Chapter 14
The morning after they arrived, Heathbrook came down to breakfast at his usual early hour, foolishly hoping for time alone with his suddenly prickly house guest. Last night, despite the intimacy of their discussions during the trip, Giselle had gone very quiet when they’d entered the house.
After he’d presented her to the servants as his fiancée, she’d smiled and said all the appropriate things, but she’d taken the first chance he’d given her to retire with her mother to the suite of guest rooms, where their luggage already sat waiting for them.
James had made much better time than Tom, not only because of his lighter load, but also because the fleeter park drag had taken the better road into Bath and spent less time on the road to Longmead.
He’d also revealed that Jones had followed him to Bath, but he’d shaken him after that.
Also, as far as he knew, Heathbrook’s footman was still in Bath doing his inquiries.
Heathbrook couldn’t help wondering how long Jones had kept his distance in Bath, watching the Bernard ladies’ “lodgings,” before he’d figured out that the ladies weren’t there. Hopefully, the time had been substantial.
Heathbrook entered the breakfast room only to realize that Kit and Evan—despite staying up late roaming the house to pick out all the changes—had managed to beat him downstairs.
They were regaling Giselle with some tale about how Heathbrook used to ride neck or nothing about the countryside to avoid the tutors Father hired for him during his school holidays.
“That’s enough of that,” he said with a scowl. “Do not ruin my fiancée’s illusions about my great seriousness and intellect by telling her I wasn’t fond of spending time on my studies.”
Giselle flashed him a cool smile as she sipped a cup of coffee. “My illusions about your seriousness were dashed the moment you told me of Gog and Magog. Although I concede that your intellect does not seem to have suffered from your lack of application to your schoolwork.”
“Thank you,” he said smoothly. “I’ll take half a compliment over no compliment any day.” He gazed at his brothers as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Where is Zack?”
Kit shrugged. “Running about outside, checking to see if all his favorite spots for keeping watch over the property are still intact.”
“What?” Heathbrook said.
“Zack always had some notion that he kept the estate safe by sheer force of will,” Evan drawled.
“Perhaps he just needs time away from his brothers,” Giselle said gently. “Some people require more time and space to be quiet than others.”
Heathbrook smiled at her, once more moved by her kindness toward everyone in her sphere. Except him when he was misbehaving. Which he was itching to do now that he was home and she was here.
“I hope you are not one of those people, Giselle, because I’d like to steal you for a while so I can show you the house and estate, since it was too late last night to accomplish it.”
Before she could reply, bloody Evan said, with mischief in his face, “We’ll join you, won’t we, Kit?”
“You two rascals will not join me,” Heathbrook shot back. “I’ve spent the past two days never having a moment alone with my fiancée, so now you will let me walk with her about the house and the property while you boys do whatever you please for a while . . . far away from us.”
Giselle rose, and he nearly dropped his cup of tea. Today, she wore some filmy white muslin thing that skimmed her curves with loving attention to detail. The fabric was embroidered all over with little flowers, which emphasized that she was fresh and young and absolutely breathtaking.
Apparently completely unaware of her effect on him, she turned to her mother. “Maman, do you wish to go with us?” she asked in French.
“I would rather sit right here,” her mother answered, to Heathbrook’s relief. “Yesterday’s journey was trying. Besides, you don’t need chaperoning if you walk around the estate. But I will join you when you tour the house. I’d like to see more of it, anyway.”
“Then why don’t you finish your breakfast at a leisurely pace,” Heathbrook said, “and we’ll see you when we’ve finished touring the grounds.” He crooked his arm to Giselle. “Come, ma chérie. The weather is unseasonably warm—a perfect day for a walk.”
He held his breath, hoping she would not find another excuse for preventing their tête-à-tête. But she nodded and came over to place her hand on his arm.
As they left the breakfast room, he said, “You’re up early.”
“So are you.”
“I always am.”
She grimaced. “I noticed. I am not a person who rises with the sun. That is why I require gallons of coffee to be coherent. Given that I have only had two cups, you should adjust your expectations.” She glanced at him. “I cannot promise to be entertaining until at least noon.”
“Then you will fit right in with Society. No one is even up until noon in London.”
“Fortunately, I will not be spending time in Society,” she said stiffly.
“Maman and I intend to live a quiet life in our town house, with perhaps the occasional foray into émigré or détenu parties.” She glanced around as they walked down the hall, then lowered her voice.
“At least after this is all over, that is.”
“Then I hope it’s not over too soon,” he said unthinkingly. “I enjoy your company.”
“And I enjoy being free,” she countered, her nose high in the air. “After you gain what you want from me, I mean to take full advantage of that freedom.”
The thought of her going off to live her life away from him made him feel suddenly bereft. He led her down the steps. “What has changed, Giselle? Yesterday in the carriage you were friendly and seemed to be enjoying yourself. Today, you’re . . . different.”
She pulled her hand from his arm and turned around to gaze up at the main house with a despairing look. “I do not belong here, and you know it.”
For some reason, that roused his temper. “I am the only one who gets to say who belongs here, and you have as much right to be here as anyone else. You are a gentleman’s daughter.”
“I am a tradesman’s stepdaughter and a gentleman’s by-blow. Not to mention that I am French, and only here on a forged passport. Under normal circumstances, I would not even be in this country.”
Her implacable words put him on his guard.
“But these are not normal circumstances, are they? In fact, I have never experienced normal circumstances in my life, and from what I can tell, neither have you. So, I am willing to let things be what they are and enjoy them while I can. Can’t you do the same?
Think of this as a sort of holiday from your life in London. The interlude in a play, if you will.”
Her clear blue eyes seemed to see right down to his soul, to unveil the tumult that always lay there, the very product of his abnormal circumstances.
Was he a lord of the manor or still a prisoner to the exile that had shaped his life? He hardly knew anymore.
Was he a benevolent brother or another oppressor like Yates? He hardly knew that, either.
Most importantly, was he a friend to Giselle or was he the man who would ruin her? That one, he definitely did not know. Did not want to know. Because it meant examining all his past choices far too thoroughly.
Suddenly, she turned her gaze away. “I have never been one for the theater, my lord.”
It was the first time she’d called him “my lord” in some weeks, and it stung more than anything else she’d said so far.
Then she flashed him one of her enigmatic smiles. “But I do not wish to quarrel with you, especially now that I have the chance to view your lovely estate. Do continue with the tour, sir. You may start by explaining what sort of house this is. It looks very old.”
Still smarting from her words about not belonging here, he skipped over the usual description of Longmead—that it had originally been the royal manor to Saxon kings and had been passed down through royalty until the Elizabethan era.
Instead, he took up the history that began in the 1500s.
“This version of the house was bought and built by a customs collector during Queen Elizabeth’s reign.
It changed hands a number of times before my ancestor from Normandy was given it for his service to Charles II while the king was in exile in France.
My ancestor chose to move his family here and never returned to Normandy.
He made his own additions to the house.”
She smiled. “It does have the look of a French manor. But the honey-colored stone reminds me of the stones of Notre Dame Cathedral during certain times of day. I’ve seen it used for many buildings in Bath. What sort of stone is it?”
“Don’t laugh,” he said, “but it’s called Bath stone.
It’s actually a certain kind of limestone designated as freestone, because it can be cut or carved in any direction.
” When she looked at him oddly, he shrugged.
“I used to follow the stone carvers around the estate when they were making additions to buildings. When I was ten, I aspired to be a mason. Needless to say, my father nipped that in the bud very quickly.”
That got a laugh from her. “Speaking of buds—I should love to see your gardens. Even from here, I can tell they are quite beautiful.”
“They are.” He offered his arm to her, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.
God, how good, how natural it felt to have her hand wrapped about his arm as they strolled around the house toward where the gardens were located.
He wished he could have her hand there always, then cursed himself for even indulging such a thought.
This was not the time for taking a wife.
There was too much left for him to do, too much that could go wrong as long as he was here in Somerset.
It would rip him in two if he married her only to find out that his past had come back to haunt him, and he lost her as a result.