CHAPTER THREE #2
He raked his gaze across the long sloping lawn and the fields beyond.
He owned everything in every direction as far as he could see, and then some.
The land gave him wealth, power, and position, and all of that made him one of the most influential men in the British Empire.
The reach of his investments and business ventures, the effect he had on laws and every person living on English soil, the trust the prince regent and his ministers placed in him—Gabe couldn’t fathom it all.
And yet, his world had once been put in jeopardy by the machinations of a single woman.
He would do whatever necessary to keep Helena from having the ability to do the same. He owed her and her family reparations, certainly, and he would provide them. But he would never put her in a position to wound him the way Clarissa had.
“Auntie!” The pounding of running footsteps gathered steam in the hall and burst into the library with a shout. “Auntie Verity! I want to—”
The little girl saw Gabe and skidded to a halt.
Instantly, the excited light vanished from her face, and her smiling expression turned somber. She dropped her gaze to the carpet and twisted her little hands in her skirt.
“We do not raise our voices or run inside the house,” Gabe reminded her.
She replied softly, “Yes, Papa.”
“Say your greetings to Mr. Parker.”
She gave an awkward little curtsy. “Hello, Mr. Parker.”
Caleb climbed to his feet with a smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Alice.” He bowed formally at the waist, which earned him a giggle from the girl.
“My! What a lovely blue dress you’re wearing today.
” He winked at her and drew out another giggle.
“All the London ladies would be jealous if you went to one of their teas dressed in such finery.”
Her face flushed bright pink at his teasing, and her gaze dropped shyly back to the rug.
With a frown, Gabe glanced past her toward the hall.
“Where is Nanny Potts?” Alice should have been in lessons, although he had no idea what kind of lessons a four-year-old girl should have.
But the nanny’s principal job was to keep Alice out of trouble and out of sight, and at that moment, she was failing at both.
“Upstairs, Papa,” she answered.
And most likely asleep. Verity would have to have a word with the woman. Again. “You were looking for Auntie?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
The four-year-old dared to raise her gaze from the Aubusson rug, but she didn’t take a single step toward him. But then, he hadn’t expected her to. Their relationship had never been affectionate.
“Is it true?” she asked softly.
“Is what true?”
“What Mrs. Brimley an’ Larkin said.”
He frowned at her reference to household gossip. “What did they say?”
“That…” Her voice grew impossibly softer. “That I’m to have a new mother.”
“A stepmother.” Gabe corrected, then grimaced at the memory of that morning’s meeting. “Perhaps.”
“Oh.” The single word possessed a world of uncertainty.
“Her name is Miss Sinfell. Aunt Verity is most likely with her now in her room, upstairs in the family wing.”
She nodded soberly, but she couldn’t hide a curious—if confused—expression.
“Lady Alice!” Nanny Potts hurried into the room, huffing and puffing from chasing the child through the house.
“Please do not run away from me when I—” She saw Gabe and dropped into a curtsey.
“Your Grace.” Her round face glowed red.
“My apologies.” Then she scurried forward and took Alice by the hand, giving the girl a frustrated look.
“We didn’t mean to interrupt you gentlemen. ”
“No interruption at all,” Caleb assured her. “We had just finished our discussion.” He cast a smile onto the girl. “Besides, it’s always a delight to see Lady Alice.”
Gabe turned back toward the window and ordered Nanny Potts, “Take her back to the nursery.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Behind him, he heard the rustle of skirts that signified the bobbing of curtsies and a quick scurry toward the door. He didn’t glance away from the window.
“Alice is growing into a lovely young girl,” Caleb commented as he settled back into his chair. “You’re a fortunate father.”
No, I’m not. He took a gasping swallow of brandy.
“I couldn’t help but notice when you spoke to Alice that you didn’t sound confident of marrying Miss Sinfell.”
“I’m confident.” He turned away from the window and walked back to join Caleb in front of the fire.
“Hmm.” The disbelief in that single sound was telling.
“I am determined to make this marriage work. Helena and I will both benefit from it.”
“And affection?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Hmm.”
Gabe’s mouth twisted. Why did the world think husbands and wives needed to be in love to have a happy marriage?
Dozens of society matches were made every year, lasted for decades, and never once concerned themselves with affection.
Why should his be different? Besides, he’d tried with Clarissa—he’d truly tried to find affection for her—but in the end, every kindness he’d shown her was thrown back in his face.
But Helena understood the kind of marriage he intended to have. One without the strings and problems caused by love. In that, at least, they were off to a good start.
“A marriage doesn’t have to be anything but convenient,” he insisted.
“Hmm.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. Sometimes honesty was damnably annoying. “I see no reason for affection or feelings to enter into the arrangement.”
“And I think you’d have better luck building that bridge to Ireland.”
With an answering scowl, Gabe tossed back the rest of the cognac.