Velvet (50 page)

“If you ever do anything like that to me again, Nathaniel, I’ll create such a scene, you won’t want to show your face outside your own door for a six-month,” she declared in a low, fierce voice.

“Don’t threaten me, Gabrielle.” But he sounded more weary than menacing. “If I embarrassed you, I beg your pardon. I was desperate to get away.”

“You could have gone home on your own.”

“I needed the comforting company of my wife.” Again without volition, the declaration emerged as sardonic as the feeling behind it.

The carriage drew up in Bruton Street before Gabrielle could come up with an appropriate response. Nathaniel jumped down and held out his hand to assist her down. Gabrielle ignored the hand, stepped down to the street, and stalked past him into the house. Her hands shook as she stripped off her silk gloves.

“I’ll bid you good night, my lord. I suggest you take a powder for your headache. I can’t think what to suggest for your temper, however.”

In a rustle of emerald silk skirts she marched up the stairs, leaving Nathaniel in the hall.

He swore a savage oath and went into his book room, slamming the door behind him. He poured a glass of cognac from the decanter on the pier table, then tossed the fiery spirit down his throat and reached again for the decanter. He seemed to have a great cold
hole in his chest that he could neither warm nor fill. It was a long time before he went up to bed.

Gabrielle slept badly and awoke late the next morning. She lay in bed, wondering for a minute why she felt so leaden and melancholy, and then she remembered. Last night’s scenes replayed themselves with depressing accuracy. How long was it going to continue … and how long could she keep quiet and put up with it?

Damn Talleyrand!

She pulled the bellrope beside the bed and waited for Ellie to come up with her hot chocolate.

“Miserable day, it is, m’lady.” Ellie greeted her cheerfully, placing the tray on the bedside table before pulling back the rose velvet curtains on a gray, overcast sky. “I’d best light the candles,” she said, bustling around.

Gabrielle hitched herself up on the pillows and reached for the cup of chocolate. The rich scent came up and hit her, and her stomach rose into her throat. “Dear God, I’m going to be sick!” She flung herself from the bed and behind the commode screen.

Ellie was plumping the pillows when Gabrielle re-emerged, paler than usual.

“Maybe tea would suit better than chocolate, m’lady,” the maid said matter-of-factly. “Folks take agin different things … sometimes it’s coffee, sometimes tea—”

“What are you talking about?” Gabrielle climbed back into bed. “I must have eaten something last night that disagreed with me. It was probably the crayfish pudding. I thought it tasted a bit odd.”

“I don’t believe so, m’lady,” Ellie said, smoothing the coverlet over Gabrieile’s knees. “It’s been near six weeks since you last ’ad your time.”

“What?” Gabrielle lay back on the pillows, absorbing this. “That long?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sweet heaven.” She touched her belly fleetingly.

“Shall I fetch some tea?”

“Yes, please … anything but that revolting stuff.” Gabrielle’s mouth twisted in distaste. “And, Ellie—”

“Ma’am?”

“For the moment this is just between the two of us. I don’t want to say anything to his lordship until I’m certain.”

“Of course, m’lady.” Ellie bobbed a curtsy and disappeared with the tray of chocolate.

Gabrielle closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. Nathaniel was not going to be overjoyed, not at first, but he’d have to realize that however scrupulously careful he’d been, in the excess of passion that so often shook them like an earthquake, it was not surprising that his caution had been insufficient.

Anyway, this news should serve to divert his thoughts from his present obsession. It would give him something else to worry about, something much easier for her to handle.

She’d have to pick her moment to tell him. And soon. She touched her belly again, and the sweet hope became a certainty. There was no need to watt for further signs. She knew that Nathaniel’s seed had been well planted.

Ellie reappeared with tea. “A little dry toast often ’elps in the morning, m’lady,” the maid observed. “So I took the liberty of bringin’ a piece. It worked a treat for me mam when she was ’avin’ our Martha.”

“I can see I’m going to be relying on your experience, Ellie,” Gabrielle said, nibbling the toast. She took a sip of tea. “So far so good.”

“Other best thing is rose hip tea, Mam always says.” Ellie poked the fire and threw kindling on the sparking embers. “What gown will you be wearing this morning, m’lady?”

“Oh, a riding habit, please. I’m engaged to ride in
the park.” Gabrielle threw aside the covers and stood up. No nausea. Tea and dry toast in the morning from now on.

Nathaniel was in the breakfast parlor when she went downstairs. He looked up without smiling from the
Gazette
as she entered.

“Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

“Not particularly,” Gabrielle said, finding no desire to smile herself in the face of this patent unfriendliness. “How about you?”

“All right, I suppose.” He resumed his reading.

The shadows under his eyes told another story, Gabrielle reflected, surveying the chafing dishes on the sideboard with an unconscious moue of distaste. Nothing appealed. A dull nausea had settled in her belly. She glanced across at Nathaniel and decided this was not the moment to share her news.

She sat down and took a piece of toast, buttering it lightly before cutting it into thin strips. Idly, she dipped the finger of toast into her tea and ate it with relish.

“What on earth are you doing?” Nathaniel stared in disbelief.

“What?” Startled, she looked up in the act of dunking another finger. “Oh.” She looked at the piece of toast with some surprise. “I don’t know, it just seemed like a good idea. And it tastes lovely.”

“It’s disgusting,” Nathaniel declared. “Pure slop. Anyone would think you hadn’t got any teeth.”

“Well, I’m sorry if it offends you, but—”

Her words were cut off by the violent shattering of glass as something flew through the long window and crashed against the far wall.

“What the hell!” Nathaniel sprang to his feet as the cricket ball rolled beneath the sideboard. “That’s the second window in three days! I told him he was not to play anywhere near the house!”

Gabrielle rose from her chair. “Easy now, Nathaniel,” she cautioned swiftly. “It’s only a window.”

But if Nathaniel heard her, he made no acknowledgment. He flung open the window. “Jake! Come in here at once.”

A stricken Jake appeared at the breakfast room door a couple of minutes later. “I b-beg pardon, sir,” he said. “I was practicing bowling overarm, and it sort of slipped.”

“What did I tell you the last time?” Nathaniel demanded furiously, towering over the child.

Jake looked in anguished appeal toward Gabrielle, who could tell that he was about to run to her. She realized that this was one occasion when no one would benefit from her intervention; any such action would only exacerbate his father’s anger. Deliberately, she turned aside, picking up the discarded newspaper.

“Well?” Nathaniel demanded when Jake stood, tongue-tied.

Two large tears trickled down Jake’s cheeks, and he snuffled miserably. “I was waitin’ for Primmy to take me to the square garden to play,” he offered with a gulp. “It was only one throw.”

“I will not tolerate disobedience,” his father stated. “You may spend the rest of the day in the schoolroom, and there will be no visits to the garden for the rest of the week.”

Jake’s eyes widened in horrified dismay. “But, Papa—”

“Did you hear what I said?” Nathaniel thundered.

Jake turned and fled upstairs.

“Oh, Nathaniel,” Gabrielle said in soft protest. “He was to go to Astley’s this afternoon with the Bedford children. He’s talked of nothing else for days.”

It was clear from Nathaniel’s expression that he’d forgotten this. But he only said curtly, “Then it’s to be hoped he’ll learn the lesson well.” He returned to his unfinished breakfast.

Gabrielle sat in frowning silence for a minute. If it weren’t for the trip to Astley’s, it didn’t qualify as a particularly
severe sentence, but Jake was such a sensitive child that a mild rebuke was usually enough to ensure penitence.

After a minute she said, “Couldn’t you reconsider, Nathaniel? If he believes he’s going to be denied the treat for the next three hours, it’ll be sufficient punishment. You know how tractable he usually is.”

Nathaniel raised his eyes from his plate, and a chill ran down her spine. He was looking at her as if he didn’t know her.

“Jake’s my son,” he said coldly. “This isn’t your business.”

Gabrielle felt winded, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. How could he say such a thing? In all essentials Jake was as much her child as Nathaniel’s. It was one of their greatest shared joys, one of the inextricable ties that joined them.

It felt as if he was cutting those ties.

Without a word she pushed back her chair and left the room.

Nathaniel dropped his head into his hands under a wash of misery. He couldn’t go on like this. Either he confronted her with his suspicions, or he put them from him. But he seemed to be in the grip of some satanic influence that forced him to cut and wound with every breath as if such inflictions could lessen his own pain. Instead, they increased it.

Perhaps if he went away, took some time, put some distance between them, then things would fall into place. He
would
go to Lisbon. There was a job to be done there, one he could do better than anyone. It would distract him. And when he came back, perhaps he’d have an answer to this horrendous dilemma.

He spent the morning making the necessary arrangements and returned to the house at noon, after a meeting with the prime minister. The house seemed very quiet, unpleasantly quiet.

“Is her ladyship in?”

“I believe so, my lord.” Bartram took his hat and cane. “I understand she’s having nuncheon with Master Jake in the schoolroom.”

“I see. Has the glazier fixed the breakfast room window yet?”

“Yes, my lord.” Bartram coughed. “It was a capital throw, my lord. Very good form. I saw it from the landing window. Hell make a first class bowler one of these days, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

Bartram’s expression was wooden, except that he had a twinkle in his eye.

“He’s going to have to learn to aim better first,” Nathaniel observed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. The prospect of action had gone some way toward restoring his equilibrium.

He mounted the stairs to the third floor, pausing outside the schoolroom door. Gabrielle’s cheerful voice reached him through the oak, but there was no sound from his son.

He opened the door. Gabrielle and Jake were sitting at the table in the firelit room. They turned and regarded him in wary silence. Nathaniel felt like an ogre. It was as bad as the days before Gabrielle.

Jake’s eyes were red and swollen, Gabrielle’s gaze was unreadable, but he knew that she was both hurt and angry.

“Jake, you may go with the Bedfords,” he said.

The child leaped to his feet with a delighted cry, his wan countenance transformed. He ran to Nathaniel and flung his arms around his waist, hugging him.

“Hey.” Nathaniel caught the small, round chin, tilting it up. “It had better not happen again, do you hear?”

“Oh, yes.” Jake nodded solemnly, but he couldn’t help the grin that immediately split his face. “Thank you … you’re … you’re the
best
papa in the whole wide world!”

Nathaniel shook his head in amused denial “You’d better hurry and get ready. Cut along now.”

Jake scampered off to the nursery, calling for Primmy to help him find his coat.

Gabrielle rested her elbows on the table. “What brought on the change of heart?”

“You,” he said. “As usual. I need to talk to you.” He closed the door.

Her heart went cold. Was he going to confront her?

“I’m going away for a few months,” Nathaniel said, his shoulders resting against the door at his back.

“Away?” She couldn’t hide her dismayed surprise. “Where to?”

“To Lisbon,” he said, watching her closely, but her expression didn’t change.

“Why?”

“There’s work to be done,” he said noncommittally.

“Why don’t I come with you?” She stood up, her eyes suddenly alight. For the moment she’d forgotten about her pregnancy, and could think only of the thrill of being together again through the excitements and dangers of such a journey … of how such an adventure would cure the present grimness, would put paid to all suspicion and doubt.

“Don’t be absurd!” Nathaniel said. “If Fouché got his hands on you, your life wouldn’t be worth a day’s purchase.”
Unless she was still in his pay
.

“The same applies to you,” she pointed out. “Oh, come on, Nathaniel, remember the last time, that journey from Tilsit. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to do it again?”

Nathaniel pushed himself away from the door, and his face was black, his eyes as hard as stone. “Now, you listen to me,” he said with soft but deadly menace. “If you so much as think of following me, Gabrielle, I will make your life a living hell. I swear it on my mother’s grave.”

Gabrielle took an involuntary step back from the ferocious figure. “All right,” she said, lifting her hands palm up in a gesture of acceptance. “It was a bad idea … all right.” It was, of course. Reality reasserted itself. Racketing around the Continent in the early months of pregnancy was asking for trouble.

Nathaniel’s eyes bored into her during a brief, tense silence, as if he were reading her mind, then he exhaled through his mouth, apparently satisfied.

“I’m going to Burley Manor in the morning,” he said in more level tones. “I’ve some estate matters to deal with before I leave. I expect to sail for France toward the end of the week.”

“Shall I come to Burley Manor?” she asked very tentatively.

“No. There would be no point. I’ll be far too busy.”

“Oh … right.” She shrugged with an assumption of carelessness. “I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll be away.”