Chapter 6
It was another enjoyable and useful evening for Corey. Against the backdrop of cards and witty conversation, he furthered his political alliances, listened to some important discussions, made a little money and a few new friends. Blanketing everything, though, was the presence of his wife.
Although it was beneath his dignity and hers to watch her jealously the whole time, he was always aware of her position in the room.
She and Livesey-White never played together and only found themselves at the same table once, when only the most innocent of interactions occurred.
Had it not been for the significant nod Livesay-White had given her at luncheon yesterday, and her quick smile of response, Corey could have imagined himself completely wrong in his assumptions.
He could not doubt there was something between them.
And yet in his heart he knew Gabriella was the honest person he had always believed her to be.
An innocent love for Livesey-White, broken apart by Corey and by her father’s greed, was pitiable.
But he would not stand back and allow it to continue.
And so, when the main party retired, he accompanied her from the room.
“A short walk before we retire?” he suggested, glancing around and finding Barbara Winmore gazing right at him.
“I believe I am too fatigued,” Gabriella said in a bored voice.
Damnation, had she seen and misinterpreted the direction of his accidental glance?
Did she know about his past with Barbara?
Or did she really just want to be rid of him?
Panic that he could lose her forever swept up from his toes.
He was not used to losing when he put his mind and heart into something, but dear God, he was making a mess of this…
“Then allow me to light you to your room,” he said, placing her hand on his arm.
“I remember the way,” she drawled.
“Then you light me to mine,” he said, and almost surprised a smile.
She did not make a scene by refusing, but neither did she chatter with delight as they climbed the stairs, bidding various people good night as they went. In fact, she was regal and distant, and he had never admired her more.
She might have been hiding behind her familiar armor because of Livesey-White. Equally, it could be because Corey had hurt her.
He had let her carry their shared candle, in keeping with his mild joke, and so he led her first to his room, where she lit the candle just inside. He closed the door and brushed past her.
“I was thinking of running into Brighton in the curricle tomorrow,” he said casually. “Would you like to come? We might look at some shops, walk along the shore. I can show you Prinny’s mad pavilion, from the outside at least.”
He caught the flicker of surprise on her brow. For a moment, he thought she would refuse, and the same panic as before began to mount.
“Why not?” she said. “I have never been there.”
“Then that is settled. Shall we go immediately after an early breakfast?”
“Of course.”
Deliberately, he took the night candle from her and walked through the connecting door.
He lit the lamp in her sitting room, then set the candle down beside it. “We seem to have gone one step forward in our relationship, then another backwards. I would be a better husband.”
“Would you?” she asked doubtfully.
He took her gloved hand. “I will try. I know I have been selfish and considered you too little.”
“I do not want effort,” she said with loathing aimed, apparently, at the word more than at him.
“There has to be some in order to understand each other better. We married as strangers.”
“You were not a stranger to me,” she said, gazing at their joined hands. “At least, I thought you were not.”
“I have made mistakes. I’m sorry.”
He let his fingers stray over her palm to her naked forearm and slowly peeled back her glove. Her breath hitched as he bent and pressed his lips to her wrist. Her pulse galloped beneath his mouth, so he let it linger.
Her free hand lifted, and for one sweet, glorious moment, her fingertips touched his cheek as though in wonder.
And then she snatched it back, though her other hand still lay in his. “You have said you are not a complacent husband, that you insist on being the only one—my only one, I can only assume. What exactly is it you suspect me of? Adultery?”
There was plain speaking with a vengeance. He could do no less. “Not yet. Merely of harboring another man in your heart.”
She stared at him, her lips parting in total astonishment. “Me? Who on earth…?”
“Livesey-White,” he said steadily.
Her eyes widened. And then, stunningly, she went off into a peel of laughter.
“Snowy?” she gasped. “Why, he is almost my brother, and a better brother too than any of them except Art.”
“And yet I saw you with him,” he said, hating the stiffness in his own voice. “When we were about to set off on our wedding journey. He gave you something. Something you hid from me.”
A moment longer she stared. “You want to know what it was? Wait.”
Pulling her hand free, she marched into the bedchamber and returned bare moments later with something small that she held out to him. He raised his palm, and she dropped her small, gold locket in it.
“Open it,” she commanded.
Inside lay a small lock of grey hair. Snowy’s hair was brown.
“It was my grandmother’s. She left it to me, and I kept this lock of her hair in gratitude. I defended it from all my siblings all my life until our betrothal, when I pawned it to buy a square of cotton and some silk to embroider you a handkerchief, the only gift I could afford.”
He took the handkerchief from his pocket, where, perhaps foolishly, he always carried it.
“That’s the one,” she said. “Because you understood my circumstance, I thought, you gave me a purse full of gold coins on the day before our wedding. I sent Art to redeem the necklace because I didn’t want to come to you with absolutely nothing.
But being Art, he forgot until the next day, and sent it via Snowy, which was no doubt his idea of discretion.
And you have hated me all these weeks because of this? You truly trust me so little?”
His fingers shook slightly as he closed the locket and returned it to her.
“I was an idiot,” he said hoarsely, “who could not believe in his good fortune in winning you.”
She smiled a little ruefully. “You need not coat it in sugar. I understand. You took a huge risk in marrying into my family. For what it’s worth, I took a risk too. Everyone was at pains to tell me about Lady Winmore.”
“I ended that before I even spoke to your father,” he said impatiently. “Gabriella, why did we never talk?”
“I didn’t know how. My family shouts and quarrels and bullies and—”
“And I believed the worst and ignored you. You must hate me.”
“I tried,” she admitted, dropping her eyes. “Quite hard.”
She would have turned away, but he caught her chin in his hand and raised her face. His heart ached for them both, and yet the moment could not be rushed.
He smiled into her eyes. “Shall we begin again? Let me court you properly, this time, beginning with our trip to Brighton.”
Her lips parted, perhaps in surprise, perhaps in invitation. Either way, he kissed them, softly, and felt the press of her mouth in response.
Happier than he had been in months, his mind found it easy to part for the night, with all the promise of tomorrow. His body objected quite strongly to such abstinence, but he did his best to ignore it.
* * *
Gaby woke with joy in her heart. She had slept better than she had in weeks, and she was eager for the excursion to Brighton with her husband—who had not, it seemed, withdrawn from her because she disgusted him or because she had failed him somehow on their wedding night, but from simple jealousy.
Of Snowy.
Well, looked on from another’s perspective, Snowy was an attractive man. Attractive enough to interest Lady Winmore. Who was not Leo’s mistress.
Leo. She allowed herself to call him by name in her mind once more. He was her husband, and he was at least open to her love.
She rang for Hawkins and was already dressed in her warm carriage gown by the time her husband sauntered through the connecting door, handsome as always in his correct morning dress of buff pantaloons and blue coat, to escort her to breakfast.
“It looks to be a fine day,” he remarked. “A good omen for our trip.”
The morning’s post had been left as usual on the hall table. Leo rifled through it on his way past and took two letters from the pile.
“One for each of us,” he said, passing the thinner of them to her and striding on to the breakfast parlor.
With shock, Gaby recognized Art’s scrawl on the address of her letter. She had forgotten all about the wretched rubies in all the turbulence of yesterday evening. She knew from Snowy that Art had agreed to fetch them back and it was past time she should have heard from him.
She must not give away her excitement. With luck Art could return the rubies to her room, or at least to Hawkins, while she and Leo were in Brighton. And then she could go to her husband’s arms with a clear conscience, and confess her foolishness.
She waited until they had chosen their breakfasts and sat down with the scattering of other early-rising guests, before she unsealed the missive. It was dated yesterday and was extremely brief.
Got them. At the Blue Toad Inn on the Chichester to Brighton Road. Bring money. A.
What the devil was he doing at the Blue Toad? Come to that, where was the Blue Toad?
“Bad news?” Leo asked with some concern.