Prologue
Everyone called her Princess.
Gabe called her brat.
Of course, she weren’t no princess, only a duke’s daughter; still his Da said she was a “poor li’l thing” cause they kept her locked away in a schoolroom, where she learned to tally and read as though she were some bookkeeper.
That’s what his Da said.
Gabe kept his gob shut, because no one knew Maggie Willingham stole away from her studies every day to come play with him. How would they know? No one ever came searching for her, and Gabe supposed they were keeping her locked away in that schoolroom because her Da didn’t care to see her.
That’s what Gabe believed.
Her Da was a slimy toad, who croaked more’n he breathed, and Gabe didn’t like him anymore than he liked church or tight shoes.
Sprawled, belly down over his brand-new pasteboard at the crest of their favorite hill, he peered through the tall, swaying grass at the girl seated below. His heart racing, he shimmied closer, parting weeds and windflowers to get a better look.
Every day they met right here, same time, same place—ever since that day they’d met in the garden his father tended.
He was eight, Maggie was seven, and they’d become fast friends, racing through the maze of her family’s garden and rolling beneath those prickly hedges, giggling as they escaped mythical beasts—mostly her bellowin’ da, with his puffed-out cheeks and bright-red nose.
Only now that Gabe was thirteen... his heart was doing peculiar things when he saw her.
It pounded so furiously he thought it might grow legs, explode from his chest, and bound away.
And his lungs—hell’s bells—he could never seem to catch a breath anymore. It was happening again.
Right now.
He knit his brows as he watched Maggie, and drew in a breath, inhaling a tickling weed, only to sneeze it out again, and then he peered down the hill to see if she’d heard.
He didn’t know why he was hiding here, like he was afraid to face her.
She was his best friend in the entire world.
But she was a silly little girl. And if his fellows ever discovered he still met with her daily, he’d never hear the end.
In fact, he thought about leaving now—picking up his pasteboard and skulking away—until she slumped forward, and her heaving sobs reached his ears.
Driven by concern over the thought of her distress, he drew himself up, slapped at his clothes to relieve them of dirt, and then abandoned his pasteboard, marching down the hill fast as his booted feet would carry him.
She was fine, he reassured himself. Likely, she’d tripped over that stupid dress she was wearing. He missed the clothes she used to wear.... and even more so the way they used to play together, scuffling around in the dirt.
She didn’t seem to notice him even once he was standing behind her, so preoccupied was she with her caterwauling and Gabe stood behind her, waiting for her to look up.
Was it rude to interrupt a girl while she was crying?
His mother and sisters did so little of that caterwauling; he didn’t know. Used to be he would have rapped Maggie on the head and run away. She might have chased him screaming. But now, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her.
Her hair was too pretty, her curls arranged in such a manner that even her earnest wailing couldn’t properly muss them.
He stood, mesmerized by the way the sunlight glistened over her lustrous chestnut curls, and his heart did a few more annoying flippity-flops as he waited for her to notice he was standing behind her.
All the while, he had the most disconcerting urge to sit down and hug her.
.. stroke her beautiful hair… comfort her.
It weren’t like her to cry.
In fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her shed so many tears.
One time, she’d scolded him for wailing after he’d turned and run into that naked statue in her father’s maze—the one with the leaf over his man parts. Afterward, he’d grown a knot on his forehead the size of an apple, but Maggie told him to grow up and boxed his ears for good measure.
Devil take her. If she’d been a boy, he might have boxed her back. But, of course, she wasn’t a boy, and that fact was becoming more and more apparent by the day.
Even now, his heart thumped faster, and his face grew warm as he stood waiting, wondering if he should speak up... or perhaps maybe tap her on the head to get her attention. For the first time in all the years he had known her, Gabe felt like running away before she noticed him.
Longingly, he turned to gauge the distance to the crest of the hill and considered dashing back up and diving for cover behind the tall grass. But… he didn’t move; he stood, feet rooted to the ground, until she glanced up, and Gabe felt a disconcerting leap in his breast.
Watery green eyes met his blue.
Maggie gave a shriek, and he leapt back in surprise, responding with a yelp of his own. But then she didn’t move, and he thought it might be because she couldn’t get herself up in that stupid dress.
“You scared me!” she complained.
She didn’t look one bit grateful for his presence.
“I... er...”
Gabe glanced away, up the hill where his pasteboard lay hidden, waiting….
He felt timid, as though she had caught him at something he wasn’t supposed to be doing—only that made no sense, because he wasn’t doing anything at all.
He’d only wanted to show her his new pasteboard.
.. and… he wanted to take her sliding, and maybe hear her giggle.
Only now… the thought of snuggling so close to her, putting his arms around her middle… made his chest ache.
“I saw you blubbering,” he said lamely.
“Well…” Her brows drew together. Her hands went to her hips. It almost soothed him to see the spark of fury in her eyes—almost, but not quite, because there was something different about the way she was looking at him today.
“Well, what?” he snapped, annoyed she was staring at him as though he had a wart-covered face.
“You could have said something,” she said, then added plaintively, “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!”
Precisely as she had without fail for the past four years, so why did that thought make Gabe feel so light-headed?
Hells bloody bells.
“Well,” he countered, trying to sound more collected than he was. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He swiped a damp palm across his trousers and frowned at the catch in his voice. “Did you... um... fall? Is that why you’re crying like a baby?”
“No.” Her voice sounded odd.
Gabe scratched his head. “Are you hot?”
She screwed her face, looking bemused. “Hot?”
He knelt beside her in the grass. “You look overheated to me.”
“No.” Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Then why’s your face so red, and why are you crying?”
Maggie shrugged, looking not at all like herself.
“What’s the matter, brat?” he taunted, and then, once again, fat tears slid from her lucid green eyes and Gabe sobered. “Maggie? What’s wrong?”
She wept earnestly now, casting her head into her hands, and Gabe, without another thought, sat and scooted close, placing an arm around her shoulders. He lowered his forehead to her wet cheek and whispered against her face. “What is it, Mags? It can’t be so awful as that?”
“Oh, but it is!” Maggie cried, and then she cast herself down on the ground and buried her head into crossed arms.
Gabe laid down beside her, heat rising into his face as he did so. She shrugged away, elbowing his cheek, and his face burned hotter as he realized how close he’d come. He winced but didn’t shy away. He wouldn’t leave her now—not when she needed him.
Hell’s bells. She smelled so nice, like her father’s roses after a summer rain.
Gabe tried to concentrate on her words, but somehow couldn’t.
“Don’t you understand?” she was saying, and Gabriel blinked, confused. God knew he didn’t. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
What was more, he didn’t recognize his own body—nor his voice—or even the girl he’d known for so long. He rubbed at his cheek to ease the sting from her blow.
“I can never see you again,” she exclaimed. “Never! Don’t you understand?”
Good grief, she was beginning to act like a dumb girl. “Hells bells, Maggie,” he said, reasoning with her. “You see me every day.”
“Not anymore,” she said brokenly, and she shook her head sadly, sobbing as she lifted her gaze.
Gabe frowned. He understood she was telling him something important, but he couldn’t concentrate on her words with those sweet green eyes focused on him so intently.
“My father says never again—oh, Gabe!” she cried woefully. “He says I must never, ever see you again, and he’s going to make your papa send you away.”
Her words registered at last.
She was not overreacting to his spending more time with the boys.
Gabriel blinked. “Send me away?” She nodded, her cheeks rosy and streaked with tears. He felt the blow of her words like a fist to his gut. “Why?”
“Because he says ’tis unseemly to play with you—a boy—and if your papa wants to remain employed at Blackwood, he must send you far, far away.”
Gabe felt numb. His gut roiled. “But… where will I go?”
She shrugged. “Away… to school, I think.” Her brows slanted sadly. “He says your papa will do it because he knows what is best.”
Gabe sank from his knees to his bottom and said, “My da would not send me away.” But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.
His Da had seven mouths to feed, including his own, and he would do whatever it took to be certain the entire family was secure.
If the duke of Blackwood demanded he send Gabriel away.
.. away, Gabe would go. He stared for the longest while at the windflowers dancing with a gentle breeze. “When?” he asked quietly.
“I… I don’t know,” she said, and then she threw her arms about Gabriel, embracing him ardently. “Oh, my dearest, Gabe!”
“Hell’s bloody bells,” he breathed, and sat, confused by a barrage of emotions he couldn’t untangle.
He thought perhaps he hated her father, but he wasn’t about to say that.
He put his arms about Maggie, returning her embrace, uncertain whether the tears that pricked at his eyes were for the family he knew he would leave so soon.
.. or for the best friend he didn’t think he could live without.
Together, they sat for a long, long while, embracing, and Gabe didn’t feel the least bit ashamed for the small kiss he bestowed on her cheek.
She peered up at him, green eyes glistening with tears, and Gabe looked down into that familiar face he knew so well and stared, memorizing the contour of her face, the curve of her lips, every freckle on her nose.
Maggie had been his best friend for more than five years, his confidant, his playmate. And now he realized with a terrible jolt that he was losing her... and in his heart, he’d begun to think of her as… something more.
“Promise you will never forget me,” she implored as tears spilled from his face onto his shoulders and sleeves.
“I promise,” he said dumbly. And regardless, he meant it with every fiber of his being. He plucked a windflower, pressing it into Maggie’s hand. “Promise you won’t forget me, Maggie.”
She hugged him tight. “I Promise,” she said.
His senses reeled. The scent of her teased him. The feel of her hair sticking to his face with her tears, the softness of her cheek against his own… it dizzied him. “I… I... I love you,” he said, with a bewildered sense of self-discovery.
“I…I… love you, too,” she said in return.
And together they sat, embracing when words were too difficult to speak.
Someday, he would come back for her.
Someday, he would be good enough—not simply a gardener’s son.
Someday...