Chapter Eight
The walk from the stables toward the house offered a rare moment of quiet on an otherwise restless morning.
Gabriel kept his stride even, although his thoughts moved with far less order than his feet.
The broken saddle strap weighed heavily on his mind.
Though he had set the matter aside with outward composure, the evidence lingered behind his eyes.
The cut had been too clean to be the product of wear.
He had seen accidents enough to recognize when something bore the mark of design rather than chance.
Beside him, Genevieve matched his pace.
“I shall request that all tack be inspected again today,” she said. “I believe there is no such thing as overly cautious.
Gabriel glanced toward her, feeling the urge to smile once again, despite his brush with death earlier and the gravity of the task they had just put behind them.
“It will be done before midday,” he said. “No horse leaves the yard without clearance.”
Genevieve nodded.
“I imagine the staff would not wish another incident like the one this morning,” she said.
Gabriel shook his head, willing the lingering nervousness to leave him. It was not a concern for his own life. What if Sophia had been on that horse while it thrashed? Or Genevieve? He thought with a start.
“Nor would I,” he said.
She neither fretted nor dismissed the matter but addressed it with the weight it deserved.
She was proving herself observant, practical, and unafraid of unpleasant implications.
Few women of her station would have stood beside a panicked stallion, let alone watched its master confront the beast without retreat.
He opened his mouth to speak further when a sudden movement to the left caught his notice.
The kitchen garden, set off the gravel path, showed early signs of summer’s full promise, such as rows of young vegetables, herbs growing in tight clusters, and flowering vines trailing along the trellises.
Amid the neatness, Thomas stood. The gardener held a basket of shears and twine, though he made no use of either.
His eyes were fixed on them, and their gazes met.
Gabriel’s spine tensed instinctively. There was nothing overt in the man’s expression, no action to mark him.
Yet something about the stillness rang familiar, like the moment before a musket fired or a blade left its sheath.
He had seen that manner before, in war-torn fields and shadowed streets.
Stillness paired with calculation. A man assessing risk. Measuring angles. Calculating.
Thomas turned back to his work at once, stooping to tend to a row of young leeks with what appeared to be ordinary focus.
Yet the seed of unease had planted itself in Gabriel’s thoughts.
He said nothing aloud. To speak prematurely would be foolish.
The staff had not given him cause for concern until now.
Even so, he noted the moment carefully in his mind.
At the terrace steps, Genevieve paused to adjust the cuff of her sleeve.
Gabriel extended his arm, and she accepted without ceremony.
No coy pretense, no sidelong glance, only a quiet acknowledgment of his presence.
She would make a far better partner in this life than he had dared to expect.
Would she be able to say the same about him?
Inside the house, the warmth of the morning room greeted them with a soft fragrance.
Sunlight touched the polished surfaces and filtered through linen curtains.
Sophia stood near the window, arranging lilies in a tall glass vase.
Her back remained straight; her movements precise as she considered each stem before securing it.
She turned at the sound of their entry, her expression brightening.
“There you are,” she said. “I had begun to suspect the horse had run away with you.”
Gabriel smirked dryly, shaking his head.
“Nearly,” he said. “The saddle strap failed during the ride. The stallion spooked.”
Sophia’s hands stilled against a pale bloom. Her brows drew inward.
“Is anyone injured?” she asked with concern.
He shook his head quickly.
“No,” he said. “The grooms were quick. The horse was brought back under control. Still, the girth strap gave way without warning. I cannot say yet for sure the reason why.”
Sophia set down the remaining flowers.
“That is no minor failure,” she said.
He shook his head again. He had not meant to alarm his sister, but he could see that she was suspicious.
“No, it is not,” he said.
He did not miss the glance that passed between the women, nor the way Sophia’s fingers curled slightly against the table’s edge.
She looked thoughtful, perhaps even wary, but she said nothing further.
He stepped back, allowing the ladies their moment.
Behind his neutral expression, his thoughts pressed forward with quiet insistence.
Whether by malice or mishap, someone had tampered with the equipment in his stables.
And somewhere in the stillness of the kitchen garden, a pair of eyes had observed him as he walked past.
***
The remnants of lunch had scarcely been cleared when the sound of wheels upon gravel drew Sophia’s attention to the window. She caught the glint of sunlight on polished brass fittings and recognized the familiar crest upon the carriage door. Her breath caught.
“James,” she said softly.
Gabriel, already standing, crossed into the entry without a word.
Sophia followed slowly, her eyes flickering toward Genevieve, who looked up from her tea with polite curiosity.
The new countess, as composed as ever, betrayed nothing save mild interest, though Sophia sensed a keener awareness beneath that calm expression.
She had spent little time with her new sister-in-law, but she already held her in considerable esteem.
The footman opened the door just as the carriage rolled to a halt, the horses stamping impatiently.
James descended in his usual manner, fluid and precise, but his bearing lacked its customary ease.
His face was drawn tight, his mouth set in a line that allowed no room for pleasantries.
Even his hat, tucked neatly beneath one arm, appeared more of a shield than a mere accessory.
Gabriel stepped forward, wasting no time as he clasped his friend’s hand firmly.
“Come,” he said softly. “We shall speak in the study.
James gave a curt nod and followed him down the corridor without hesitation. The door closed behind them with quiet finality, leaving the hall unnaturally still.
Sophia turned to Genevieve.
“Something has occurred,” Genevieve said quietly. She did not sound alarmed, but there was a confident concern in her words.
Sophia nodded, swallowing her own worry.
“I rather think so,” she said.
Genevieve’s gaze lingered on the corridor.
“Do you believe it concerns this morning’s unfortunate incident?” she asked.
Sophia did not answer at once. She moved toward the drawing room and gestured for Genevieve to follow.
Once inside, she reached for the small sewing basket kept beneath the window and took up her embroidery.
Her fingers found the needle easily, though her thoughts strayed far from the silk she pulled through the linen.
“If it does, I suspect we shall know soon enough,” she said at last, settling into the rhythm of her work and forcing a smile. “But come, let us not sit idly and fret. I am confident that my brother will handle any troubles. Have I shared the tale of Gabriel’s first pony?”
Genevieve tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her expression. She was clearly surprised by the sudden change in activity, but she sat across from Sophia, unquestioning.
“No,” she said. “I have heard very little about him, apart from his war injury.
Sophia’s lips curved slightly.
“Ah. Then you are in for a tale,” she said. “He was seven. The creature was called Barley, and he bit everyone he disliked, which was nearly everyone. Gabriel insisted he could manage him. Father tried to dissuade him, but you must understand that Gabriel was quite determined.”
Genevieve’s eyes brightened, the tension in her posture easing as she listened. Sophia allowed herself to relax, if only a little, weaving the memory carefully.
“He was all scraped knees, mud-smeared boots, and a wild mop of hair the housekeeper could never tame,” she said. “He marched up to that pony and declared he would ride him by sunset. And so, he did, right after three bites, one tumble, and a good deal of shouting.”
Genevieve laughed, shaking her head.
“I can picture it,” she said.
Sophia nodded, meeting her sister-in-law’s gaze with intensity.
“There is more to him than silence and stern glances,” she said, smiling faintly. “He has always carried more than he ever says aloud.”
Genevieve looked down, her fingers idly toying with the edge of her sleeve.
“I truly believe so,” she said softly. “I can see it.”
The quiet response struck Sophia more deeply than she expected. Something in Genevieve’s tone suggested the beginning of a bond Sophia had not dared to hope for.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees as the sun began to set.
And behind the closed door of the study, something waited.
But in that moment, Sophia held fast to gentler recollections.
Her brother, wild-haired and grinning, determined to conquer a half-wild pony.
Perhaps, in time, Genevieve would help him remember that version of himself again.
***
Gabriel closed the door behind them, the latch catching with a quiet click that seemed to still the air.
He moved past the hearth, gesturing toward the pair of armchairs facing one another across the map-strewn table.
James sat without speaking, his eyes following Gabriel with an intensity that suggested he had not come merely to exchange pleasantries.
Gabriel remained standing, arms folded across his chest, jaw set. He knew that look well enough. It had accompanied far too many conversations he would rather not remember.
“Well,” he said, his voice flat, “out with it.”
James did not glance away.
“Charles is in London,” he said bluntly.
The name fell between them like a stone dropped into water, the ripples immediate and far-reaching. Gabriel did not speak at once. He turned away and walked to the sideboard, though he had no intention of pouring anything. His hand hovered above the decanter regardless.
“I thought he had fled the continent,” Gabriel said at last, quiet but sharp. “Portugal, was it? Or Italy?”
James smirked humorously.
“So the story went,” he said. “But as of last week, he was seen at a gaming hell in Covent Garden. Two witnesses I trust, both of whom are men of discretion. One of them overheard him speaking of an estate he ought to have had. He mentioned your name directly.”
Gabriel’s hand closed around the decanter after all. He poured half a glass, not bothering to offer one to James. The brandy struck the sides of the crystal with a dull note. He drank, the burn welcome.
“That fool,” he said.
James nodded, his nostrils flaring.
“Fool he may be, but dangerous nonetheless,” he said. “He still harbors resentment. That much was plain. And if he speaks openly of what happened, it may not remain a private matter much longer.”
Gabriel moved to the hearth and stared into the grate, though the fire had long since burned down to ash. The room held the memory of heat, but none of its comfort.
“He stole from three men,” he said slowly. “He lied to a dozen more. I had no choice but to sever ties. He nearly brought down that entire venture.”
James gave a short nod.
“You did what was necessary,” he said. “But men like Charles do not remember necessity. Only pride. And loss.”
Gabriel glanced back at him.
“You believe he would come here?” he asked.
James shrugged, though his eyes remained grave.
“I do not know,” he said. “But I believe he bears a grudge. And grudges tend to fester, especially in idle men with no honor left to occupy them.”
The study fell quiet. Outside, a wind stirred the ivy that climbed the east wall, and somewhere down the corridor came the faint echo of feminine laughter. The sound felt at odds with the silence inside the room.
Gabriel turned back to the window. His reflection stared back at him in the glass, drawn tight with memory. He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly forgot James’ presence until he spoke again.
“Watch the servants,” he said. “If he means to strike, he will not do so with his own hand. Men like him never do.”
Gabriel nodded, a memory previously dismissed trying to present itself, but remaining too cloudy to grasp.
“Perhaps you are right,” he said quietly.
They said nothing more. But as the fire guttered low and the shadows stretched, Gabriel felt the familiar tension of watching and waiting, and weighing trust with suspicion, burdening him.
He had thought he had left such things behind.
Yet here it was again, waiting for him in the shape of a man long cast out, returning like smoke beneath a door.
And this time, it was not only his own life that might be wounded.