Chapter Twenty-Seven
Four months later
Gabriel had hoped that the winter Season in Bath would revive his spirits, but it seemed such a thing was not to be.
Rain pattered against the windowpanes of the house he’d taken for a month, and he gazed across the gray, misty flatness of the city with irritation. He’d come here for Christmas and on into the New Year, testing the waters, as it were, to see how he’d be received again.
His mother’s hopes had been realized; her long period of contrition before the ton , six months or so, and Gabriel’s impeccable performance as master of Havenlock Hall had worked. No sooner had Gabriel and Lady Rockford arrived in Bath than invitations had been received. Every door in town was open to him, and all the marriage-minded mammas were once again happy to think of their own daughter becoming Countess of Rockford.
Caroline had been right, as usual. For a woman, a scandal was life-ruining. For a man, after a period of time, it only added luster to a lusty reputation.
“Do you think Lady Collins will be back today?” his mother asked. She was focused upon her needlepoint. “I thought you and Lady Elizabeth looked quite well together.”
“Yes, and then Earl Collins can have a noble son-in-law and marry off one of his five troublesome daughters,” Gabriel muttered. He saw his reflection in the rain-soaked glass, and the man in the window did not look happy.
“Lady Elizabeth is young, handsome, and amiable. It would be a very respectable marriage. Once you’d taken her, all final smatterings of gossip would die down.”
It didn’t matter to him if Lady Elizabeth had the beauty of Helen of Troy, the wit of Cleopatra, and the Crown Jewels in her handbag. She wasn’t what he needed. What he craved.
Gabriel had sent letters to Devereux House asking for Caroline’s whereabouts. They were returned with polite refusals. He’d sent letters of inquiry to well-placed friends throughout England and in some far-flung corners of the world. But from Paris to the westernmost point of Australia, no one had seen or heard of Caroline Devereux.
How could she have concealed herself so well from him? And how many more debutantes and mercenary mothers would Gabriel have to endure before he could know where she’d gone off to?
Smith entered the parlor and bowed.
“Visitors.” His mother brightened, clearly hoping for Lady Collins and her daughter.
“The Duchess of Ashworth, my lady.” He extended a tray with a card upon it.
Gabriel turned about in shock. Though they’d been welcomed back into the fold of the ton , the Ashworths had not extended any invitations. To have the duchess simply call like this was quite startling.
“Show Her Grace in, Smith.” His mother had paled.
“Yes, my lady. The duchess is in the company of a young girl, also. A Miss Berridge.” From the way the butler gazed sidelong at Gabriel, the earl looked quite confused.
Why should he care for some young girl tagging along with a duchess?
When Miss Berridge entered the room, however, all speculation was put to rest.
“My word.” Lady Rockford could not contain her astonishment. “Erm, I mean, Your Grace. An honor to have you call, of course.”
The Duchess of Ashworth entered the parlor with young Miss Berridge at her side.
The duchess dressed well in a winter coat of deep blue and an ermine collar. Miss Berridge was dressed in green which seemed to nicely match her eyes.
Eyes which, to Gabriel’s astonishment, were the exact same shade and shape as his.
“Forgive us for calling in a rather bold fashion, my lord.” The duchess smiled at Miss Berridge. “I was not entirely sure how to put dear Felicity’s existence into a mere letter.”
Miss Berridge approached Gabriel and bobbed in a quick little curtsy. She looked rather boldly up at him. She had his face, his nose and jaw, even his height. She was the tallest girl he’d yet seen. So utterly like him that Gabriel wondered in a panic what woman he’d got with child and why she’d never bothered writing to him about it. And whyever was the Duchess of Ashworth involved? How could he be some girl’s father and completely unaware?
“You are…” Gabriel couldn’t finish, so the girl supplied the end of the sentence for him.
“Your sister. Half sister, I should say.” Gabriel experienced another burst of shock, but this one far more pleasant. He’d never been a father before; he’d rather liked being a brother, though. The girl put a hand to her face and whispered rather theatrically, “Your bastard half sister, of course. They say I must not speak the word ‘bastard’ but it is the proper one for the situation, I’m afraid.”
“Felicity.” The duchess’s voice carried tender warning. Lady Rockford, meanwhile, had returned to her seat and was staring rather dazedly at the newly reunited sibling pair.
“You see, my lord, His Grace the Duke of Ashworth took charge of me as a baby when our father rather didn’t want me.” The girl spoke with ease and directness, which Gabriel appreciated. He was still getting his feet in this new situation. “The duke and Rockford had an agreement that I was to be kept out of anyone’s sight until I reached the age of eighteen at least, but now our father seems to have died.” She said it as though the man had made an embarrassing faux pas. “I confess I begged and pleaded to be allowed to meet you. This is my first time in Bath for the winter Season and when we learned you were in residence, Her Grace finally relented!”
“Miss Berridge is a study in obstinacy,” the duchess said fondly. “I hope this is all right, my lord.”
Gabriel had imagined he’d half brothers and sisters scattered about England, but to find one in the flesh, to have her look so like him and take after him in so many ways, made him feel less alone than he had in many months.
Gabriel had learned what it was like to enjoy caring for someone. Caroline had shown him those delights. To have a younger sister now, to have someone he might help and protect in this world, was to him only a source of happiness. Felicity was no shame at all.
“Mother, we should have some refreshment.” Gabriel took Felicity’s hand and shook it heartily. “What a treat to meet you.”
“I’m awfully glad you’re not a prig, my lord.” Felicity looked quite jovial. “It’s so nice to have an elder brother who’s not dreary.”
“Felicity.” The duchess sighed.
Refreshments were served and the duchess made polite conversation with Lady Rockford while Gabriel got to know his wild little sister a bit better. He soon learned her likes—fencing, boating, dogs—as well as her dislikes, which mainly included sitting still and anything “boring.”
“I’m also a great fan of thrilling tales,” Felicity said with cheer. She devoured a small cake as though starving. “We’ve just come from the bookshop, actually. The duke and duchess are wonderfully liberal with what I’m allowed to read.”
Indeed, Gabriel had noted an item wrapped in brown paper and tied in string placed beside the girl.
“You are fond of reading, then?” He smiled.
“I am! Her Grace doesn’t like me reading too many novels, but I simply had to snatch up the third volume as quick as I could. It just released yesterday, and the shops tend to run out of their supply quickly when Mr. Winthrop has a new volume out.”
Gabriel’s blood seemed to freeze. He was almost too afraid to be hopeful. “Mr. C.D. Winthrop?” he asked.
“Oh!” The girl’s eyes widened. “I knew you’d have good taste as well! It must be a family trait. Have you enjoyed Masquerade at Seville , too?”
The only thing that could have shocked Gabriel more than learning he’d a sister was this new information. He barely restrained himself from nabbing the book and ripping it open. “I’m familiar with the author’s, er, earlier work.”
“I’ve loved his tales since they first appeared in pamphlet form. But this one is all the rage right now. In London, it’s all the young ladies talk about.” Felicity sounded proud. “I could have told them, of course. I knew Mr. Winthrop would one day be famous.”
Though Gabriel enjoyed the rest of their conversation, he was now also fixated upon the bookshop. He yearned for the moment he could order a servant off to pick up Masquerade at Seville .
Soon after the duchess and girl had gone, and after listening to his mother’s amazement at the introduction, Gabriel sent for Smith.
In turn, the butler sent a footman out into the rain to procure His Lordship’s books.
Gabriel had an engagement at the assembly hall that evening, but he ordered his mother to say he’d caught a cold or diphtheria or something else dramatic. Then, once his package arrived, he retired to the library and sat before the fire reading.
The Masquerade at Seville was three volumes long, each book bound in handsome red Moroccan leather. Gabriel noted the publisher’s mark on the spine with some astonishment. Devereux Bros. Publishing.
Caro’s been busy since we parted.
With that, Gabriel fell to reading.
As soon as he opened the first page, he felt a flood of relief wash over him. He could hear Caroline’s voice through the words on the paper, and he easily fell into blissful remembrance.
All their oddest and most daring moments, the first battle of wills in Devereux House’s drawing room, the morbid visit to Westminster Abbey, the heated awakening at the Wolf’s Den where they had both experienced something extraordinary for the first time.
And when the Devil first made his appearance, described with exquisite detail down to the bright green of the eyes, the broken line of the Grecian nose, and the tangled jet-black hair, Gabriel felt hunger again for the first time in half a year.
She had perfectly remembered the physicality of him, and he was overtaken by memory of that one, fiery night they had spent together. It should have been the start of many more.
It still can be. Only I need to find her!
Gabriel read throughout the afternoon and into the night. As dawn appeared on the watery horizon, he’d almost reached the saga’s conclusion. The daughter of the Holyrook family marries the Devil, and then, overcome by love for him and shame at herself, runs away from him forever. The fallen young woman sought shelter in an old house on the Cornwall coast.
Candlecove House perched atop the windswept cliff, looking across the vast turbulent ocean. Whitecaps dotted the waves, and the shriek of gulls echoed throughout Imelda’s tormented dreams of her husband’s final words to her. ‘Don’t you dare walk out that door; I need you!’
Gabriel could vividly recall saying the same to Caroline, and he clenched his jaw. Repressing the swell of anguish was difficult as he read on.
Imelda walked out the door of her house and down the path toward the painted front gate. She swung out onto the lane, seagrass growing in tufts about her feet. In the distance, she saw the rocky descent that would lead to the cerulean waters and Merlin’s Cave, long thought to be the birthplace of King Arthur’s great magus. But magic, Imelda realized, was not the answer.
Gabriel stopped and thought. Merlin’s Cave…
That sounded like she might have made it up, but perhaps not. Gabriel rang for Smith and had the poor, newly roused fellow look out a book of maps from the library.
And…there. In Cornwall, beneath the ruins of Tintagel Castle, was the so-called Merlin’s Cave. Gabriel’s heart pounded.
“Imelda” had sought refuge in Cornwall, her house close to Tintagel. The setting was so precisely described that Caroline must have been there before, likely often. If the Devereuxes owned property in Cornwall, it would be a place to look…
As soon as the sun was properly up, Gabriel sent out inquiries about Baron Devereux’s extended family and any ancestral properties. He soon received word that a Mr. Reynolds and his wife lived in Windward Cottage, Baron Devereux’s former house, on the Cornwall coast not two miles from Tintagel.
Gabriel left Bath the very next day, headed west.