“So his tutor said he couldn’t go down to dinner until he admitted what he’d done,” Mrs. Masters went on.
Gabriel’s grandmother took up the tale. “He held out all Christmas Eve, and into the next day. The stubborn fool refused to admit anything—or to lie about it, either. It took his not appearing at Christmas dinner for me to learn the truth. Mr. Virgil had kept everything from me, afraid of being dismissed for not being able to handle Gabriel.”
“Once Gran knew,” Lord Jarret added, “she told Gabriel that what he’d done was wrong, that she would use his Christmas money to pay for another plum pudding at the bakery in Ealing, and then she caned him for stealing. There was no more talk of admitting anything. She realized by that point that she’d never get him to own up to it.”
“That’s because he didn’t do it,” said a small voice from down the table.
Every eye turned to Lady Celia.
“Celia,” Gabriel said in a low voice, “it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does,” she said hotly, her eyes fixed on her brother. “They’ve had it wrong all these years, and I can’t stand it anymore.” She met her grandmother’s gaze. “Gabe never took the pudding. That’s why he wouldn’t say that he did.
I
took it.”
Everyone at the table seemed as surprised as Virginia.
“But the crumbs . . .” Mrs. Plumtree began.
“He put them there to cover it up,” Lady Celia said. “By the time he found me in the kitchen with it, I’d eaten most of it. I was hungry, and there was a plum pudding. I didn’t even realize it was for Christmas dinner.”
“You were barely five,” Mrs. Masters pointed out kindly.
“When he found me devouring it, he chided me for it, and I burst into tears.” Lady Celia cast Virginia a rueful glance. “Gabe never could stand to see a girl cry.”
Her heart full, Virginia glanced at Gabriel. He was staring into his soup, a flush reddening his ears. And it dawned on her that though he might like being the center of attention at a race, he didn’t seem to like it at home.
His clear embarrassment tugged at her heart.
“Anyway,” Lady Celia went on, “he heard Cook coming, so he grabbed my hand and what was left of the pudding and we ran.”
Mrs. Plumtree stared at her grandson. “Why didn’t you just leave her there? Cook would have been angry, but she always had a soft spot for Celia—”
“Celia didn’t know that,” he said quietly. “When I fussed at her, she asked, ‘Will Gran go away because I’ve been a bad girl?’ I told her no, Gran would never find out. Then I . . . just reacted. I carried her off, and I crumbled up the rest of the pudding in the attic.”
But he’d refused to lie and say he’d eaten it. Or to say anything that might raise the question of who really
had
stolen the pudding.
Tears clogged Virginia’s throat.
“Oh, Lord,” Mrs. Plumtree said, her heart in her face. “Celia, girl, I never even knew you feared that I would go away.”
“I thought that Mama and Papa had died because we were bad children,” Lady Celia admitted.
The poor thing! “I understand that,” Virginia said.
“When we were children, Roger used to say that Mama and Papa had left us because we’d been naughty.”
“I told the lad that wasn’t true,” Poppy said gruffly.
“But children feel things in their hearts, even when you tell them they’re not logical,” Mrs. Plumtree said. “It’s hard for a child to lose a parent so young.”
Poppy cast Mrs. Plumtree a long, thoughtful look. “Indeed it is,” he said, his voice softer than before.
To Virginia’s surprise, Mrs. Plumtree dropped her gaze, busying herself with her soup. A discomforting quiet fell on everyone.
Then Mrs. Masters took a look around the table and said, “Well, that story didn’t turn out as planned. It has made you lot very dull indeed and put quite the damper on our dinner. So now I shall have to tell a happier story about Gabe. Oliver, do you remember the time . . .”
She related some tale of Gabriel accidentally shooting a hole in a boat when he and his brothers went hunting, sinking them in the river, guns and all, but Virginia couldn’t stop thinking of Gabriel rushing to help his little sister. Every time she thought she had him figured out, she learned she had no idea of who he was. Could a man who cared so much for his family be all bad?
And did Lady Celia realize the sacrifice he was making just so she would have a future? It was terribly arrogant of him to assume that his sister would be better off married, but he was trying to do what he thought was right. Some brothers wouldn’t if it meant they had to marry where they didn’t wish to.
She studied him as he embellished his sister’s tale with great glee, clearly eager to leave the sad story behind. She didn’t know what to think of him. One moment he was neglecting to tell the truth about his true motives behind wishing to marry her, and the next he was refusing to lie about not loving her.
Because he
could
have lied. He
could
have denied the gossip about his inheritance entirely. His family would clearly have upheld his story. He could even have spouted some nonsense about having fallen in love with her during their two short encounters. Not that she would have believed him, but he could have tried.
He could have lied to Pierce when he’d had the chance, if only to save face. But when Pierce had asked him if he loved her, Gabriel had refused to answer.
His sister seemed to be right. Gabriel was truthful to a fault.
But that appeared to be his only virtue. He was still reckless and wild, willing to do any outrageous thing to win a race. And he still had caused Roger’s death, though her understanding of what had happened became muddier with each new bit of information.
Yet, she fancied him.
She frowned at her soup. Could that ever be enough for a good marriage? Did she fancy him enough to risk watching him kill himself down the road?
Did she fancy him enough to forgive him for his part in Roger’s death?
She simply didn’t know.
H
ETTY
D
ECLINED
dessert when it was brought round. Sweets made her bilious these days, and the last thing she wanted to be right now was bilious. Especially with guests around.
The others seemed pleased by the orange trifle she and Maria had chosen, and the dinner had gone well. Miss Waverly certainly seemed less angry at Gabe.
Meanwhile, Gabriel had turned into jovial Gabe, joking Gabe, reckless Gabe who cared about nothing. It was his way of hiding, and hiding was as destructive for him as it had been for his brothers.
From the time their parents had died, Oliver had ruthlessly bottled up how he felt, suffocating his emotions so vigorously that when they’d finally erupted, after meeting Maria, he’d been an emotional wreck.
Jarret had dismissed his feelings as not useful to his aims, and had turned into a coldly analytical creature who genuinely hadn’t cared about anything or anybody. Thank God, he’d finally met a woman who made him feel safe enough to rediscover the part of him that
could
care.
Gabe’s approach was to battle his feelings. There was no ignoring them or dismissing them. His parents were dead? Fine, he would taunt Death to take him, too. He would scoff at torment and laugh at danger and never count the cost of any action. He would thrash Death into submission.
It was just another way of not facing the pain. Another way of not lancing the wound so he could heal. And Roger’s death had made it worse, adding to the knot of agony that festered just beneath the surface.
The foolish lad thought he could patch it over by marrying Miss Waverly. In his usual reckless manner, he had thrown himself into action, going after her with the zeal he had for every challenge or conquest. He had managed to get far with her, too, until that blasted cousin of hers had come along.
But Hetty was not worried about Lord Devonmont. Miss Waverly clearly preferred Gabe, thank God. What worried Hetty was not being able to tell how Gabe felt about Miss Waverly.
And if she could not tell how he felt, then how could Miss Waverly? Young ladies liked to know where they stood with a man. Especially if they had another suitor waiting in the wings.
Maria rose from the table. “Ladies, shall we adjourn to the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars?”
“Of course,” Hetty said, pleased that Maria was adapting so well to the habits of good English society. The girl might be American, but she had been willing to learn, and Hetty had been happy to teach her.
The ladies rose, eager to be away from the gentlemen so they could talk about babies and nurseries and fashion and all those things that bored men. With two of her granddaughters-in-law expecting, Hetty was just as eager to discuss such matters. She had been waiting for great-grandchildren a long time.
She was the last one out of the door as always, given her slow gait, and the general followed her.
“May I have a private word with you, Mrs. Plumtree?”
The others paused to look back and she motioned them to go on.
Once the hall cleared, she stared at him expectantly. With a glance at the open dining room door, he took her arm and led her down the hall to the library.
“What is this about?” she asked after they entered.
“I congratulate you, madam,” the general said heatedly. “That was very cleverly managed.”
She was not sure exactly what he meant. “Thank you, I think it went off rather well. The soup could have been a trifle warmer, but—”
“I’m not talking about the dinner, damn it! I’m talking about that tale of Lord Gabriel in his youth. I know you engineered that to soften Virginia’s heart toward him. You have a knack for such things.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “While I do indeed have a ‘knack’ for managing people, I did not have anything to do with what occurred at dinner.”
“Really?” he said skeptically. “Just as my girl is being reminded of what sort of creature your grandson truly is, lo and behold, your granddaughter relates a heartrending tale that has her completely besotted again. And you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with that?”
She shrugged. “Even if I had urged my granddaughter to tell such a story about Gabe, she would not have listened. She always does exactly as she pleases. In this case, she wanted to paint her brother in a more attractive light. And since none of us, including myself, had any idea of Celia’s involvement in the incident, I couldn’t possibly have engineered
her
confession.”
Honestly, he was such a suspicious old fool. If he were not also a very handsome old fool, she might have Oliver throw him out.
But she did enjoy looking at a fine man, even one who was nearly her age. Her grandchildren acted as if she were at death’s door, but nothing was further from the truth. Especially when she was around the general. He made her feel like a girl again. And that was worth putting up with his silly suspicions.
He eyed her uncertainly. “You swear you didn’t plan any of it?”
“I only wish that I had,” she said, “since it has impressed you so.”
She was not sure how he would take that remark; his expression was quite enigmatic. But then his face cleared and he gave a reluctant smile.
The man had a lovely smile. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle in a very attractive manner, even if it did hold a trace of smug self-assurance.
“Are you that eager to impress me, then?” he asked in the low, husky voice of a man who has drunk plenty of whiskey, smoked ample cigars, and seduced many a fine female in his youth.
Her late husband, Josiah, had been such a man, and she still missed him sorely. But Josiah had been dead for twenty-one years now. He would not mind if she had a small flirtation.
Not that she wanted the general to know what she had in mind; it never hurt to keep a man off-balance. “I am always eager to impress my guests,” she said blithely. “One never knows when they can be of use.”
The smugness left his smile, but the self-assurance did not. “And how can I be of use to you, Hetty?”
She arched an eyebrow. “I have not given you permission to address me by my given name, sir.”
“Yet you will allow it, won’t you?” He stepped nearer, towering over her. It had been a long time since any man worth his salt had tried to intimidate her, and she found his brazen lack of propriety rather . . . invigorating.
“I suppose I might . . . Isaac,” she said in a silky voice. She decided to test the waters. “Especially since we are soon to be associated through the marriage of our grandchildren.”
That brought a scowl to his brow. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, madam.”
“You said that your granddaughter was besotted with my grandson.”
“Perhaps a little. But she’s no fool. She’ll recognize his true colors in time.”
It was her turn to scowl. “My grandson is not the devil you make of him. He has suffered over young Roger’s death more than you can possibly know.”
“As well he should,” he snapped.
“I agree that it was reckless of Gabe to race Roger on that course, but we both know that young men will act however they please. And your grandson had some culpability in the accident, as well.”
His blue eyes blazed at her. “It appears you and I will have to agree to disagree on this matter.”
She wanted to argue the point further, but the man had his mind set and nothing so trivial as the truth was going to alter it. “I only ask that you not let your foolish opinions keep your granddaughter from a good marriage.”
“Is that what it would be?”
“You think marrying her off to her cousin would be better?”
He gazed steadily at her. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then you are blind, sir. Anyone can see that they do not love each other. Not romantically, in any case.”
“You don’t know anything about them.”
“I know that no matter how convenient it is for them to marry, it is not wise if they are not in love.”
“I married my own wife in an arrangement,” he said hotly, “yet I came to love her deeply. I don’t see why it can’t work for them. They’re already quite fond of each other, and it’s a practical solution to the problem of the entailment.”