Chapter 4 #2
Gabriel did not respond at once, and when he did, his voice remained steady. He did not want anyone to know it, but the situation was overwhelming him. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was not knowing something, and as it stood he knew hardly anything at all.
“Then it will follow its usual course. It will all be forgotten in time.”
“Are you certain you do not wish to distance yourself from this matter?”
“It is what I must do,” he said firmly. “And so it is what will be done.”
And though nothing in his face altered, the word carried enough finality that the conversation did not continue.
Gabriel did not set out to take the shawl himself the following day. It would have been simpler, and certainly more consistent with the distance he had intended to maintain, to send a footman across the narrow stretch of garden wall with a neatly folded apology and an equally neat retreat.
The matter was minor, and could be easily concluded without his involvement, and yet the shawl remained on the chair beside his desk longer than it should have.
Each time he returned his attention to the papers, it seemed to occupy the edge of his vision, as though it refused to become irrelevant simply because he wanted it to.
By late afternoon, he rose without fully deciding to do so.
The walk through the gardens was brief, and the air carried the faint dampness of earlier rain.
The roses, still heavy with moisture, bent slightly under their own weight as he passed.
He did not linger among them this time. He kept his focus ahead, toward the narrow gate that separated the two properties.
At the boundary, he paused only once, then he opened it and stepped through.
The house was quiet, its windows lit unevenly as the day shifted toward evening. Gabriel did not approach the front door. Instead, he moved directly to the side where the garden met the adjoining wall, where the gap he had seen before remained.
Eleanor was already there. She was not waiting for him, that much was evident, but she was present as though she had been near the garden for some time and had only just stepped into view.
She did not move immediately when she saw him. Neither did he. The distance between them felt smaller than it should have, given how carefully both had spoken before. Gabriel held the folded shawl in one hand.
“I believe this belongs to your daughter,” he said, emphasizing the last word a little too much even though he had not meant to.
Eleanor’s gaze shifted briefly to the fabric before returning to his face.
“It does.”
A pause followed. He offered it forward and she took it without hesitation, her fingers brushing the edge only briefly before drawing it back toward herself.
“Thank you,” she said.
The words were correct, and they did not close the space between them. Gabriel nodded in acknowledgment. He knew it was time to turn and leave, but he did not. He found, much to his chagrin, that he did not want to.
“It was found in the rose garden.”
“I am aware,” she replied.
It was clear that she wanted him to leave, and so he was about to.
However, Sophie’s voice carried from somewhere within the garden behind her, and they both turned toward it immediately. Eleanor adjusted the shawl once, folding it more carefully than necessary.
“It is appreciated that you returned it yourself.”
“It was no inconvenience,” Gabriel said.
The phrasing felt automatic, almost too precise. Silence settled again, and for a moment it seemed as though the conversation would end there, as neatly as it had begun, but it did not.
“I apologize. My daughter should not have entered your property.”
Gabriel’s gaze held steady. It was not what he wanted her to apologize for, but it was something.
“She did not appear to consider it an intrusion. I did not either, for what it is worth.”
“That does not make it acceptable,” Eleanor said.
“No,” he agreed.
The word should have ended it. Instead, it lingered.
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened slightly, as if assessing whether further explanation was required or even wanted.
Gabriel became aware, with unwelcome clarity, that the stiffness he had expected was not entirely present.
It existed, certainly, in the formality of their words, but beneath it there was something else, something less defined, less easily controlled.
Recognition, perhaps, or the remnants of something neither of them had fully allowed to disappear. Eleanor shifted slightly, as though preparing to step back into the garden, then stopped.
“There is no need to trouble yourself further with her,” she said.
Gabriel did not respond immediately. His gaze moved briefly past her, toward the garden beyond, where the sound of a child’s movement could still be heard among the roses. When he spoke again, his voice remained even.
“I do not consider it trouble. It was nice to meet her. You have done well with her, for she is a very sweet and curious little girl, and not many children are allowed to be such a thing.”
A pause followed that was longer than the others. Eleanor’s expression did not change, but something in her stillness suggested she had registered the distinction. At last, she curtseyed.
“Good evening, Mr. Hartley.”
“Lady Marbury,” he replied.
She turned then, moving back through the garden without haste but without lingering. Gabriel remained at the gate until she disappeared from view. Only then did he close it.
He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, the exchange still unsettling him in a way he did not yet choose to examine. Then, finally, he turned away.
He tried not to think about her, but he could not help himself. He remembered the young woman she was when she left, and the rumors that had followed her back. He did not believe a single one of them, and that surprised him.
But Eleanor was not the sort of lady that could kill her husband.
She had done what she had done, but that did not mean he would believe the worst of her.
Then again, he knew who she had married, and he knew the sort of man her husband was.
If anyone was going to push a lady that far, it was him.
Even so, she was in Bath, and if he wished to avoid talk of her, then he would have to ensure that talk did not turn to her either.
And so, for entirely his own sake, he reasoned that he should learn what truly happened.