Passion (24 page)

Artis reached him, hand trembling slightly
when he carefully laid the tied bundle upon the table surface.
“These are letters your mother and I have exchanged, over the
years. They will tell you much more than I can, about the kind of
woman who gave birth to you.”

The Duke stepped back and eyed that fierce
and closed to him, countenance. “Of your uncle, Phillip—there are
one or two which include his salutations. If, after reading them,
you wish to see her. I am sure it would please her beyond
imagining, seeing you at last. Phillip, will welcome you too.”

He next rested that a hand on Raith’s
shoulder, giving it a pat before walking back toward the door.

“Your Grace?”

Artis turned, his eyes as dark as Raith’s,
holding them across the distance. “Yes?”

“I’ll read them.”

Artis felt something inside both squeeze and
then release, a vise that had been holding him many long years. He
smiled and nodded.

Raith drew in a long breath and released it
slowly. His gaze was not wavering. “She asked—about me?”

“Always.”

“You loved her?”

“I did.” Artis nodded again.

“Did she wed?”

“Yes. Very well, and happily. She has two
daughters, your half-sisters. They are in their early teens. Her
husband knows of your birth, our affair. She says she only wed him
because he respected her honesty. She would have no man who would
not accept that she would always hope to see her first born.” He
waved to the letters. “It’s all there.”

Raith regarded him, his hand on a cane
flexing. “Nothing I did after I left…. is your fault.”

His eyes burning, nose too, Artis held onto
his dignity with difficulty. “Yes—It is. Part of it. But I thank
you, for absolving me.”

“You did what you….you followed the Duchess’s
impossible demands and conditions, for me?”

Artis nodded. “I shouldn’t have stayed with
her. Somewhere along the way, things were …twisted. And, guilt, for
what I could see happening, consumed me. Perhaps, I got so far away
from feeling, to protect myself, I did not know how to come back. I
lost…myself, if that makes any sense.”

Raith looked away, and at the letters. “Does
she still write to you?”

Softly, the Duke replied, “Not as often.
Mostly to ask if I’ve found you yet.”

When Raith looked at him, Artis asked
gruffly, “Have I?”

Raith, after a moment of their gazes being
locked, nodded slowly.

Artis did not stop the tears that spilled
over. They were still there, shimmering on his cheeks, when he
quietly left.

In his study, he sat heavily in his chair and
let them silently flow, let the pain melt out of him. The relief
flowed too. When he had gathered himself, he wiped his face, drank
a stiff brandy, and then opened the desk drawer and took out paper,
getting his ink and pen, he wrote: Our son is home…

Chapter 10

Gabriella used her time away from London,
away from the past and the nightmares, to enjoy simple things. She
often rode with the Duke, learning to ride horseback for the first
time. She walked and rambled miles of country lanes with him,
listening mostly as he talked of his welsh ancestors, and about the
estate—which came to him through his wife’s grandfather.

She sat too, just sat, and took in, absorbed,
and just was—in a sense she had never been able to relax or not be
focused or on guard, or worried by something. She would sit in the
sun and fresh air, in a world so alien to her before, where birds
sang and sheep bleat melodiously from the green meadows. Where wind
actually had a sound, grasses sighed and rain danced.

One day—she just started sobbing, and wept
for many long hours. That night, his Grace came to her chambers and
held her, just held her in his arms. Gabriella knew it was all the
tears she did not allow herself in her life, the pain and trauma
she refused to feel. She was glad he didn’t ask, didn’t seem to
need to, and she was moved by his comfort—comforted by his
presence—though she could never explain her reality, her childhood
and life to him, in any way he’d understand those emotions. She
could never explain what every tear was for.

The fact he did not ask bonded them more than
words could have.

When the storm ceased, she felt purged and
drained. After sleeping nearly two whole days, she began the
process of finding herself again. She was aware that her father
watched her. That he was often filled with his thoughts and past
regrets too.

Gabriella did not rebuff him. She listened,
she attended when he recommended a book, or encouraged her to
explore his collection of art. She discovered a love of music
again, and had the heart to actually feel it. He took her to the
local hall and they listened to lovely orchestras and went into the
village where music was always spontaneously played.

He introduced her to the locals as Lady
Caroline’s cousin. Gabriella found she did not mind. She knew he
loved her, and she was getting used to that reality—being loved,
and it was enough. As a child, she had dreamed of meeting him,
living with him, but the reality on the streets, later vengeance
stole that ideal. Now she had that old soul feeling inside, and
knew she could not go back and neither could he. Life, age,
experience, could not be undone. That was why their getting to know
each other and finding acceptance, affection, this sort of bonding,
was a gift to them both.

Gabriella healed in body, and when alone
tried to distance her mind from the worst parts of that time with
Stratton. It was easier to see it as another person, because in
many ways she had been. She’d split herself into two people, but
then…she had done that for many years. She tried to work on
herself, her emotions, her thoughts and reactions. She knew that
facing the dark and the light was the only way to move past that
and heal.

She spoke to locals and was curious about
much of the country life, fascinated, honestly. People were
occupied with the basic things, planting, harvest, earning their
bread, and at least on the surface, they seemed to have
uncomplicated lives. Although she was sure as individuals, it was
likely not so simple. Still, it was good for her to see something
besides the reality of her past and the existence she’d had in
those dark and shadowy alleyways. Yes—in her own self-created-world
afterwards.

She was a woman fully grown. There was as
much of her thoughts and life, entwined and merged with Raith
LeClair. Much more than she would not likely have admitted had she
not had this first separation from him.

Distance, and the end of their vengeance was
slowly wiping away the blur and shadows. His face came to her, his
dark eyes often. Everything was clearer, crystal, and unlike their
relationship, he was always looking right at her, seeking, asking
perhaps? She told herself that it could all be her fancy or her own
emotional residue….But they had an unbreakable bond, forged for
good or ill, and he was much of who she became….

In the frame of those days with her father,
Gabriella was also somewhat amazed by Lady Caroline as naturally
the Duke often spoke of her. There was not one tale of mischief or
flaw in her growing up, according to David. Although to be fair,
Gabriella had seen something more in that first meeting, and was
thinking perhaps a parent was not the most unbiased of a son a
daughter’s character. Still, she found the contrast in their lives
fascinating. She sometimes wondered if Lady Caroline privately
missed having her mother in her life—who by her portrait in the
library, looked to be a handsome woman. The Duke told her that his
wife had her own life with her lover, who she lived with until
death. Something she gathered he had not told his daughter. It made
Gabriella all the more aware that David Bordwyc truly had only
loved one woman in his life, and never settled for another. That
woman, was her mother. Knowing herself as a woman, she rather
thought Caroline was likely more than her daughter self. There was
a woman self separate from that. She had told Gabriella she had
been searching for her. Something the duke did not know. It warmed
her to think so, now. She was glad someone had thought of her.

In time, Gabriella was more frank about her
life, honest in telling what they suffered on the streets. She
sensed the Duke was most curious about the years she lived with
Raith, and planned with him, but he did not probe beyond what she
hinted at. In the end, they found a mutual place to respect each
other, even love each other.

Part of that was poignant, because he had to
come to terms with the fact he could not go back and be her father,
or change her fate or the wisdom she had gained the hard way.
Moreover, she could not depend upon him as a father beyond a
certain point, because she was grown in every sense, and had much
of her mother’s independent spirit.

Gabriella did not want rescued. She wanted to
find peace, to live life and be able to make her way through it.
She wanted—in her private moments, to hear her mother’s voice, and
see the colors of life again, and hear the music from childhood,
and to feel it in her soul.

Through dinners or walks, sometimes just
sitting and watching it rain, they learned much of each other. In
time they laughed, shared some of the same humor, surprisingly. It
was in these moments that Gabriella knew he too would be all right.
David would be able to reconcile with Natasha’s death and move
forward. So too, would she.

She told him, one day, “You need to love
again. That is when you will be free and healed. When you love in
the right way, and can give and receive what you need from it.”

He had grinned softly but merely replied,
“Perhaps.”

After she had been there a month, Gabriella
received a brief missive. Her father brought it to her, and then
stood a bit off, admiring the fresh blooming roses, to give her
privacy.

It was from Raith and read:

I hope it was all right, I buried your mother
at my estate, in Cornwall. Her stone is fashioned of marble, and
decorated with flowers and birds. It has a simple inscription:
Natasha Druitt, mother of Gabriella (Tara) Beloved of David. Here
lies the Gypsy, who forever dances on the waves… and sings on the
wind.

Her tears splashed on the note. Gabriella
wiped them away and then walked to the Duke, handing it to him.
After he read it with a heartbreaking smile on his face, Coulborne
pulled her to his side.

Gabriella’s arms went round him.

The scented wind wafted over them—a voice
hummed familiar in her soul. Peace, Gabriella thought, it was the
sweetest peace, in the sound of her mother’s voice.

Later that evening, the Duke studied her at
dinner.

“
You must go
back?”

Startled, having fallen into a muse on Raith,
Gabriella looked up from her plate and nodded. “I must.”

He went back to the meal, saying sometime
during, “Caroline can help you with refurbishing your wardrobe. Now
that you can ride, we’ll get you a town mount from tatters.”

As he went on, Gabriella listened, her heart
fluttering though because it was not really about clothing or
horses—and they both knew it. She was not born to be part of the
world even he found little personal happiness in. she was born to
create her own. It was about answering the other questions she
could not anywhere else.

~~

“You abandoned me!” Caroline accused Harry,
having rushed through her door.

“Caroline.” Harry laughed and came to take
her hands.

But Caroline wailed, “You have no idea what
has gone on in my life of late. You were my friend, Harry. And you
have... You’ve... missed everything.”

The lady was clearly upset. “There, there,”
Harry drew her in a hug. “I am sorry. I’ve had a nasty bug…”

“Pooh. You’re never unwell, Harry.” Caroline
pulled back and whipped off her hat, tossing it on a stack of
books.

Taking off her cape, she further said, “You
missed it. The night of the fire, and Gabriella—is who we were
looking for. My half-sister. She was brought to our house, and now
father is in the country with her.”

Turning she went on, “She was in dreadful
shape, but she is as beautiful as we imagined. And, I was happy to
have met her, but there was all this goings on, that…”

“Slow down, Caroline.” Harry pressed a glass
of wine into her hands.

Caroline did not “….Goings on…that no one was
really speaking of. Not that I was permitted to ask anything. But
then, I have had my own adventure, Harry. And, oh, it
was—is—glorious. I cannot explain to you how it feels. Although, I
have not had that feeling in weeks. Weeks, I tell you, because
before he left, father summoned Jules and—“

“Jules?”

“Lord Stoneleigh.” Caroline waved her hand,
not noticing the look on Harry’s face. “He summoned him, because
there’s that whole bit with his brother, and the scandal, and the
fire. I agreed with father that I should be seen about in society.
I did not particularly mean what he meant.”

Caroline took a long drink of the wine and
paced. “I tell you, Harry. I cannot go on with this forever.
Stoneleigh agreed with father that he should escort me. There is
sense in that, I agree, given that his brother— but then, there is
the Captain. Oh, I miss him. Stoneleigh takes this blasted escort
business so seriously, I’ve not had a moment to slip away.”

“The Captain?” Harry was pouring herself an
even stronger, more generous drink.

“My adventure. Another thing you have
missed.” Caroline turned to her, her eyes earnest. “Although ‘tis
not really. I mean it is real, more real than anything. And,
God—Harry. I just know that father wants me to wed Stoneleigh—“

“Wed!" Harry choked on her drink.

“Everyone likely does. It makes perfect
sense. Even to me, it makes sense. It doesn’t anymore though.”