Chapter 16
Gabriel had scarcely stepped into the blue sitting room before Cassandra cornered him.
“You cannot go on pretending forever.”
He frowned, closing the door behind him. He loved his sister-in-law, but it was the first thing in the morning and he had not expected to be challenged at that point. Granted, he did know that it was only a matter of time before the matter would come up.
He also knew that Cassandra would be the one to say it.
“Pretending to whom?”
“To yourself.”
She folded her arms, studying him with the same unwavering look she had worn through countless long nights at William’s bedside.
“I have watched you since Eleanor came back. You scarcely let her out of your sight. You look for her whenever she leaves a room.”
“She is my wife. It is only right that I—”
“And if she were anyone else’s wife? Would you not then?”
He did not answer, for he did not want to admit that his sister-in-law was right. Cassandra smiled, and her voice softened.
“I do not believe you have admitted it yet, not even to yourself.”
“There is nothing to admit.”
“Oh, Gabriel. It is time for you to be honest with yourself. With all of us, even.”
“You cannot ask me to do that,” he said quickly, firmly refusing to even consider it.
“I will not stand by and encourage you to bury this until it destroys you.”
“No. She married me because she had no other choice. She believes this is an arrangement. I gave her my word that there would be no expectations, and I will keep it.”
Cassandra stepped closer, and he already knew what was coming. She had known him too long to not see how he felt, even if he still did not want to say it aloud.
“You still love Eleanor. We all see it, and if it has to be me who tells you that you are dreadful at hiding it then so be it.”
She said her name softly, but it felt as though she had screamed it. Gabriel closed his eyes for a brief moment, and he could not seem to draw a proper breath.
The words lingered between them, impossible to ignore now that someone else had spoken them aloud. He had spent years building careful walls around that truth, and whenever the thought surfaced, he pushed it away before it could fully form.
His hand tightened against the arm of the chair. A faint rush of heat climbed the back of his neck, followed almost immediately by something far worse—not surprise, because some part of him had always known, nor confusion.
Shame pricked at him instead, because Cassandra had seen it before he had found the courage to face it himself.
“Cassandra, you know that is not something I can allow myself to do.”
Gabriel rested one hand against the mantel, staring into the dying fire.
“I loved her when she left. I told myself it would fade, but it never did. I tried to forget her. I buried myself in William’s care. I buried myself in the estate. I convinced myself that duty was enough.”
He looked down at his hands. Cassandra watched him without speaking.
“It was not,” he confessed at last. “I still love her. I never stopped.”
For a long moment neither of them spoke, and then Cassandra reached over and squeezed his arm.
“Then perhaps it is time you stopped pretending that protecting her is the only reason you married her.”
Gabriel smiled sadly. “Protecting her was the reason I offered.”
“And the rest?”
He looked toward the door, toward the part of the house where Eleanor would be settling Sophie for the night.
“The rest,” he said quietly, “is the reason I was foolish enough to hope she would say yes.”
The following morning dawned clear but cold, the pale winter sun doing little to warm the stone walls of Ravenscourt.
Gabriel had already spent an hour in his study before breakfast, attempting to occupy his thoughts with estate accounts, yet the figures before him refused to make any sense.
Every time he reached the bottom of a page, he realized he had absorbed none of it.
His mind returned instead to Eleanor.
The strain she had endured at the solicitor’s chambers lingered with him still.
She had thanked him afterward for standing beside her, but he could not rid himself of the feeling that he had failed her.
He had been able to object to the worst of the questioning, yet he had not been able to spare her from it.
A knock at the study door drew him from his thoughts.
“Come in.”
Faulks entered carrying a silver tray.
“Lady Hartley has asked you to speak with Mrs. Ashcombe, Mr. Hartley. She has called unexpectedly, and has been shown to the drawing room.”
Gabriel looked up from the papers. “I shall be just a moment.”
Faulks bowed and withdrew, and Gabriel straightened his cuffs before leaving the study.
Mrs. Ashcombe was an old acquaintance of his mother’s and, though she meant no real harm, possessed the unfortunate habit of needing to involve herself in matters that she did not need to be involved in.
If she had arrived unannounced so early in the day, she had not come merely to exchange pleasantries.
His mother was already pouring tea when Gabriel entered the drawing room.
“My dear,” she said quietly, “Mrs. Ashcombe has something she believes we ought to hear.”
Mrs. Ashcombe looked faintly uncomfortable. “I almost wish I had not come, but I thought it kinder that the story reaches you through a friend rather than from strangers.”
Gabriel took the chair opposite her. “You are very considerate to do so.”
She hesitated, turning the handle of her teacup between nervous fingers.
“It concerns your marriage.”
“I imagined as much.”
“They are saying it was arranged only for appearances.”
“They have been saying that since the wedding.”
Mrs. Ashcombe gave a reluctant nod. “Yes, but the tale has evolved. The newest version claims that your heart has always belonged elsewhere.”
The dowager set her cup down.
“And who have these inventive people selected as the object of my son’s affections?”
Mrs. Ashcombe looked genuinely embarrassed. “Lady Hartley.”
Gabriel felt a coldness settle in his chest, though he made sure nothing of it reached his face. “That is a remarkable conclusion.”
“I thought so myself,” Mrs. Ashcombe replied quickly. “Those who know your family well dismissed it at once, but others insist they have it on excellent authority.”
“Authority?” Gabriel repeated.
She nodded. “They say Lady Hartley and yourself spend a lot of time together, and that you wished to marry her yourself before she married your brother. They claim that you and your wife have separate bedchambers, too. It is nonsense, but it is being repeated with such confidence that many have begun to believe it.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair. Mrs. Ashcombe liked to be a part of things, but in that moment he could not have been more grateful for that.
“I appreciate you telling us.”
“I feared you might think me meddlesome.”
“Not at all,” he lied. “This is something that we needed to know.”
Mrs. Ashcombe remained only a few minutes longer before taking her leave. The dowager accompanied her into the hall, insisting that no decent person would believe the story at all.
When the front door finally closed, Gabriel remained where he was. The rumor itself did not trouble him; it was so absurd that anyone who knew his family at all would dismiss it without hesitation.
What troubled him was how the rumor had been built.
He rose slowly and crossed to the window, his thoughts returning to the conversation he had forced himself to forget after the ball. Julian had hinted then at knowing things that should never have reached him, and Gabriel had dismissed it as little more than an attempt to unsettle him.
He could not dismiss it anymore. The separate bedchambers had never been discussed outside Ravenscourt, nor had Gabriel and Cassandra caring for William together. Those details existed only within the walls of the house, shared among family and the servants whose duties required them to know.
Someone had carried them beyond the estate.
Gabriel turned away from the window and began walking slowly around the room.
He considered the household carefully. Most of the maids only knew parts of his family life, and the footmen were present at meals and formal gatherings but were rarely admitted to moments of genuine privacy.
The kitchen staff lived almost entirely below stairs and heard little beyond what drifted through the servants’ hall.
Other members of the household enjoyed greater freedom.
The butler moved throughout the house at every hour of the day, entered the family’s private rooms and handled correspondence, and knew the movements of every person beneath the roof.
The housekeeper oversaw the domestic staff and possessed keys to nearly every room.
Even William’s valet spent long hours with the family while tending to him.
Many of them had served the Hartleys faithfully for years. Some had watched Gabriel and William grow from boyhood into manhood. To suspect them felt like ingratitude, but now he felt that he could not trust anyone at all.
He would not accuse anyone without proof, but he would not ignore the evidence gathering before him either. Quietly, and without disturbing the household, he resolved to watch more closely than he had before.
Sophie appeared before him with her chessboard held carefully against her chest.
“Mr. Hartley?”
Gabriel looked at her, unable to stop the faint smile that crept across his face.
“That is a very serious expression. Should I be concerned?”
“You promised me another lesson.”
“So I did. Come, let us go to my study.”
They went at once, Gabriel grateful for the distraction, and once they arrived Sophie placed the chessboard on his desk.
She then climbed into the chair opposite him while Gabriel arranged the pieces.
She had already learned the names of each one, though she still occasionally forgot which pieces were allowed to move where and had a remarkable tendency to discover new rules whenever the game was not going in her favor.
She studied the board carefully, then moved one of her pieces. He looked down to see that she had moved her queen over one of her pawns.
“You cannot move that piece in that manner.”
She looked up innocently. “Why not?”
“Because it does not move that way.”
“Perhaps it should.”
Gabriel stared at her. He tried not to laugh.
“That is not how the game works, Sophie.”
“Well, it works for me.”
He could not argue with the confidence of her answer.
The game continued, though Gabriel quickly realized he was not playing against a child who wished to learn so much as a child who wished to win.
Sophie watched him carefully, waiting for any moment his attention wandered.
She asked questions about the pieces while studying his side of the board, and when he answered, her small fingers would immediately move something she was not supposed to touch.
“Sophie, did you just move your knight while I was explaining the rules?”
“No.”
Gabriel glanced at the piece. “It has moved.”
She looked at the board. “Perhaps it moved itself.”
He looked at her solemn expression and failed completely to hide his amusement.
“You are a most troublesome opponent.”
“I think I am a very good one. After all, I took your queen.”
Gabriel looked down. For a moment, he genuinely had no response. She had done it. Even if his knight was where he had left it, she had positioned her own so that his queen would be taken no matter what he did.
Sophie leaned forward, delighted. “I won.”
“You captured my queen. That is not the way to win.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It feels like winning.”
“Then I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Her smile widened. “Thank you.”
The simple happiness of it stayed with him longer than he expected.
He had known children before. He had been fond of his younger relatives and had always shown affection toward the children of family friends, but Sophie was different.
She was someone he wished to care for, someone he wanted to watch grow up.
He had found himself noticing whether she had eaten enough at breakfast and looking for her drawings among the papers brought to his desk.
When he thought of the future, he considered her as part of it.
He thought of Eleanor, too. They were his family, and the thought of losing them had become unbearable.
When the lesson ended, Sophie gathered her pieces carefully. Gabriel watched her leave, carrying the chessboard with her, and the warmth of the moment followed her out of the room.
Then reality returned; the possibility that Julian might succeed, and that Eleanor and Sophie might one day leave Ravenscourt, as they did not necessarily need to remain there when they had other residences.
He could not bear it. He was not the perfect husband, but that did not mean he did not need them.
He found Eleanor in the morning room, and she turned toward him with a calmness that immediately felt wrong.
“Eleanor?”
“Gabriel.”
The formality of it unsettled him.
“I wished to speak with you.”
“Very well.”
There was nothing wrong in her words, but she did not ask him to sit. She did not smile, or move toward him. There was a distance there that had not been there before, and he did not know what to do with it.
“You seem troubled,” Gabriel said as he studied her. “What has happened?”
“Nothing.”
He knew her too well now to believe that.
“Eleanor.”
She looked away. “I have been thinking about what will happen when this matter is finished.”
He wondered if she was concerned about losing Sophie. He knew it was on her mind, but it was not going to happen. They had to all remain positive about what was to come.
“When the case is won, you mean?” he suggested, trying to encourage her.
“Yes.”
He waited for her to continue. At last, she folded her hands before her.
“Sophie and I may return to Bath.”
For a moment, Gabriel simply stared at her.
“Return?”
“I think it would be best for everyone.”
He stepped closer.
“Eleanor, why would you say that?”
“Ravenscourt is your home. This is your family, and Sophie and I arrived here because we had nowhere else to turn.”
The quietness of her voice made it worse.
Gabriel felt the loss before it had even happened.
Only an hour earlier, Sophie had been laughing across a chessboard, proudly declaring victory after stealing his queen.
Now Eleanor was speaking as though both of them might disappear from his life as soon as duty no longer required them to stay.
Gabriel had no idea what had caused the sudden distance.
He did not know what she had heard, what she believed, or why the warmth that had existed between them seemed to have vanished overnight.
All he knew was that the woman he had spent years longing for was standing before him, already preparing to leave a second time.
And the thought of losing them both felt far more painful than he had been prepared to admit.