been the perfect accomplished young lady, the perfect mistress fulfilling all her duties on the estate where she grew up. She had struggled to cultivate her mind, to learn every housewifely accomplishment as well as its masculine counterpart in estate management, but to no avail. None of her efforts had been noticed, much less appreciated.
Helpless sobs racked her slender body as Gareth gently stroked her shining dark hair. He had never known a woman to cry so deeply, and he ached with the desire to comfort her. But he felt powerless in the face of such despair. What could he say that would make any of it less painful? He, too, knew the fury and the hurt of trying to satisfy a parent who would never be satisfied, for whom even the greatest of efforts would never be enough. But he had given up hoping for approval long ago, had given up caring about the good opinion of someone he had come to scorn. Althea had not given up, until now.
“Hush. My poor girl. You must stop crying or you will make yourself ill. Hush, Althea.” He held her close, whispering into her silken hair, stroking her shaking shoulders until at last the sobs had subsided and she lay in his arms exhausted by her misery.
Gently he cupped her chin in one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Of course you deserve better than that, Althea. You deserve the love and respect, the admiration of everyone who knows you and cares for you. But your parents do not know you. They never will. They have deprived themselves of that joy. But it does not mean that you are not valued for who you are by other people. For those who can truly appreciate you, you are the Angel of the Stable, a mistress who is bringing hope and prosperity to the countryside around her estate. I may be crippled for the moment, but I am not deaf, nor am I blind. I see the difference you have made in people’s lives here. I hear the respect in their voices when they speak of you. No, you will never have the appreciation or understanding of your parents, but all on your own, without the benefit of your family connections, you have won the respect and appreciation of everyone around here, and that is no small thing.”
A tremulous smile quivered on her lips. “I expect you are right. And I shall just have to be satisfied with that. The other was a dream, of course, a dream that would never have been realized even if I had done exactly what they asked. But I have done this for myself.” She twisted in his arms to gaze with pride over the green fields stretching off into the distance.
“And Kennington”—he leaned forward to whisper in her ear—“is perfect for you. I am sorry that I took it from anyone, but I am glad you won it back again.”
She did not answer, but leaned back against him and reached up to clasp one of the hands that was holding hers.
The last bit of constraint between them vanished and they sat quietly for some time, silent with their own thoughts but sharing the pain they both had suffered and the deeper understanding that had come along with it. At last she turned to him, her eyes soft with gratitude. “Thank you for understanding.” She laid a finger on his lips as he opened his mouth to reply. “And thank you for being honest with me, for not pretending that in time my parents would come to understand me or care for my happiness. That is what a true friend would do.” Then, still holding one of his hands in hers, she lifted it to her lips and kissed it. “Thank you, my true friend.” Suddenly shy, she replaced his hand in his lap and hurried away.
Chapter 28
Too surprised to react, and hampered by his injured leg, Gareth remained glued to the bench staring at the hand in his lap, a tender smile curving his lips. It was rare that anyone thanked him, especially for something as intangible as sympathy and understanding. Knowing how much it must have cost her, he was doubly touched, first for her appreciation of his honesty and secondly for acknowledging it,
And who could have ever imagined that the Ice Princess would kiss a man’s hand out of gratitude? But as quickly as he acknowledged her gratitude, Gareth admitted to himself that he wanted more than gratitude. With each passing day he wanted her, all of her, more than he could remember wanting even the most seductive of his mistresses.
The unwilling but magnetic attraction he had experienced the moment he saw her had only grown more powerful since he had become acquainted with her. He had hoped that after their kiss, the craving to touch her smooth, white skin, and feel her lips under his own would have been satisfied. How naive he had been. What had been simple desire before that kiss had become an ever-present hunger after it, and he found himself recalling their interlude in the most vivid and compelling detail several times a day. Instead of helping him put Althea out of his mind, that kiss had made him think of very little else.
It was time to get away, time to leave before he lost his soul completely. At the same time, he really did not want to leave, did not want the idyll to end, for he had never been so happy in his life, so content just to enjoy life’s simple pleasures.
The surgeon made up the marquess’s mind for him when he visited the next day. “Well, my lord, I have to admit that I did not think you would follow my advice, but you have, and I would say that if you follow my instructions for your journey just as faithfully, you should be able to make it home in fine fettle. Keep your weight off the leg for another few weeks after that and you should be as good as new. No headaches or dizzy spells, eh?”
Gareth shook his head. The only dizziness he had experienced had nothing at all to do with his accident and everything to do with living in close proximity to a beautiful, desirable, and maddeningly independent woman.
“Good. Then I shall take my leave of you and wish you the best of luck.” The surgeon shook the marquess’s hand and then, nodding to Althea, hurried out the door.
She smiled at the surgeon and then turned back to Gareth. “I expect, then, that you are most eager to be on your way home now that Mr. Warboys has given his approval.”
Was it only wishful thinking, or did he hear a wistful note in her voice? “Yes. I have been gone far too long, especially since I have a two-year-old who will be racing this year at Newmarket. Ditchley, my trainer, is a most excellent man, but it is time I was there to oversee things. What with the other horses in my stable that he is training as well, he has more than he can handle with the race fast approaching.”
“And are you as successful at winning fortunes on the turf as you are in the card room?”
Gareth smiled and shook his head. “My horses are quite a different thing altogether. It is not so much the betting as the breeding, the raising, and the training, especially the training, that interests me. At the moment, what I have spent on building up my stables, purchasing bloodstock, and raising Apollo to fulfill his racing potential is many times over what I could possibly win.”
The light in his eyes and the eagerness in his voice revealed to Althea yet another side of the Marquess of Harwood. Almost boyish in his enthusiasm as he admitted to this heretofore hidden passion, he seemed a very different man from the jaded gambler. It was obvious that horses and racing were his true interest in life, and Althea could not help feeling just the tiniest bit hurt that he had not revealed this side of himself to her before.
Of course, the moment she had laid eyes on his team, she knew that the marquess was a connoisseur of fine horseflesh. His concern for his team’s welfare had only served to confirm the importance these animals held for him. But it was clear that they were a central part of his existence, and now, just as he was on the verge of departure, she was hearing about it for the first time.
Later, as she asked Mrs. Crowder to prepare a hamper for the marquess’s upcoming journey, Althea reflected on how little she had actually learned about the marquess’s life despite their many conversations. All the days they had spent together during his convalescence had been devoted to discussions of her hopes and dreams for Kennington. It had been such a luxury for her to have someone knowledgeable to talk to that she had rattled on like a regular jaw-me-dead. To be sure, she had always confided in her grandmother, but the marquess had more practical and recent experience to share with her than the dowager and, Althea admitted guiltily to herself, it was much more enlivening to share such things with an attractive man whose crooked grin and smiling eyes conveyed a wealth of appreciation and admiration such as she had never before experienced.
Althea had shared her life with him, but until this moment he had not shared much of his with her. This discovery, coupled with the thought of his imminent departure, made her feel oddly bereft.
Sitting on the terrace that evening, enjoying the golden haze cast by the setting sun, Gareth could not help noticing this somber mood and remarking on it, hoping against hope that his leaving was at least part of the cause for it. “You are unwontedly serious tonight, Lady Althea. I should have thought that the prospect of ridding yourself of a troublesome guest and regaining control over not only your time, but your chambers, would be cause for celebration.”
Too honest to admit to anything but the truth, Althea smiled a little sadly. “You are right. I will have more time to devote to my own projects, but I shall miss our conversations.”
And I shall miss you,
her heart added.
Even though he knew how different she was from other women, Gareth had been expecting the standard coquettish denial, and he was unprepared for the effect of her simple reply. A lump rose in his throat as he looked down into her deep blue eyes, eyes that did not dissemble as so many others did but mirrored her every thought. Gently he took her hand in his. “And I shall miss you.”
He longed to pull her to him, to kiss the slightly parted lips, to feel her heart beat against his, to share physically the intangible bond that drew them together wherever they were—ballrooms, card rooms, sickrooms, stables. But he knew if he began, he would not be able to stop with just a kiss.
Fighting for control, he stroked her slender fingers with his other hand. Did she want him as much as he wanted her? Sometimes he thought so. Sometimes as he had lain on his sickbed, eyes half closed, watching the expression on her face as she looked at him, he had thought he read more than simple concern for his welfare in her eyes. He had thought that he had seen the glow of desire flicker in them for a brief moment at least.
But perhaps he had only imagined it, an imagination fueled by his own longing. For he had definitely heard, more than once, the revulsion in her voice and seen the anger in her eyes when she had railed against the greedy, loathsome advances of her unwelcome suitors. Was he just another man to her, someone who threatened her independence and her peace of mind? His rational side told him that he was different from the others, that she trusted him, that she enjoyed his conversation and his company. At the same time, the intensity of his own desire made him unsure of anything, of everything. To someone who had established iron control over his own existence from the moment in his childhood when he had discovered the frailties and unreliability of his own parents, this dreadful state of uncertainty was as unwelcome as it was unusual. Perhaps, after all, he was glad to be leaving Kennington, glad to be returning to a life where he would once again be his own master.
“Come.” He released her hand to strip off his coat and lay it across her shoulders. “The mist is beginning to rise, and I am sure you are beginning to feel the chill.”
There was nothing for Althea to do but acquiesce. Untangling her skirt from one of the crutches that had slipped off the bench, she rose, pulling his coat more tightly around her as she reveled in the warmth and the masculine scent that lingered in it. She sensed that he had been going to say something more, but then had thought better of it. What had he been going to say, or going to do? She almost hoped he would kiss her again, but then again, she was afraid of what her response would be.