Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Gabriel had never particularly enjoyed silence, yet he often sought it.
Silence allowed him to work. Silence allowed him to think.
Silence allowed him to ignore the countless worries that seemed determined to plague his existence since Benedict’s death.
Tonight, however, the silence inside his study felt unusually strained as Amelia sat across from him with a glass in her hands while candlelight danced across her features.
He found himself watching her more than was reasonable, and that alone irritated him.
For several minutes, they drank without speaking. Amelia sat curled slightly into the chair, staring into the liquid as though answers might be hiding at the bottom of the glass.
Eventually, he broke the silence. “How are lessons progressing?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you managing David better?”
Amelia lifted her gaze toward him and turned the glass slowly between her fingers. “I believe so,” she replied carefully, though something troubled flickered behind her eyes.
Gabriel studied her face and sensed the change in her mood. Whatever had occupied her thoughts since entering the study had little to do with lessons. He was about to press further when she surprised him.
“May I ask you something?” she asked quietly, lowering the glass onto the desk.
Gabriel nodded once. “You appear determined to do so regardless,” he replied dryly, motioning for her to continue. Amelia hesitated long enough to make his patience fray.
Then she looked directly at him. “Was it an accident?” she asked softly. Gabriel frowned immediately, unable to follow her meaning.
“What was an accident?” he asked, pushing away from the desk.
“David’s scar,” she said carefully. “Was it an accident?”
For a moment, Gabriel simply stared at her, then understanding settled heavily upon him, and with it came memories he would have preferred buried.
He remembered Benedict’s face the day he had learned the truth. He remembered the fury. The disbelief. The helplessness. Most of all, he remembered David’s terror whenever his mother entered a room.
“No,” he said coldly as he rose from his chair. “It was not an accident.”
Amelia looked genuinely distressed by the answer. “I do not understand,” she said, shaking her head. “How could you do such a thing to your own nephew?”
The words struck him like a slap. For one stunned second, Gabriel simply looked at her. Then the meaning of her accusation landed.
She believes I did that to him?
A dangerous stillness settled over him. Without speaking, Gabriel rounded the desk and walked towards her. Amelia rose from her chair, perhaps sensing her mistake. He continued advancing until she retreated several steps. The distance between them vanished quickly.
“You believe I harmed David?” he asked quietly, his voice far more dangerous than a shout.
Amelia’s eyes widened as she backed away. “I thought…” she began before stopping abruptly.
Gabriel continued forward until her back reached the wall. There was nowhere left for her to retreat. His hands planted themselves on either side of her, trapping her between the wall and his broad frame.
“You thought wrong,” he said, staring directly into her eyes. “It was David’s mother who put that scar upon him.”
The color drained from Amelia’s face. Genuine horror filled her expression.
“His mother?” she whispered, looking utterly shaken.
Gabriel stepped no farther, yet he remained close enough to see every tiny shift in her features. “The woman who was supposed to protect him,” he said bitterly. “The woman who should have loved him above all others. Instead, she taught him fear.”
Amelia’s eyes dropped. “I am sorry,” she said quietly, unable to meet his gaze. Gabriel watched embarrassment wash over her. It softened some of his anger despite himself. Still, he could not allow her curiosity to continue unchecked.
“Do not pry into matters that do not concern you,” he warned, straightening slightly. “You are here because you have nowhere else to go. It would be wise not to stick your nose where it does not belong.”
For a moment, she remained silent. Then, to his astonishment, she lifted her chin.
“Perhaps,” she said carefully, brushing a loose curl behind her ear, “but it is difficult to help a family when one is expected to remain completely ignorant.”
Most people retreated when confronted. Amelia Shirley apparently preferred charging directly towards danger.
“You believe ignorance is your greatest obstacle?” he asked incredulously.
“I believe secrets make everything harder,” Amelia replied, folding her arms despite the fact that he still towered over her.
“You expect me to understand David and Valerie. You expect me to help them. Yet no one tells me anything.” Her eyes flashed with frustration.
“I spend half my time attempting to solve mysteries instead of teaching lessons.”
Gabriel stared at her. Then, against all reason, a reluctant flicker of admiration surfaced.
She truly is bold. Bold to the point of recklessness. Possibly foolish. Certainly exhausting. Yet undeniably brave.
Gabriel pushed away from the wall and began pacing the room. “Very well,” he said after a long silence, clasping his hands behind his back.
Amelia looked surprised that he had not thrown her out already. “I shall tell you one thing.”
She waited attentively while he stopped beside the fireplace. The flames crackled softly between them.
“The men in my family possess a remarkable talent for making disastrous decisions,” Gabriel said grimly. “They either become wicked themselves or marry someone wicked.”
Amelia frowned slightly at the statement. “That is a rather bleak family tradition,” she observed carefully.
Gabriel snorted. “You asked for honesty.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips despite the seriousness of the discussion. “You do have an answer for everything, do you not?” she asked.
Gabriel looked at her and immediately regretted it. Candlelight softened her features. Her hair shimmered gold beneath the warm glow. For one reckless moment, his gaze dropped to her mouth… again.
That was a mistake. A very significant mistake. Because suddenly he was no longer thinking about family tragedies. He was thinking about kissing her.
“Return to your room, Miss Shirley. It is late,” Gabriel said abruptly, turning away and moving towards the door before temptation could gain further ground.
Amelia blinked in surprise at the sudden dismissal. “That is all?” she asked.
“That is more than enough,” Gabriel replied, opening the study door.
Amelia hesitated briefly before giving a small nod. “Good night, Your Grace,” she said softly as she stepped into the corridor.
Gabriel kept his eyes fixed firmly on the doorway. “Good night, Miss Shirley,” he replied. She disappeared from sight a moment later. The door clicked shut behind her.
Only then did Gabriel release a slow breath. The room felt strangely empty. Worse, he knew exactly why.
His final thought before returning to his desk was deeply inconvenient.
I must stop looking at Miss Amelia’s mouth.
Amelia knelt beside the small table where David was already absorbed in his work, his tongue slightly poking out in concentration.
Grover lay nearby, tail thumping lazily against the floor whenever David shifted.
For once, the boy was quiet in a way that felt natural rather than resistant, as though creation rather than defiance occupied him.
Amelia watched him carefully, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she prepared a fresh sheet of paper.
David dipped his brush into the paint and began forming two figures on the page with surprising determination.
Amelia leaned closer, tilting her head slightly as she studied the shapes taking form.
One figure was clearly a small boy, proudly standing upright, while the other was taller, drawn with broad strokes and darker color.
“Who is that?” she asked gently, pointing to the taller figure.
David did not look up as he answered, “Papa.” His voice remained steady, though something in his shoulders tightened slightly.
Amelia hesitated, her hand still hovering above the table. “He is very well drawn,” she said carefully, choosing her words with care.
David nodded once as if that settled the matter, then added without prompting, “He died.”
The bluntness of it startled her, though she forced herself not to react outwardly. She simply placed her brush down and gave him a small, encouraging smile.
“I am sorry,” she said softly, though she knew apologies could not reach where that loss lived.
She did not ask about his mother, sensing instinctively that the subject might be too sharp.
Yet David spoke again before she could change direction, his brush now moving idly across the page.
“I do not remember my mother,” he said matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather.
Amelia blinked, then nodded slowly as she absorbed his words. “Perhaps that is for the best, in some ways,” she said gently, but she was not entirely certain she believed it herself. David paused, tilting his head as though considering this carefully.
After a moment, he added, “I have Valerie. She is my sister, but she is like a mother sometimes.”
Amelia smiled faintly at that, picturing the stern young girl with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue.
“And Uncle Gabriel,” David continued, now adding another careful stroke to the painting. “He is very busy, but he is mine too.”
Then, after a brief pause, he glanced at Grover and said with simple certainty, “And I have Grover.” The dog thumped his tail as if in agreement.
Amelia felt something warm and unexpected settle in her chest at that final addition.
Before she could respond, David looked up at her with innocent seriousness and added, “And I have you now too.”
The words landed softly but firmly, as though they had always been true.