Gabriel: Lord of Regrets (15 page)

“The
glory
?” Aaron snorted as desultory thunder rumbled off in the west. “There was mud, and flies, and death, and more of same. I was never so glad to see a man’s face as I was yours when you walked into the hospital tent.”

“Nor I, yours.” This particular exchange was one they hadn’t had yet, and Gabriel was left to wonder why.

“How did you conclude I was trying to kill you?” Aaron’s gaze was on his gelding’s wet mane.

“Had I truly concluded that, I would not be here, or perhaps you wouldn’t.”

“You’d kill me on a whim?”

The thunder sounded again, closer. “Not on a whim. The day I left Spain, still sporting a deal of stitches, I had convinced myself you were the only logical source of my troubles, and still I couldn’t confront you, much less kill you.”

“Why the bloody hell not? It would have saved me a marriage, you know.”

“Not by then.”

“How long were you there?”

Eternities. “Four months.”

“By choice?”

Soldier stopped and shook all over, like a dog, then resumed plodding down the sloppy track. The effect on Gabriel’s back was exquisitely painful.

“The wound was infected, Aaron. There are pieces of my life I can’t recall, save for the pain and humiliation of lying on that cot, too weak to do more than retch and moan. Had the nuns not kept the surgeons from my bed, you would have been faced with my death in truth.”

“The nuns are enough to make a man consider papism.” Aaron smiled soggily while Gabriel watched him mentally calculating what all had gone on in those first four months.

“I couldn’t take all the piety,” Gabriel said, though he hadn’t minded at all that Polonaise had prayed for his recovery. “I vote we change into dry clothing before descending on Kettering. How about you?”

“Likewise. If I catch a cold, Marjorie will hold you responsible.”

“Is your mother-in-law still in Town?”

“She is, and I hope she tarries longer, because Marjorie asked me to have a word with Pillington when we get back.”

“Lady Hartle still has the same land steward?”

“The very same, though I’m sure he’s seen his three score and ten.”

“From what I’ve seen, he’s falling asleep on the box.” Gabriel stood in his stirrups to ease his aching back and thought of Aaron, campaigning for years in weather at least this miserable. “Where Tamarack land marches with ours, the fences are in disrepair, the flocks look small, there’s a spring going to bog near the deer park, and it would make a perfectly suitable location for a cistern.”

“I’m to make him a list,” Aaron said. “I can’t credit why I’m to do this, when Pillington works for the very woman on the verge of suing us.”

Gabriel did not tell him that men in love were prone to contradictory behaviors. “Marjorie sees only that her brother’s birthright is going to ruin. You might consider having a word with young Dantry.”

Aaron’s brows knitted, and a blink of lightning provided an instant’s bright illumination of the dreary landscape. “That is likely the better approach. He has a couple of years of university left, but should be home for the holidays.”

“You could write to him, let him know what’s afoot here. As the current title holder, it likely falls to him to put his imprimatur on any lawsuit Lady Hartle seeks to bring.” Unless his mother’s scheming included a willingness to commit forgery.

“Hadn’t thought of that either. We should discuss it with Kettering.”

“When we’re warm and dry.” They rode along in silence for the last few cold, wet plodding miles into Town, but as the grooms were leading their mounts into the mews, Gabriel mustered a final question for his brother.

“Aaron, if you hated the military, why stay? You could have sold out at a considerable profit at any point.”

“And done exactly what, Brother? Younger sons are for the church, the military, letters, or occasionally, diplomacy. I’m a horseman, so the choice was obvious.”

“To Papa, but what is the choice now?” And why did Gabriel presume to press his brother this way?

“God knows.” Aaron’s boot sent a loose stone skittering down the damp, deserted alley. “I’ve never thought beyond the day you might come back.”

“You had me declared dead. Why would you have been looking toward the day of my return?”

Aaron turned his face to the miserable sky for a moment, then started walking toward the back gardens of the Hesketh town house. “A good question, but I haven’t an answer. Are we going to eat before we take on the men of law, or just change?”

“Kettering will feed us. He’s sly like that.”

“A fine quality in one’s solicitor.”

Yes, but what about in one’s brother?

***

“You might want me to discuss these matters with you separately,” Kettering said.

“Because?” The question came from Aaron, who was sprawled in a chair, having demolished the substantial tea tray offered initially.

Kettering sat at his desk and twiddled a pencil over, under, and between his fingers. He was a big, dark, curiously elegant fellow, and yet, that nimble twiddling spoke volumes about the way his mind worked. “I’m going to ask things like who has had carnal knowledge of Lady Marjorie, for starts, and what exactly you knew regarding the state of her chastity before you married her.”

“Holy Infant Jesus,” Gabriel expostulated from where he’d propped himself against the mantel, back turned to the fire. “Is that necessary? I thought we were going to deal with the title and succession today.”

“We’re facing two suits, which ought to take precedence over your return from the dead,” Kettering said, “at least as far as I can figure. If you are undisputedly restored to your title, Lady Hartle will be that much more motivated to wed her daughter to you.”

“Two suits?” Aaron muttered from deep in his chair.

“At least. The first will be for fraud in the inducement, suggesting you, Lord Aaron, knew or should have known your brother yet lived, and used the false report of his death to gain the title and the advantageous match to Lady Marjorie.”

“And the second?” Gabriel hated to ask, but forewarned was forearmed.

“For specific performance,” Kettering said. “To enforce the original betrothal contract and get Gabriel Wendover to the altar with Lady Marjorie.”

Aaron shot to his feet. “Is there any chance we can reason with Lady Hartle?”

Kettering flipped the pencil to his left hand without missing a beat. “Reason, how?”

“Offer her damned money, Marjorie’s dower lands back, our firstborn, I don’t know, but I cannot countenance violating Marjorie’s privacy like this.”

“Her mother apparently can,” Gabriel said. “Kettering?”

“We will expect negotiations, but from what Erskine has said, we’re not likely to get far.”

“Said to you?”

“Said to Hamish,” Kettering replied, “to whom his initial correspondence was directed. He delivered it himself to Hamish the elder, and as much as confessed Lady Hartle has the bit between her teeth.”

“He’s lost control of his client,” Aaron said, popping the last tea cake into his mouth. “Gentlemen, it seems we are to have a scandal.”

“Scandal is of little moment, Aaron,” Gabriel said, “as long as I don’t end up having to marry your wife.”

Kettering’s infernal pencil came to a halt. “That outcome, at least, isn’t likely.”

“And why should we be shown that bit of mercy by the gods of legalities?” Gabriel asked, his eye on his brother, who had never looked more miserable.

“I’ve done the research. I can’t find a single case where an English court has ordered two people to marry who were both unwilling, not in the past hundred years or so. It shades over into church law, and even the church hasn’t a recent precedent for such a thing.”

“Marjorie might not be
un
willing, despite declarations to the contrary,” Aaron said, tossing himself back into his chair. “With her mother holding a figurative gun to her back, and knowing Gabriel would treat her decently, Marjorie might eventually accommodate the notion. She has younger siblings to think of. Many younger siblings.”

“Have you considered getting her with child?” Kettering posed the question casually and resumed flipping his pencil.

“Getting her…?” Aaron bent forward, face in his hands. “So Gabriel can raise my son, who will disinherit Gabriel’s son? I thought you were clever, Kettering, not perverse.”

“If she’s carrying your child,” Kettering said, “Lady Hartle might back down, because the offspring could be become illegitimate if the fraud suit succeeds. She has to know we’re years away from any judicial decisions.”

“Clever,” Gabriel allowed, “and perverse, also damned risky to the child.” More to the point, he could not confess to Polonaise that he’d endorse such a scheme, and thus it became untenable.

“Risky to Marjorie as well,” Aaron said. “Let’s not pin our hopes on that strategy.”

“It’s just a thought.” Kettering put down his damned pencil an instant before Gabriel would have grabbed for it. “Suit has not been formally joined, so we have time to gather more information. As a starting point, I want you both to make a calendar for me.”

“Of?” Gabriel asked, because lists of sobriquets for Lady Hartle would likely not aid the situation.

“A list of events,” Kettering said. “From the day each of you left England, to the day you showed up in my office. I want you to post anything that could bear on this situation, but your calendar, Lord Aaron, is the more noteworthy.”

“There’ll be a deuced lot of ‘got drunk and cursed my fate’ on my calendar. It hasn’t been a jolly two years, Kettering.”

Kettering reached for his pencil, but Gabriel snatched it up first.

“I want to know when you first feared your brother dead, what steps you took to confirm or deny the rumors, how long you waited before taking legal action. You’ll need to note when Lady Hartle approached you about marrying her daughter, what your response was, who witnessed it, and so forth. Then I’ll need to know who planned the wedding itself.”

“You’re trying to make Lady Hartle look like the hypocrite she is,” Aaron said. “Will that work?”

“Lady Hartle wants what is called equitable relief, not damages, and those who come before the courts of equity are admonished to do so with ‘clean hands.’ Her dainty white hands are not legally any cleaner than my head groom’s, if she was the one to force the issue of marriage over protestations from the principles.”

“Marjorie didn’t protest,” Aaron said, studying the muddy toes of his boots. “She went like a lamb to slaughter, and I protested only behind closed doors, because one wouldn’t want to imply the lady was in any way lacking.”

“So how worried should we be?” Gabriel raised the question Aaron would not voice.

“About scandal, plenty worried, because the very drafting of a complaint starts the gossip rolling, and once it’s filed, you have no privacy whatsoever. About having to marry Lady Marjorie, not very worried.”

Delightful. This was why the Bard recommending killing all the lawyers. “Not very worried is not the same thing as not worried at all.”

“I’m a solicitor,” Kettering said. “Anybody who promises you they can deliver a given outcome in any legal case is lying or preparing to commit a crime. More tea?”

“Hang the damned tea.” Aaron got to his feet. “My thanks, Kettering. This has been enlightening, and depressing as hell. Maybe the cavalry wasn’t the worst place I could have ended up.”

“Right.” Kettering smiled genially. “You might have become a barrister and had to deal with the likes of me regularly, and not simply to pull you through a little scrape.”

“Gabriel, I’m off to fetch the horses, I’ll see you out back.”

He left a thoughtful silence in his wake.

“He’s hiding something,” Gabriel said, pitching Kettering’s pencil into the fire. “I don’t know what, but it’s eating at him.”

“What are you hiding?”

“I’m not sure.” Though he had a strong hunch. “Possibly that I’m trying to woo a female, and I don’t want Aaron getting wind of it yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think there’s a part of my brother that wants to see me married to his wife. Aaron and Marjorie aren’t quite cordial, though he’s never rude to her, never upbraids her in public, never shows her the slightest discourtesy.”

Kettering lifted the lid of the teapot—a delicate, flowery bit of antique Sevres that somehow suited him—then bellowed for a clerk to bring a fresh pot. “Maybe Aaron and Marjorie are reserved. They’ve had a couple of years to burn through their initial lust.”

“Even reserved couples have a private vocabulary of looks and glances, muttered asides, veiled references, that sort of thing. Aaron and Marjorie don’t seem to be a real couple in the married sense.”

Kettering opened his fussy French desk and withdrew another pencil. “Who is this woman you’re interested in?”

Gabriel smiled, because denying any lawyer any answer was that much fun. “She isn’t likely to have me, not at first, so I must wage a stealthy and determined campaign.”

“God help her. You can’t think to offer marriage while suit is pending?”

“I suppose not.” Trust a lawyer to leave a trail of blighted hopes. “What of that other matter, the question of who tried to have me killed, Kettering? Have you learned anything further?”

“I have the names of the men your brother met over pistols.” Kettering opened another drawer, rummaged briefly, and read three names.

“Those names are familiar. Fellow officers?”

“Every one of them served with Lord Aaron in Spain, and was there when you were injured.”

“This does not bode well.” Not that much that went on in a lawyer’s office ever would. “Any idea what they were attempting to murder each other over?” And where was that fresh pot of hot tea when a man faced yet more cold, rainy weather amid the reek and mud of London?

“That’s peculiar.” Kettering shoved the pencil behind his ear and settled his large frame onto the front of his desk, provoking a chorus of creaks from the delicate furniture. “Nobody was hurt in any of the three duels, not a scratch, not a close call, not a near miss, and in each case, the participants were crack shots, experienced with their weapons.”