Authors: Compromised
The Earl grew silent with this new information, but she could see the gears turned rapidly in that still sharp brain. She had grievously insulted the Earl…she had spoken so far out of turn Max would have her head for what she revealed. All those things he had told her in confidence! But she would not be sorry for defending him to the man that was staring at her so intensely, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.
Gail, in turn, stared back.
She was about to go and ring for a servant—even if the Earl didn’t want tea, she needed something, anything to do—when he cocked an eyebrow (so like his son!) and gave a smirk of dawning understanding.
“If you…” He stopped, cleared his throat, and began again. “You defend him,” he said simply. She replied with a curious nod. “You defend him,” the old man elaborated, “with a good deal of feeling.”
Gail felt the blood drain away from her face. “I…I…well, Max, er, we’ve spent a great deal of time…”
A wolfish smile cracked the Earl’s wrinkled lips, revealing a skeleton’s grin. “And yet, you will be condemned to a life as merely a sister. Won’t you?”
Abruptly she stood. “It is none of your concern. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll check on the tea tray.” She moved to the door, but a beleaguered cry of “Hold on there, girl!” stilled her hand upon the knob.
She turned her steely gaze to the source of the cry. The Earl had stood up too quickly on shaky legs, walking after her while leaning heavily on his cane, his breathing labored.
“I’ll…chase you down, child…don’t…doubt it,” he said with shuttered breaths.
Gail, far from being coldhearted, could not help but be affected by the Earl’s state. Her features softened as she hurried to the Earl’s side. Taking his arm, she led him back to the fire and assisted him in taking his seat.
“Thank you, my girl,” the Earl said, sounding so rusty that Gail wasn’t sure the man had thanked anyone in the past fifty years. Gail smiled tightly in reply, leaning over the Earl to adjust the cushions. As she did, he caught her arm, stilling her movements and bringing her attention to his face. He regarded her again for a breath of time, not judging, but with consideration.
“You have more heart than I’ve seen in a woman for many years,” he said quietly.
Gail quirked a brow. “You met me but ten minutes ago, sir, and I’ve spent a good part of that time insulting you.” She gently removed her arm from his grasp and resumed her seat.
“Still, if I ever had anyone defend me the way you did my son…” He let his voice trail off wistfully. Then he shook his head, as if to clear himself of troubling thoughts.
“My son,” he declared in a strong voice, “is a fool.”
“Lord Longsbowe,” Gail bit out in protest, but was interrupted before she could start her argument again.
“Miss Alton. My son and I may be estranged. We are different people, which is a fact that I was forced to contend with long ago. But I still have eyes, and I can still call him a fool if the occasion warrants it. And I assure you, my son is a fool.” The hardness had returned to his green gaze, and Gail, for one of the few times in her life, thought better of voicing her opinion on the matter. Her temper was pricked, but so was her curiosity. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why Max was so foolish, but just then a sharp knock on the door interrupted the tension of the room. Mrs. Bibb entered, bearing the tea tray. She placed it on the small table next to Gail, and with a pointed look at that young lady, left. However, when Gail made to pour, the Earl held up a hand.
“I cannot stay,” he said, making to rise. “If you could…”
She was at his side in a trice. Helping him stand, she took a good deal of the Earl’s weight as she assisted him to the doors.
“You are too strong for a female,” the Earl grunted. Gail simply smiled and took more of the old man’s weight.
“One of the many benefits of being unfashionably tall. Also, I can block people’s views at the theater.”
“And too much cheek,” the Earl retorted.
Once at the door of Number Seven, the Earl transferred his weight with dignity to his valet, who had been waiting in the carriage. Gail said her farewells with a curtsy, while the Earl simply inclined his head.
“Good-bye, Miss Alton.” He bent his creaky frame into a bow.
WHAT
a curious exchange, Gail thought as she quietly banked the fires in the overheated drawing room with an iron. The man had been here but minutes, yet he left her with a great deal of conflicting thoughts. In her ill-advised defense of Max, Gail had listed any number of things that the Earl might have denied, yet he did not. His actions regarding his son, trying to hold him back, were
deplorable
—there was no other word. And yet, when the facade of steel and stone cracked, Gail felt more than a little sorry for the old man.
She sat in the chair she had previously occupied and stared into the fire, conscious of the swollen emptiness of the room without the Earl sitting opposite. He thought he was acting in the best interests of his fool of a son, Gail realized. He had probably always thought that, even when his actions were the most grievous. Perhaps he saw the pain he had caused in the past. He certainly saw a great deal when she had slipped and defended Max. Gail felt the heat rise in her cheeks, in no way related to the height of the fire. She worked so hard to make certain her feelings didn’t show, and yet this stranger had seen through her as easily as water. She
was
condemned to a life as the sister of the perfect Evangeline. How could he call Max a fool, and not she?
Before Gail’s thoughts could follow down this troubling path any farther, the drawing room doors burst open, admitting a breathless and somewhat harried Romilla. Evangeline followed just as impatiently at her heels.
“Abigail! The Earl! Is he here?” Romilla asked immediately.
Gail rose from her chair and reverie. “No, ma’am. Er, he sends his compliments, but could not stay long.”
Romilla’s face fell. “Oh dear,” she said, on a great exhale. After a moment she shrugged, picked at the knot of her bonnet, and moved to the couch, Evangeline following suit.
“Now, you will simply have to tell me everything you and Lord Longsbowe spoke about. Heavens, it is warm in here, is it not? Oh thank goodness, you’ve ordered tea—Mrs. Holt, the dear woman, is unfortunately saddled with that German faux-French chef who tried to serve us sausages slathered in the most curious sauces for luncheon! Her son kept sneaking his to the dog. Mrs. Holt said it was unfortunate Lord Fontaine wasn’t in attendance, for he is the only one that can convince the chef to cook a good English meal. Abi—, I mean, Gail, please pour and start at the beginning.”
Gail’s head swam from trying to follow her stepmother’s lengthy speech, but one thing had stuck. As she prepared cups for her sister and stepmother from the tray that Mrs. Bibb had placed for the Earl only minutes before, she turned her innocent inquiry to her sister.
“Lord Fontaine was not in attendance?”
“No,” replied Evangeline. “William—Mr. Holt—said that he was locked in his rooms on Weymouth Street, working on some new translation. William, that is, Mr. Holt declared that if he had been there, he would have run here to intercept his father faster than horses could carry us.”
“As he should, Evangeline,” Romilla lectured. “I don’t understand your betrothed half the time. He should have introduced us to his father long ago. I had no notion the man was even in town! But now that the Earl has visited, hopefully it means he is accepting of the union.”
Suitably cowed, Evangeline ducked her head and took a sip of tea. Satisfied in her daughter’s deportment and a proper English cucumber sandwich in hand, Romilla again addressed the issue of Gail’s conversation with the Earl.
But on that subject, Gail found herself deeply conflicted and could not honestly relate what had been said. So she resorted to making up a number of vague compliments and inquiries, which would not satisfy Romilla nearly as much as the cucumber sandwich.
“
EVIE?
”
Gail knocked on her sister’s door quietly before sticking her head in. She saw her sister by the window, staring as the carriages and people went by in the late afternoon traffic on the square. It took a moment before Evangeline became aware of her sister’s presence, but once she turned, she smiled genuinely for the company.
“I…I was wondering if you wanted to hear more about the Earl’s visit this afternoon,” Gail began, as she seated herself on her sister’s bed. She was the tallest female in the house, and yet Evie’s bed was so high, her feet dangled off the edge, making Gail feel extremely childlike. To be honest, she didn’t think there could be anything more to be said about the Earl’s visit—it had been extremely short, after all—but it was the best way she had come up with to introduce the topic she desperately needed council on: Max.
For, in the intervening time since the Earl’s departure, Gail’s mind had been swimming with all the truths that man had presented her. And the largest, most looming one was the fact that if she let her emotions have their full rein, she would be condemned to a life as a sister. She didn’t want to spend her life pining for what she couldn’t have. Therefore, the only way she could see herself ever moving past her feelings, was to confess them.
To Evangeline.
She knew that in time, she would get over these silly notions. She also knew, that in time, her sister would forgive her for developing a friendship with and subsequently an inappropriate affection for her husband. And she knew that all of this would only occur with a first step.
Still, it didn’t mean that step would be at all easy.
“Yes, the Earl,” Evangeline was saying, breaking into Gail’s nervous reverie. “Romilla is right, it is appalling that we haven’t seen him until now, but now that he’s called, we can return the gesture. Do you think we should stop by during our rounds tomorrow and leave a card?”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Gail replied quizzically, her brow furrowed. “Ma—er, Lord Fontaine and his father are not on the best of terms.”
Evangeline looked questioningly at her sister.
“But surely, you know that,” Gail finished.
“Actually,” Evangeline said, looking to her toes, “I didn’t know that. Obviously.”
Gail was about to open her mouth, about to start stumbling over her confession, when Evangeline’s head came up, and with watery eyes, made one of her own.
“I guess I’m not a very good fiancée, am I?”
“Evangeline, darling—that cannot be true.”
“Yes it can,” her sister continued. “I assure you it can. As evidenced by the fact that I did not know of Lord Fontaine’s relationship with his father, nor did I care to find it out.”
“Evie,” Gail began, wishing to reassure her sister, “all that stuff comes with time—”
“I know!” Evie cried. “Time is what we were given! Granted the boon of a full month, spent in each other’s company, in an attempt to get to know one another, to become comfortable with each other—and the only thing discovered in that time is a gulf of differences and disinterest.”
“I fear,” Gail ventured, gulping, “that some of that gulf, a, erm, good deal of it, actually, might be my fault.”
“No, Gail”—Evangeline waved off her protest—“I asked you to be present, remember? I asked you to be my support, and support you have! I am dissatisfied through my own efforts, believe me. None of this is your fault.”
Gail could only stare at her sister—this was certainly not how she intended this conversation to go. “Surely—surely, you’re not so unhappy?”
Evangeline stood now, began pacing, wearing the carpet with her eyes as much as her feet. “No, but I…I just wish I’d never ventured into the conservatory.”
“Oh Evie!” Gail sighed, hating that she had on more than one occasion wished the same thing, and hating her task now, “but that night, with the moonlight—you said then it was magical, entrancing…”
“Yes, darling, but the problem with moonlight is one has to live in the day. And that’s the fundamental difference between romance and love. Romance is moonlight, it’s the trappings of desire…”
“And love?” Gail could barely pitch her voice above a whisper.
It was many moments before Evangeline could answer. But when she did, it was with great, still feeling. “Love…love is understanding. Love is knowing that other person so well, you can anticipate them. Like if someone knows you’re uncomfortable, and they loosen your boot strings. Or if he knows you’re deeply worried about something, and does his best to remedy it and soothe your fears. Love…is need! Needing that person in your life, day after day, whatever ups and downs may come, wanting their presence, and they wanting yours, because it’s the only way either of you will ever feel whole.”
For a moment, Gail couldn’t speak. Then, “And…and Max does not make you feel this way?”
Sadly, Evangeline shook her head. “No. He does not. And I doubt I inspire any such feelings in him.”
She looked to the window for a moment, her figure framed in the falling light. “I am reconciled to the fact that I will not love my husband. I’m certain, that…that we’ll have an amicable enough relationship. I know, he’s not a bad person. But Gail,” her voice became hitched as the deep pools of her eyes threatened to spill over, “is it so wrong, so foolish, to wish for something more?”