Love's Tangle (21 page)

“Whatever can it be?”

“Yes, whatever can it be?” was Gabriel’s sardonic echo.

Roland ignored him and turned to Elinor. “I know it has been most important for you to discover your true identity, Cousin Elinor—although after what I have to reveal, perhaps no longer cousin?”

“What is your meaning?” Gabriel interrupted angrily. “For once in your life, Roland, be a man and spit it out.”

His cousin looked affronted. “I have come with good news. Elinor, I am sure, will want to know the truth of her family.”

“You know something we have not yet discovered, Roland?” Her barely suppressed fervor was all he could desire.

“My mother’s friend, a Mrs. Warrinder, is now housebound and has little contact with the outside world but when Lady Frant spoke to her of your marriage, she was most interested. You see, she knew of your mother! She recognized her name straightaway. She was a young woman who lived locally, she said. The painter—she painted miniatures.”

“Yes, yes,” Gabriel said impatiently while Elinor lowered her eyes in disappointment.

“You are already aware of this, I know, but what Mrs. Warrinder went on to say is entirely new. She said the young lady, Elinor’s mother, painted while her husband tended the woods at Allingham. They were a handsome couple, she remembered, but they moved away quite suddenly and she had no notion what happened to them afterwards.”

Elinor’s lips parted in surprise and her eyes widened. She was staring at Roland’s face as though hypnotized.

“Explain yourself, Frant.” Gabriel’s tone had lost its irony and was tinged with threat.

“It would seem Elinor’s father was a forester,” Roland announced with a flourish. And then added unnecessarily, “He was not, after all, Uncle Charles.”

There was complete silence in the room. Roland Frant looked from one to the other of his listeners. “It is surely desirable that Elinor knows her true father. In my view, Charles was always a doubtful contender.”

“This is a bag of moonshine.” Gabriel sprung into speech. “We have evidence…” The uncertainty of that evidence hit him but then mustering his remaining armory, he continued, “…and your informant is an old woman, you said so yourself. Housebound. Her mind no doubt wanders. She will have confused people from her past.”

Roland smiled serenely. “I think there is little doubt that what she says is true, cousin. And if you think carefully, it makes much more sense than Uncle Charles ever did. After all, it changes nothing, does it? You are happily married and whether Elinor is the daughter of Charles Claremont or a humble woodsman is immaterial. Now if you will excuse me…”

And with that, Roland bowed his way out of the Allingham drawing room, a satisfied smirk on his face.

****

They were left looking at each other, bewildered by the bombshell he had dropped. Gabriel was the first to recover. “This must be a shock for you, Elinor. You will need time to accustom yourself. But whoever your father may be, your name is or was, Milford. Your identity is not wholly lost. And think for a minute—you now escape the ignominy of having Charles Claremont as your relative!”

He was trying to make light of the devastating news. “Don’t refine too much on what has happened. My wretched cousin was at least right when he said that whatever your parentage, it changes nothing.”

“I suppose not,” she said in a small voice and began to move towards him, seeking reassurance.

“I will leave you to think it over.” He strode briskly towards the door. “Joffey has papers awaiting my signature but we will talk more at supper.” And he was out of the room before she caught her next breath.

Was it true that it changed nothing? Gabriel insisted it was so and had tried to mollify her with surface cheer. But that was a sham. It
had
changed things. He had fled from her without a word of affection, leaving her alone and troubled, and after a night in which she had thought herself truly loved. It could only be because she was no longer the woman he’d taken her for, no longer the relation he’d imagined. He had married in part to redeem his uncle’s conduct so how could Roland’s news not have an effect? Yesterday they had been happy in each other’s company and planning their future together; today Gabriel could not wait to leave her. Last night, he had uttered words of love but this morning those words had been rendered nothing, an aberration based on a false premise.

She slumped down into an armchair and gazed blindly through the window at the blazing red and gold of the autumn trees. She must stop this speculation, she scolded herself, she was allowing her fears to run away with her. Gabriel disliked his cousin intensely and had been irritated to have his ride interrupted and his morning’s business postponed. That was enough to explain his hasty departure.

But was it? Her mind was off again. Would he not feel entrapped into marriage by her claiming Charles Claremont as her father? Surely he was bound to. He would see her differently now, not the courageous girl braving the grandeur of Allingham to find the truth, but a deliberate imposter, a deliberate deceiver. The daughter of a forester who had plotted to marry above her station. And her passionate love for him, would that not be viewed askance too? If she could deceive in one way, she could deceive in others. He would be shocked by the desire she’d shown, by her willingness to give herself to him, and he would suspect that she was not a pure woman. As a gentleman, he would not reproach, but she would be silently accused and silently judged. A cavernous breach would open between them, a breach so wide that not even a marriage of convenience could bridge it.

****

Gabriel sat motionless, untouched papers scattered across his desk. He had been left battered by the morning’s revelations: that he was capable of loving and that Elinor was capable of deception. But he could not think that. He remembered her glowing face when she’d found the letter from the enquiry agent, her bubbling joy as he’d deciphered the singed journal entry. She had truly believed she was the daughter of Charles, 4
th
Duke of Allingham. No, it was rather that he had deceived himself. He had jumped to conclusions because he had wanted them to be true. By accepting her as a Claremont, he had given himself a reason to keep her close, even while he knew in his heart it was the most dangerous thing he could do.

In truth he cared nothing for Elinor’s birth, whether she was a Claremont or from humble stock. Roland Frant’s informant could be wrong or perhaps not even exist; the man was a scoundrel who meant nothing but wickedness. His cousin’s intervention was trifling—what truly mattered were the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Roland’s disclosure had simply laid bare the truth. He had chosen to believe Elinor’s history because he had loved her from the very beginning. And he had married for the same reason and not to recompense a spurned orphan or to provide an heir for Allingham. She had woven her magic from the time she arrived and unleashed the most powerful emotions in him. He was confused and baffled and terrified by this new vulnerability. From this time on, he decided, they must lead separate lives.

****

Dinner that night was eaten in near silence. The presence of servants prevented any personal discussion and Elinor had to be content with a fitful conversation on estate matters. When he spoke Gabriel was dispassionate, his tone neutral, and she could not but compare this evening with their wedding night supper when she had sat nervously anticipating the hours ahead, but basking in his admiration. The last dishes were being removed when he said, “I have some work to finish this evening, Elinor. I hope you will excuse me.”

Her heart crushed small. There was to be no intimate talk between them. She flushed at the thought that once again he could not wait to leave her. He walked around the table and offered her his arm, the gesture punctilious rather than loving. Together they walked into the great flagged hall and she felt the weight of his ancestors bearing down on her. She could almost hear their cries of “imposter.” This surely was what Gabriel was thinking.

He escorted her to the foot of the huge oak staircase before saying, “I imagine you will wish to retire early. It has been a difficult day for you.”

For a moment his hand was on hers and she felt a pleasurable shiver tingle its way up her arm. Deep blue eyes gazed intently into misty green and she felt the pull at her soul and the melt of her body. They stood for what seemed an age, his hand moving slowly up her inner arm, stroking its soft white skin until his fingers were reaching out towards the swell of her bosom. His hand cupped itself around her breast and he was lifting it almost dazedly to his lips. She held her breath, willing him to bring his mouth down on her naked skin, indifferent to the possibility of being seen. She wanted this; she wanted him so very badly.

But then it was as though he jerked himself awake. His hand was swiftly withdrawn and with a brief bow he was making his way to his study at the far end of the hall, leaving her to mount the stairs to her room alone. Alice was waiting as she had been twenty-four hours ago. The beautiful nightgown trimmed with guipure lace was laid out on the bed as it had been the night before. But with what difference!

When the maid had gone, she lay quietly, her candle still burning, her mind still busy. She had gone terribly awry, she saw that now, for she had mistaken last night’s passion for love. This was indeed a marriage of convenience and love had no place in it. Gabriel had taken her with pleasure but nothing more. And now he doubted the very basis on which he’d married, he did not wish for even pleasure. In her search for her mother’s history, she had persuaded him Charles Claremont had deceived his family. Now the tables were turned. She was the deceiver, not his uncle. She had to talk to him, convince him that she had not set out to dupe, that she had been as misled by what they’d found as he. Surely he would believe her for he must want the marriage to succeed, if only to ensure an heir. If he came to her tonight, they could talk and make good their misunderstanding. She would stay awake and wait for him. He would come, she told herself, the door would open and he would be there and she would abandon herself to the night and to him. He would come. But he did not.

September flowed into October, the days growing shorter but to Elinor seeming endless. She tried to occupy herself with work in the library or with walking in the gardens but her enthusiasm had withered and the landscape had long ago lost its golden glow. Every evening she sat opposite her husband and picked at whatever indulgence Chef had prepared, while Gabriel talked of this and that but nothing of importance to either of them. If she dared ever to mention Roland’s information, the duke would brush it irritably to one side, “Really, Elinor, it matters not. You must not allow yourself to mind so dearly.” Then he would lead her to the staircase, his hand barely touching her arm, bow a courteous goodnight and walk away. The spark of hope that still fluttered within her was nightly extinguished.

While she undressed her mistress, Alice was careful to maintain a stream of idle chatter. Elinor could see her maid was perplexed by the duke’s conduct and concerned for her mistress as she grew more tired every day. She slept little. Every night the bed seemed to grow larger, a fragile raft amid a raging sea. She was drowning and when she reached out for a comforting hand, there was none. She was completely alone. She would toss and turn while the Great Hall clock struck one hour after another, until finally she fell exhausted into a troubled sleep.

****

Her lethargy did not pass unnoticed by Gabriel but he steeled himself against enquiry for that could only break down the barriers he had been busy building. He was as determined as ever to recast their marriage into one of measured affection. He must treat her as a friend, a useful helpmeet, but nothing more. Only then would he be able to share her bed without the tumultuous emotions that terrified him. If he were ever foolish enough to allow himself to love, there could be only one outcome—lacerating pain—and he could bear no more. If he lost her, he would not want to continue living. And he would surely lose her. That was the pattern of his life.

During the day he applied himself to the management of the estate with an energy that made his bailiff stare, but Elinor was never far from his mind. And nightly his resolution was tempted. Somehow he found the strength to make the long walk from staircase to study, but he did not know how long he could continue to live in this way. It was Joffey’s remark that set him wondering—that when His Grace had the time, perhaps he would give consideration to his London home since the renovations at Claremont House had made little headway. If he went to London, Gabriel thought, and took Elinor with him, surely things would be easier. It was living at Allingham, in close society with each other and without other distraction, that was so difficult. The capital would provide all kinds of diversion and for Elinor, who had never stayed in the greatest city in the world, it could only mean pleasure. She would regain her spirits and he would regain peace of mind.

Once decided upon, he went immediately to propose the visit. It was just past noon and she was likely to have retired to her room before taking her usual light luncheon. He sprang up the oak staircase, a renewed energy coursing through him. He had found the solution to their problem and he could not imagine why he had not thought of it before. He could ask her for help in overseeing the renovations. The kitchen was in need of remodeling and every bedroom required new furnishings. What woman does not enjoy taking charge of such refurbishment? He was happy to foot any size bill if it made their life easier.

He knocked quietly at her door but there was no answer. He wondered if he had missed her on the stairs for he had already checked the library on his way up. He knocked again and when there was still no response, opened the door meaning to make sure of her absence.

A loud splash greeted him. Elinor was scrambling out of the bath and reaching for a towel to cover her nakedness. “I’m sorry you find me so,” she flustered, “but I have been working in the library, its furthest corner, and have become unbelievably dirty.”