Chapter 12
AS THE HIRED carriage slowed along Keatley Hall’s outer walls and turned through the arched entrance, Gabriel knew that he would no doubt encounter many acquaintances.
But he was not here to reunite with friends.
Gabriel was here for one reason only: to investigate Mr. Bauer.
He angled his head to look up at the majestic manor house with its red-brown stone, impressively symmetrical facade, and uniform steep gables that soared into the stormy pewter sky.
The sight transported him to the past and opened access to a bittersweet part of his mind that had been sealed for so long.
He’d been seven years of age when he first made this drive.
Over the course of the next several years, the people here became his family—including the Wildes.
Returning to Keatley Hall felt, in many ways, more like a homecoming than if he were returning to his parents’ house in Manchester.
As the carriage rounded the looped drive, energizing activity met him.
Carriages and wagons lined the drive, servants bustled to and fro, and gentlemen—some of whom he instantly recognized—milled about the grounds, but it was the sight of Mr. Wilde standing at Keatley Hall’s main entrance that really made Gabriel feel as if he were stepping back in time.
The wind sweeping down from the west gables flapped the folds of Mr. Wilde’s fawn-colored frock coat. He was speaking with a servant, and he turned as Gabriel’s carriage approached.
He recalled Philip Wilde as a robust man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, but time had robbed him of those brawny features. His hair, which had been fair like his daughter’s and had always needed a cut, was wispy and sparse. His once-ruddy oval face was pale and thin, his shoulders stooped.
The carriage stopped, and the servant opened the door and Gabriel stepped out.
When their eyes met, Mr. Wilde’s bushy gray brows rose. He chuckled and placed his fists on his hips. “As I live and breathe! Dare I say young Gabriel Rowe?”
“Not so young anymore,” Gabriel quipped and extended his hand.
Mr. Wilde laughed again and shook Gabriel’s hand emphatically before he clapped his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Ella told me you’d be attending. I wasn’t sure I believed her, but here you are, in the flesh.”
“I’m grateful for the opportunity to return.” Gabriel handed his satchel to the waiting footman.
“I’m sure you want to rest after the journey, so I’ll not keep you. We’ll speak later, but it is good to see you here, Rowe.”
Gabriel followed the servant in through the main doors, through the screens passage, then to the great hall.
The familiar scent of age, dust, and woodsmoke greeted him.
A fire simmered in the broad hearth on the chamber’s north end, and a faded, rectangular tapestry depicting an ancient pastoral scene hung over the mantel.
Gray light filtered in through the bank of tall leaded windows on the opposite wall and reflected on life-size oil paintings in gilded frames.
Flagstone slabs grounded the entire space beneath his boots, and in the center of the chamber stood a large table.
Ornately carved chairs with faded-crimson velvet pads lined the oak-paneled wall.
He followed the footman through the crowd toward the east staircase, and they began the ascent to the third floor—the attic floor.
Once there, he was engulfed by boyhood memories as he ducked beneath the low threshold and stepped onto the uneven floor.
The floor creaked under his feet with each step, a sound so distinctly familiar it almost sent chills up his spine.
At some point the attic had been divided into small rooms for students, and it appeared that he was to lodge in one of those rooms during his stay.
The footman stopped at a chamber near the end, and Gabriel peered inside.
It was comforting in its plainness. Rough planked floors.
Two low beds on each side of the narrow room.
A small chest with three drawers, a washbasin, and a single wooden chair.
Two hooks hung on the wall, but it was the window that drew his attention.
He’d never been fortunate enough to be in one of the dormitories containing a window.
“Dinner will be in two hours, and the guests will gather in the great hall and ground-floor parlors an hour prior.” The footman placed Gabriel's satchel on the nearest bed and extended the bedchamber key toward him. “Will there be anything else?”
“Yes.” Gabriel tucked the key in his pocket. “Has Mr. Bauer arrived yet?”
“He has.”
“Thank you.”
The footman bowed and withdrew, leaving Gabriel alone in the bedchamber. He stepped to the room’s north-facing window and looked down. The northern gardens stretched to where two large oaks marked the end of the property gardens and the beginning of the woods.
He turned back around and tossed his satchel and hat on top of the bed, then removed his portfolio with his notes. Using the water in a pitcher near the basin, he washed his face, combed water through his hair, and changed from his traveling clothes into dinner attire.
He paused in front of a small looking glass on the chest.
Every so often, he’d see his father in his reflection, and today was one of those instances. They shared so many physical attributes—light brown, almost hazel eyes fringed with thick black lashes and a straight nose with a slight aquiline shape.
It pained him that he could not think of his father fondly. As a boy he’d idolized his father. As a man he despised him.
If Gabriel was honest, his father was even more responsible for his decision to study law than Mary was.
Gabriel would never understand how his father had remained silent while Mary endured such cruelty at the hands of her husband.
His sister’s agony combined with the shock of his father’s inaction was what spurred Gabriel to fight for those who could not fight for themselves.
His passion bordered on obsession, as if he could atone for past offenses by bringing those who wished to harm others to justice.
He reached for the cloth and dried his face.
He had to put thoughts of the past out of his mind, for he had a task to accomplish. He’d convinced Miss Wilde to allow him to attend. She had as much, if not more, to lose than he did if he failed.
Furthermore, another battle raged—one even more incessant than the other.
Gabriel had not stopped thinking about Miss Wilde since their meeting in his office.
She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
Her spirit and zest were attractive to him—her passion for something bigger than herself matched his own.
He related to it in a way that he hadn’t related to anything in a very long time.
It was a rare trait, and one that, if he was not careful, could make him forget his purpose for being here.
Gabriel tied the cravat around his neck and checked it in the looking glass.
Everything he had been investigating regarding Thomas Bauer was about to come to pass, and he had a very small window to find the truth. He owed it to himself and to Miss Wilde to accomplish the one thing he was here to do: protect them from Mr. Bauer.
After leaving a still-distraught Phoebe in Miss Sutton’s consoling company and dressing for the evening, Ella descended the broad, intricately carved east staircase. She trailed her fingertips along the timeworn wooden railing, drawing energy and courage from the house itself.
Despite Ella’s reservations about the symposium, the polite chatter and happy laughter resounding from the rooms below infused her with energy.
The dinner hour was quickly approaching, and as Keatley Hall’s hostess she would be expected to greet and entertain the three ladies who had accompanied their husbands: Mrs. Parker, Mrs. Norton, and Mrs. Shiveley.
In truth there was only one person she was seeking.
Taking advantage of the extra height of the steps, she looked over the top of the crowd gathered in the great hall and the corridor.
Almost immediately she spied Mr. Abernathy across the chamber, near the tall leaded windows at the front of the great hall, speaking with two other gentlemen.
In the two days since their dinner, he’d barely spoken with her.
She’d hoped that in time she would start to feel some sort of softening toward him, or at least find some commonalities with him, but she felt nothing when she looked at him.
Not attraction. Not infatuation or intrigue. If anything, melancholy stole over her.
Ella shifted, but instead of seeing Mr. Rowe, as she’d hoped, she noticed Thomas Bauer talking with her father.
A double-breasted tailcoat of finely textured black superfine broadcloth hugged his full shoulders, and a sizable sapphire pin held his silk cravat firmly in place.
His meticulously groomed silver-streaked jet hair and side-whiskers framed his angular face, but it was the intense—almost mesmerizing—shade of his dark eyes and how they contrasted with his fair skin that demanded attention.
He glanced toward her and stopped talking. Her father pivoted at Mr. Bauer’s obvious distraction, and upon noticing her, he motioned for her to join them.
“Ah, Miss Wilde,” Mr. Bauer declared as she drew closer. “We meet again.”
“Good evening, sir. And welcome, at last, to Keatley Hall.”
“A true honor.” His bow was ostentatiously low, and if possible his grin was even broader when he straightened once again.
She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “You’ve been to Keatley Hall before, if I am not mistaken.”
“I have been, but not since I was a very young man. Your grandfather invited me to visit before my first journey to Austria. It was he who initially piqued my interest in phrenology.”
“That must have been before my time here,” her father added, offering his arm to Ella and patting her hand as she took it. “I daresay it hasn’t changed much.”
Mr. Bauer lifted his eyes to the beamed ceiling and then around the chamber. “It was so long ago, but my most vivid memory of the entire visit was a conservatory. Am I mistaken? Is there one here?”
The mention of her precious conservatory on Mr. Bauer’s lips irked her. “You are correct. It was a wedding gift from my grandfather to my grandmother.”
“Well then.” He smiled and rocked on his toes. “I do hope you will do me the honor of showing it to me again at some point in my stay here.”
“Of course.”
The crowd around them was ever shifting as the guests ambled around the space, and from the corner of her eye, movement distracted her.
Mr. Rowe stepped into the great hall.
Ella’s heart jolted. How handsome he was. How exciting and intriguing.
Mr. Bauer stepped closer to be heard above the others, and the sharp scent of sandalwood almost overwhelmed her and snapped her focus back to him. “I’ve an unusual request, and I hope that you, as the mistress of the house, will grant it.”
She raised a brow, fighting the protest already rising within her.
“It is more of a favor, actually,” he continued. “It would be my great honor if you’d permit me to be seated at your side during dinner.”
The odd request stunned her—one so impudent it could be considered rude—yet she could not refuse. Phoebe’s disappointment at Mr. Bauer’s dismissive behavior flashed in her mind. Perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to learn more. Plus, her father’s eyes were upon her . . . expectantly.
Ella smiled her prettiest smile. “Of course, Mr. Bauer. I shall speak with Mrs. Chatterly and have her make the arrangements.”
He clasped his hands heavily before him. “I am elated.”
Mr. Bauer turned to her father, and Ella did not miss the pleased expression flushing her father’s face. For Phoebe’s sake and because her father had asked her, Ella would be civil toward Mr. Bauer, but her guard was raised.