Love's Tangle (22 page)

He stood still, overwhelmed by her naked loveliness, unable to speak or to move. Then he began to walk towards her, slowly, mechanically, as though stripped of all will, and plucked the towel from its wooden rail. She reached out, her face pink with embarrassment. He did not hand her the length of linen but instead wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her tightly towards him. They stood enwrapped, body to body, and he grew hard with longing. As his hands slid down her soft shoulders, the towel slipped from his grasp. He knelt to retrieve it, brushing her bare stomach with his mouth as he bent. He felt her shudder beneath his touch. Then his hands were on her breasts rearranging the towel but in truth caressing, stroke by stroke, until her nipples stood erect. She was undoing his shirt and he scattered small kisses on her hair, her cheeks, her breasts. He was moving against her, clutching her slender form hard to his nakedness, at once dreamlike and urgent.

The door opened. “Beg pardon ma’am, Your Grace.” A scarlet-faced Alice backed hastily out of the room and the moment was broken.

He longed to consign Alice to the devil but knew she was his savior. In a moment he was dressed and Elinor, blushing with confusion, had covered herself with the scanty piece of cloth. “Forgive me. I had no intention of embarrassing you.”

The words were jerked out of him. He felt as though his heart had stopped and his breath come to a juddering halt. He wanted to love her. He wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted in the world. But he must not. He must walk away. He must remove himself to a safe distance.

“I came to tell you I must go away for a short while.” His earlier plan was shot to pieces. He could no longer take his wife to London, for he could not trust himself even among the distractions of the city.

She looked blank, hearing the words but not understanding them, and he continued, “I will be traveling to London tomorrow.”

“This is a sudden decision,” she managed.

“I am sorry for it. Joffey has asked I make an urgent visit to Claremont House.” He excused himself the small lie.

She gave a nervous little cough. “I would be happy to accompany you, Gabriel, even at this short notice. It would not take long for Alice to lay up a few items of clothing for my immediate use and then follow on with the rest of our luggage.”

His tanned face paled a little and he avoided meeting her eyes. “That is most kind in you, my dear, but I think it best I go alone. Claremont House is undergoing refurbishment and I am not sure what I shall find.”

“A little dirt and untidiness would not signify.”

“It is likely to be a great deal more than a little.” He heard his voice grow hard and inflexible. “You may be assured that as soon as I feel the house is in a fit state, I will return or send a message for you to join me.”

“But there is something I…”

He had to get out of the room. Her beautiful body was too close, too inviting, undoing him with its promise. He put on his most severe voice. “Elinor, you must learn that duchess though you may be, my wishes are paramount. Now I must go, I have arrangements to make.”

And he turned on his heel before she could say or do anything to keep him there.

Chapter Twelve

Elinor slept little that night and awoke at dawn to the sound of a carriage travelling swiftly down the gravel drive. Gabriel had gone. Only a few hours previously they had come close to destroying the barriers that separated them but in the click of a finger the moment had withered; he had looked away, turned away, and instead of loving her, had announced his departure to London. He could not forget or forgive. Her deception was like a living wall between them, growing by the day, monumental and unscaleable. Again and again she had tried to talk to him and again and again failed. Failed dismally. He would not allow her to speak; it was as though he could not bear to face his worst fears: that she was a liar, a fortune hunter, perhaps even an impure woman. She had only to mention Roland’s name, and Gabriel would change the subject, tell her that whatever Frant had said was unimportant. But it
was
important, desperately important, else why had he torn himself away at such a moment?

It was more urgent than ever that she talk to him, yet he had given her no chance. Days ago she had begun to feel unwell but had hoped if she ignored it, the nausea would pass. This morning it could not be ignored. She had bounded out of bed and managed to get to the wash bowl before she began to retch violently. Alice had come in as the spasms subsided and found her mistress clinging to the dresser, too weak to move. With her maid’s help, she had regained the safety of the bed and her color had slowly returned.

“You’re not at all well, Your Grace,” the maid had tutted, “You’ll feel a deal better after a day in bed.”

But she had not stayed in bed for she had no wish for the household to guess at her indisposition. After a cup of apple cider and honey, she had repaired to the library to resume her work but all the time her mind was elsewhere. Suspicions she had hardly dare voice were now almost certain and she faced the dilemma of how best to break the news to a man who had been her husband for only one night. Yesterday, when he had held her close to him for the first time in weeks, it had seemed a God-given opportunity. But it had disappeared like mist in the sun and all she had been able to do was implore him to stay and hear the words she found so difficult to speak. Before she could even begin, he had turned on his heel.

And now he was gone and the day stretched wearily before her. In an echo of her mood, the rain fell constantly, lashing itself against the old stone walls and turning the Hall cold and dank. She tried to remember the summer that had passed: the hours in the dairy when the sun had warmed her tired limbs, the stolen visit to the mystical circle where Gabriel had first spoken to her as a friend and the day at the fair when he had bought her flowers for her dress and she had dared to wear them. How long ago those days seemed. Even the bright September morning when she had walked to the chapel, dressed in silver gauze, seemed an aeon away. She wondered what the fortune teller would say now. She had become the duchess her mother should have been, she had fulfilled the wish of her mother’s spirit, but how could Grainne ever rest knowing her daughter’s unhappiness?

The rain finally petered out in late afternoon and the Great Hall clock was striking four when she donned raincoat and stout shoes. Thinking always of Gabriel, she retraced the steps she had taken with him while she was still a dairymaid, through the wood to the magical clearing and then beyond to the meadows bordering it. In turn they gave way to a slope of the Downs which rose steeply from their furthermost edge. She had never before ventured so far but the effort of a stiff climb temporarily distracted her from her troubles and she arrived at the hill’s summit breathless but more cheerful. She stretched the aching muscles of her legs and took in the view. From this vantage point it was magnificent even in the fading light. Pasture land spread between the Downs like an immense green tablecloth and in the middle of this rich valley, Allingham Hall rose proud and defiant, its crenelated towers reaching for the sky. If she peered intently, she could just make out the gravel circle in front of the house. A carriage had been drawn up, a carriage with decoration on its side panel. It had to be a crest of arms. The duke had come home! He must have thought better of his visit to London and at some point turned his horses. She should be there to greet him, not on this distant hill trying to walk away unhappiness. She flew down the steep slope, sped across the tranquil enclosure and raced through the woods. Once she reached the drive, she walked as fast as dignity would allow towards the Hall, arriving at the front entrance with flushed face and wildly bedraggled hair.

As soon as she entered the house, it was evident the duke’s carriage had returned without its owner. She looked back through the open door and saw the horses being led away to the stables. Parsons was making his way to the servants’ hall and tipped his hat to her. But the groom bore no message, no intimation of when the duke might return or when she herself might go to London. A veil of unshed tears clouded her vision and she walked blindly past the servants to the refuge of her room.

That evening she sat alone at her sitting room window, staring through the darkness and thinking, thinking, until she felt her head would fly apart. When Thomas came to pull the curtains she asked him to leave them, when Jarvis came to tell her Chef had prepared a particularly appetizing dinner, she told him she required no meal that evening and when Alice came to help her to bed, she refused the maid’s offer and said she would prefer to stay just where she was.

She stayed there all night. In the small hours the fire flickered out, leaving only a residue of smoldering embers, and she shivered in the cold. But she wrapped herself in the cashmere shawl Alice had so thoughtfully left and remained where she was. In her heart, she knew the marriage was over. It had never really started. Their one night of passion had offered false hopes that perished in the morning light. Gabriel had never promised love and she had married in full knowledge of the contract she was entering, but in a foolish fantasy she had dreamed that he might one day love her as much as she loved him. It had been just that—a fantasy. Like Grainne she had fallen for a man unable to return her deepest feelings. But the situation was worse than that, far worse. She had fallen for a man who did not even like her, a man who could not bear to be in her company. Even if he were to return tomorrow, it would make no difference. Gabriel would never confess his doubts, never confide his lack of trust, never give her the chance to make things right. He would brush her aside and simply go on as before.

She could not continue to live in this way, especially not now. Once it was known she was with child, she would be tied to Allingham and tied to a forlorn marriage. Their baby would grow to maturity in an unhappy house, as unhappy as any Gabriel himself had known. She could not contemplate such an outcome. So what was the remedy? It was drastic but it had to be. The only solution was to disappear so completely that Gabriel would be unable to trace her. More likely he would not try, for he would be relieved to have the façade of their marriage shattered. He would be free to file for annulment and marry a woman of his own class who would give him the heir he needed.

And what of her? She was strong, she told herself, and despite the heartbreak she would walk from Allingham with her head held high. She would don her grey dress and pack her portmanteau for the last time. She would do as her mother had done all those years ago and cast herself upon the world.

****

Her step was lighter than it had been for days when the next morning she took a last walk in the Hall gardens. She might be nursing a raw heart but the decision was made and for that she was thankful. As she turned back to the house, she was surprised to see Roland Frant making his way towards her across the damp grass.

“Good day, Elinor,” he hailed her cheerfully. “For once the sun is shining and you are right to take advantage. But this grass has my feet soaking.”

“Mine too. But I cannot be forever indoors. Were you on your way to see me?” He has come to discover why Gabriel is absent, she thought.

“Indeed yes. I was about to leave you these journals,” and he indicated the parcel he carried. “Light reading only, but a welcome change, I hope, from the Allingham library.”

She was uncertain as to whether Gabriel’s cousin was friend or enemy but today he seemed well-disposed and she was grateful for this small attention. “How kind of you to think of me! Won’t you come into the house? I’m sure we can depend on Jarvis for a tray of tea.”

She must act as normally as possible, for it would not do to arouse suspicion—he had accepted her invitation a little too eagerly. Minutes later they were in the drawing room and he had settled himself into one of the large Chesterfields.

The conversation hovered safely around mundane topics until he said, “My mother is thinking of having a conservatory erected adjoining the south wall of the Dower House. She has recently seen an illustration of the Chelsea Physic Garden and been much taken by it.”

“I imagine it would make a very pleasant room in winter as well as summer,” Elinor replied, picking her words with care. She was wary of where the subject might lead.

“It may seem a little grand for such a modest dwelling—I did have doubts at first—but I think now it will look very well. We cannot be wholly indifferent to improvements,” he offered slyly, “especially with Claremont House receiving so much attention of late. Have you heard how the renovations are progressing?”

He had reached what he came for, she thought, and she answered him shortly, “No, I have not yet received a report.”

Her guest appeared undeterred. “The work has been going on for a long time, I believe. Gabriel must have decided upon some quite elaborate changes, particularly as he has found it necessary to supervise them personally.”

“The duke wishes our London home to be perfect for me.”

“That is understandable and I imagine you cannot wait to see what has been done.”

He seemed determined to pin her down and she went fearlessly into the fray. “Gabriel will send a message as soon as he feels it right for me to travel. Until then, I am happy to wait.”

“You will need to leave Allingham before the roads are mired in mud. Come November, coach travel becomes a lottery in these outlying country districts. Only horseback is certain and I do not think the duke would wish his bride to ride to London.”

“I am sure he has considered all the difficulties.”

“I hope so, but if you will forgive me for saying, he seems to have given one consideration little thought—that of leaving you here alone.”

“It was necessary for him to travel ahead and I am quite content,” she countered falsely.

He looked at her in earnest. “I hope you know that you may count on my assistance at any time.” A flush suffused her face and her figure stiffened, but he continued with barely a pause, “Forgive me, but I wish only to offer whatever aid I may.”