Chapter 8 #2
Eleanor turned, her attention fixed on him without interruption. Gabriel continued, keeping his voice steady and deliberately practical.
“It would be an arrangement in the strictest sense. I would expect nothing beyond what is required for the duration of this case. We can even live separate lives if that is preferred.”
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, though she did not speak. From the edge of the room, Sophie had been occupied with a ribbon and a small chair, but at the sound of Gabriel’s voice she abandoned it entirely and ran toward him without hesitation.
She climbed onto his knee as though he had given her his express permission.
Gabriel adjusted instinctively to her weight, one hand steadying her without thinking, and continued speaking without breaking the thread of his thought.
Sophie, entirely unconcerned with the gravity of the conversation, began talking at once about something unrelated, her voice filling the space with ease that contrasted sharply with the stillness around her.
Eleanor watched the interaction in silence, and he hoped she saw the ease with which Sophie accepted him, and the absence of any hesitation in the child’s movement toward him.
Gabriel finished his explanation in the same controlled manner, leaving the proposal as a practical necessity rather than an emotional appeal. A pause followed in which Sophie continued speaking, unaware that anything decisive had occurred.
Eleanor’s gaze moved between them before settling more steadily.
Once again, she was considering a marriage with a man she once considered her greatest friend.
If she were to do so, she could not let it happen without being entirely certain that it would end well.
That had been her greatest mistake before.
When she finally spoke, her voice was even.
“If this is done, it is not to be done lightly.”
“It would be done properly,” Gabriel said.
Another pause followed, then Eleanor gave a nod. “Within the week.”
Gabriel nodded too. “Within the week.”
Sophie, satisfied that nothing in her immediate world had been disrupted, continued speaking from Gabriel’s knee as though the agreement had not altered anything important to her at all.
***
The notice appeared before the engagement could be spoken of beyond the two households. It was printed and mocked in a London paper, referring to the sudden marriage of a widow that was already under suspicion and implying impropriety in its haste.
Gabriel read it once without giving it any real thought, then again more slowly.
The marriage had not yet been formally announced beyond Bath, and yet the information had already reached London in time to be judged as the people there wished.
He set the paper down, his voice low when he finally spoke.
“This did not pass through ordinary channels.”
Eleanor, who had entered the room moments earlier, stopped near the doorway.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone reported it before it was made public,” Gabriel said. “And they did not report it after the fact. They reported it as it was happening.”
“Do you—”
But she did not finish. Gabriel looked at her and waited for her to continue. Once she realized that he was not going to say anything, she sighed.
“Do you suppose it was Julian?”
“Possibly,” Gabriel replied. “But not necessarily directly.”
After a moment, Eleanor stepped further inside.
“Then someone here must have told him.”
“Yes.”
The implication settled between them. Someone in his household was disloyal, and Gabriel did not know who it was.
For all the difficulties that he faced, his staff was not one of them.
He had always trusted them. He had never been given a reason not to until that very moment, and it made him feel unwell.
Whoever it was, though, he was going to find out.
Chapter 9
The morning of the wedding came on a cool day, the light filtering softly through the curtains of Beatrice’s guest chambers.
Eleanor had slept little. Each time she closed her eyes, her thoughts had returned to the path that had led her there. Six years before, she had imagined standing beside Gabriel at an altar with hope in her heart. Instead, she would stand beside him because society had left them no gentler choice.
She sat at the dressing table while Beatrice fastened the final hooks of her gown.
It was not a bridal gown in any grand sense.
The soft ivory silk had belonged to Beatrice many years before and had been carefully altered to fit Eleanor’s slimmer figure.
The lace at the sleeves had yellowed only slightly with age, and the modest cut suited the day far better than anything newly purchased ever could have.
Beatrice stepped back, smoothing the fabric over Eleanor’s shoulders with affectionate hands.
“You look lovely,” she said softly.
Eleanor managed a faint smile as she looked at her reflection. “I look respectable. Given the circumstances, I dare say that is for the best.”
Silence settled between them for a moment before Beatrice rested a hand against Eleanor’s shoulder. Eleanor lowered her eyes to the folds of her skirt, lightly tracing the embroidery near her cuff with her fingertips.
“I know this is not the wedding either of you imagined, but that does not mean it cannot become something happier.”
Eleanor looked up again. “I have no right to ask for happiness now.”
“My dear,” Beatrice replied, “You deserve happiness, and whether or not you believe you deserve it, I do want you to find it.”
A small knock interrupted them before Eleanor could answer.
The maid opened the door just wide enough for Sophie to squeeze through.
She wore a pale blue frock with a cream ribbon tied carefully around her waist, and her dark curls were brushed into order for the occasion, which made her look rather unlike herself.
She stopped in the doorway, her gray eyes widening.
“Mama! What do you think of my—Mama, you look like a princess.”
A laugh escaped Eleanor before she could stop it. “I assure you I do not.”
“You do,” Sophie insisted, hurrying across the room. “The prettiest one.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around Eleanor’s waist, careful not to crush the gown despite her enthusiasm.
Eleanor held her close, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender soap and grass that always seemed to cling to the child.
For a few precious moments she allowed herself to forget solicitors and petitions.
There was only Sophie, warm and safe in her embrace.
A discreet cough sounded from the doorway, and Beatrice looked toward the hall.
“I believe our carriage has arrived.”
***
The church was quiet when they reached it. Gabriel turned as Eleanor entered, and for a heartbeat the rest of the church seemed to disappear.
The morning light streamed through the tall windows, falling across the pale silk of her gown until it seemed almost luminous against the dark oak pews. She looked nothing like the frightened widow who had arrived at Beatrice’s house only days before.
Eleanor met his gaze across the aisle. Neither smiled, and neither looked away. She wondered if he had also thought about them finally having the day they had planned for, but she quickly corrected herself.
She had no right to expect such a thing from him. She had forfeited it years before.
The ceremony itself passed quickly. The vicar, having received the special license only the previous evening, spoke words of love and hope but he did so solemnly.
There were no crowded pews filled with curious neighbors, nor a fashionable congregation eager to admire the bride or a lavish celebration waiting beyond the church doors.
When Gabriel took Eleanor’s hand, she felt how cold his fingers were. Her own were scarcely warmer.
“I, Gabriel Hartley…”
His voice remained steady throughout the vows. When Eleanor repeated hers, there was no hesitation. She spoke them clearly, lifting her eyes to his only once before lowering them again as the vicar continued.
It felt as though she was not speaking at all, and she was watching herself go through the motions without feeling a thing. She willed herself to, for this was what she had once wanted more than anything, but too much had happened for her to have a clear mind.
Gabriel slipped the plain gold band gently onto her finger, and it settled there as though it had always belonged. The vicar pronounced them husband and wife before offering his blessing, and the small gathering remained still for a respectful moment after the final words had been spoken.
It was Sophie who broke the solemnity, of course, so that she could applaud.
She slipped her small hand into Gabriel’s almost immediately as they stepped outside, looking up at him with complete seriousness.
“Does this mean you are coming home with us?”
A flicker of amusement touched several faces. Gabriel looked down at her, and even Eleanor could not help but feel happiness when she looked at her.
“It means you are coming home with me.”
Sophie considered that carefully, entirely satisfied by the answer.
“Good,” she declared. “I like Ravenscourt.”
The drive to the estate passed quietly. Sophie eventually fell asleep against Eleanor’s shoulder, worn out by the excitement of the morning.
Eleanor kept one arm around her daughter while watching the countryside drift past the carriage window, green fields stretching beneath a sky that had begun to brighten as the clouds slowly lifted.
Gabriel sat opposite them. Several times, she became aware of him looking toward Sophie, only for him to glance away before their eyes met.
Conversation never quite found its footing between them, not because either wished for silence, but because there seemed to be no ordinary words that could be said.
At last Gabriel cleared his throat.
“I have had Mrs. Dobson prepare rooms for you. The chamber adjoining yours has been prepared for Sophie. There is a connecting door between them should she wake during the night.”