Chapter 2
By the morning, Gaby’s spirits had revived to the extent that she actually looked forward to spending several hours alone with the marquis in his extremely comfortable traveling coach.
She was glad he had chosen not to ride, and that her maid would travel with Corey’s valet and their baggage in the other coach.
His horses and his favorite curricle would also travel in their cavalcade, and they would be protected on the road by his own outriders.
Gaby knew she looked well in her new carriage dress of dark green wool with its warm matching pelisse and elegant little chip hat.
“Good morning, my lady,” he said, smiling as he bowed and handed her in. They had elected to break their fast on the road rather than at home, so it was their first encounter of the day.
“Good morning, my lord. It is indeed a fine day.” She clasped his strong fingers and stepped up into the carriage.
A large hamper sat on the opposite seat. Corey climbed in and sat beside it, with his back to the horses. The civility gave Gaby the opening she wanted for a casual, friendly overture.
She shifted a little to the left and indicated the space beside her. “Please, be comfortable, my lord. There is plenty of space.”
“Thank you.” He rose and sat beside her instead.
Immediately, despite the inches between them, she felt his nearness like a magnet, at once disturbing and deeply pleasurable.
The horses set off down the gracious drive at a good pace—Corey preferred to travel as quickly as comfort allowed.
Sweeping around the bend, the carriage swerved to avoid a solitary horseman on his way up.
The horseman halted and removed his hat, allowing Gaby an unwelcome glimpse of Nicholas, probably her least favorite brother.
There was no affection in his nickname, Young Devil.
It was merely to distinguish him from their father, the Old Devil.
“What on earth is he doing here?” she said, scowling.
“Do you wish to stop?” Corey asked politely.
“Lord, no. We’ve had a lucky escape.”
Corey eyed her with amused puzzlement. “There really is no love lost between any of you, is there?”
“No. They are unrelievedly awful. Except Arthur, who only has awful tendencies. Like me.”
He smiled. “And what are your awful tendencies?”
“Levity,” she said lightly. “And an attraction to mischief. Although beneath this worthless exterior, lurks a deeply serious nature. Like yours.”
“You find me serious?”
“You are, about some things. Your parliamentary causes for one—oh, I meant to say, if you are still looking for Lord Barhead’s support for your Bill, I can probably extract a promise from him at the party.”
He blinked. “How on earth will you do that?”
“He’s a friend of my father’s, and I am more than a pretty face. You should make use of me.”
His brow twitched. “You’re my wife, not a spare piece of furniture.”
“I see myself as more of a secret weapon.” She spoke lightly, to disguise her fear that he would reject her with contempt.
Instead, he continued to regard her as though intrigued. “I didn’t know you had an interest in Parliament and politics.”
“Well, there are many things about me you don’t know.”
Their eyes met and held, and her heart began to beat harder.
“I would like to,” he said softly, and she smiled with true happiness.
Oh yes, there was hope.
* * *
Gaby enjoyed the journey to Normanton more than she had enjoyed anything since her wedding night. They talked of his Bill, of his parliamentary allies and enemies, and how to change the minds of the latter. The discussion was not without humor and their laughter led them down lighter roads.
Their al fresco breakfast brought them physically closer.
Her heart leapt foolishly at every accidental touch, and she did not move away.
Neither did he. Gaby was enchanted, for that secret smile was back in his eyes.
She loved his dry, subtle humor that was rarely unkind.
During their brief courtship between betrothal and marriage, this had been a revelation to her who had grown among loud, jeering people focused entirely on their own pleasure.
Once, when they were discussing the entertainments likely to be on offer at the party, she said lightly, “The rubies are even more beautiful than I expected. Thank you for trusting me with the family treasure.”
He looked for the jest, of course, and she didn’t blame him. She had used flippancy as protective armor too often.
“I mean it,” she said ruefully.
“They’re more than family treasure. They are my gift to you.”
Pleasure brought a flush to her face. Impulsively, she touched her cheek to his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then, afraid he would dislike such a demonstration, she straightened. “Should I save them for the grand ball?” she wondered. “Or tease the company with a few pieces beforehand?”
“Whatever amuses you.”
She was actually sorry to arrive at Normanton House, a large and gracious property, but the excitement stayed with her. She could swear this new friendliness was not mere politeness on his part. He did seem to genuinely like her still.
Which begged the question, why had he drawn away from her after that first night? Had she disappointed him so badly in bed? Or in other ways?
It doesn’t matter, as long as we are truly together now…
They arrived late in the afternoon, and both host and hostess greeted them warmly.
“Welcome to Normanton House,” Lady Sommerville cried. “I quite feel you have handed us the coup of the year by your presence.”
“I trust your journey was unremarkable?” Sir Peter added. “We’ve had bother with a highwayman on the Brighton roads.”
“Really?” Gaby was almost disappointed to have been spared such excitement until she realized that such a miscreant would almost certainly have stolen the Corey rubies. And the pearls.
“I expect your outriders made him think twice,” Sir Peter said with approval.
“Come, I’ll show to your rooms,” Lady Sommerville said. “Where you may rest in comfort before tea, when you will meet all our other guests. I do hope you will be comfortable…”
Gaby had been sure that, in a house so full of guests, she and her husband would share a bedchamber. But she had reckoned without their rank. The marquis and marchioness were given their own rooms, each with a sitting room.
Just like at home, they had no need ever to meet except in company.
Her trunk already sat alone in the middle of the floor. She sat on it and watched Lady Sommerville bustle off with Corey. After the unexpected fun and companionship of the journey, loneliness was closing in.
She rose only when Hawkins, her maid, walked briskly through the sitting room, looking critically about her, and into the bedchamber.
“Not bad,” Hawkins pronounced. “Let me put all your things away, my lady, and then we can get you dressed for tea.”
Where is Lord Corey’s room? she wanted to ask the maid, but didn’t dare.
She was dressed in an elegant white muslin and was crossing the sitting room calling to Hawkins for her reticule, when a door she had never even noticed opened in the wall paneling and Corey himself wandered in.
“Ah,” he said. “Forgive the intrusion. I wondered where the door led.”
“A secret door!” Gaby exclaimed, rushing past him to see.
“Merely connecting to my rooms, which appear to mirror yours. In a much more lordly, masculine way, of course.”
She laughed, for a connecting door was better than none.
“Shall we go down to tea?” he suggested, offering his arm.
“We shall.”
It felt good to walk into Lady Sommerville’s drawing room on her husband’s arm, with the return of friendliness at least between them. Although Gaby gave no sign of it, she spotted Lady Winmore at once.
A glacially beautiful young widow with shining gold hair, perfect features, and unsurpassable grace, she was everything Gaby was not.
Naturally, she was surrounded by gentlemen, including Art’s friend, Snowy—otherwise Mr. Algernon Livesay-White—who cast her a quick, almost sheepish grin as she entered.
A positive sea of introductions followed.
Gaby knew very few of the guests, but she refused to play the country mouse.
Having grown up without discipline or lessons in etiquette —there had not been money to pay a governess by the time she had come along, and her mother had rarely been in residence—she had little chance of impressing the company by her manners.
But the marquis had liked her as she was and that would have to be good enough for the rest of the company.
So, she made the effort to loosen her tongue, to make people laugh and to say what she thought.
No doubt some thought her opinionated and eccentric, but on the whole, they seemed to like her.
Once, she caught laughter in the marquis’s face and a definite gleam of approval, which meant even more than the fact that Lady Winmore’s gaze lingered on her too often.
Snowy ambled over with his teacup to greet her. “I don’t mind telling you,” he said confidentially, lowering himself into the just vacated place beside her on the sofa, “I’m very glad to see you here. Not really my sort of gathering.”
“Too tame for you, Snowy?” she teased.
“Oh, no, some great fellows here. It’s doing the pretty all the time that wears me out.”
“If you don’t like her, don’t do it,” Gaby said seriously. “It isn’t fair on either of you.”
“No, but look at her, Gab,” he breathed with rare reverence. “She’s so perfect, so… unattainable, and yet she smiles at me.”
“Why?” Gaby said. “I’m not saying you’re not an amusing fellow, Snowy, because you are, but is she truly considering marriage with you?”
“I think—I hope—she wants to settle down. Corey…” He broke off, clearly appalled. Blushing furiously, he glanced around to be sure no one had overheard. Since the tea party was breaking up, there happened to be no one near them.
“Lord Corey is married to me,” Gaby said flatly. “And you are worth more than a consolation prize.”
“I told Art you would know all about his past,” Snowy said with apparent relief. “Thing is, it isn’t good for either of us if they are thrown together again. You and I could help each other, keeping them occupied.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “Are you suggesting I seduce my husband just to give you a chance with her? Have you no pride?”
“Sh-sh,” he hushed her frantically, urging her to her feet. Everyone else was on their way out the door. “I’m just saying, you’re still newly wed. No need to make a cake of yourself, but—”
“Likewise,” she interrupted.
“I need an ally, Gab,” he said frankly.
So do I…
* * *
After a pleasant walk about the formal gardens, escorted by their host’s brother, Captain Somerville, lately of the Royal Navy, who was a particularly charming young man, Gaby repaired to her bedchamber.
She felt exhilarated by the pleasure of company after her weeks of isolation, by her first social success, and most of all by the fact that her husband had not gone near Lady Winmore.
She had an ally in Snowy, even though she suspected the widow smiled upon him largely to annoy Corey.
And she was looking forward to dinner, when she hoped to further win her husband’s approval and notice.
Hawkins had laid out two evening gowns for her to choose from. “The one with the scarlet trim on the bodice,” Gaby said at once. “It will look delightful with the ruby earrings.”
“What ruby earrings?” Hawkins asked blankly.
“They’re part of the set, the Corey rubies in the leather case.”
“Oh.” Hawkins stared at her, her pale skin whitening further. For the first time in their acquaintance, she looked both anxious and guilty. “I didn’t bring them, my lady. I thought you’d left the case out for Scrivens to put in the vault.”
“They’re not here?” Gaby said, wilting a little, for her husband’s words had wrapped themselves warmly about her heart.
“They’re more than family treasure. They are my gift to you.”
She had meant to show him how much she valued that gift.
Hawkins shook her head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t know you wanted them.”
“It isn’t your fault,” Gaby realized. “I didn’t tell you.” She had been so full of them herself she had just expected the maid to know. Stupid, stupid…
“You can send for them,” Hawkins said eagerly. “Then you’d have them for tomorrow evening, or at least, the day after.”
Gaby straightened. “Of course I can! Excellent idea.”
Only then she remembered something else that knocked the breath out of her body.
Her brother Nicholas had arrived at Sanford Park just as they had left. What if he, like Art before him, had simply walked into her sitting room and seen the jewel case sitting there on the table…
Art wouldn’t have touched them. But Nicholas, not known as the Young Devil for nothing, would pocket them without a second thought. He’d pawn them, even sell them… Her blood seemed to turn to ice in her veins.
“He trusted me,” she whispered.