The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (30 page)

And demanding their approval. His eyes roved each of them, communicating with a penetrating look his desire for their absolute compliance.

Meade motioned to him with upraised eyebrows and a glance toward the door.

She was here.

He turned, thinking he was prepared . . . he wasn’t. She walked in, resplendent in a deep blue gown of flowing satin, jewels glittering from her throat, her dark hair pulled high from her face in a crown of its own. Her face . . . He had to look down for a moment, catch his breath and recover. He caught her eyes, so happy to see him.

She seemed to see it, a duke brought to his knees; she knew her impact on him in an instant, and as if deciding to have mercy on him, she shot him a smile across the room. A lovely smile, her eyes so warm and laughing. Her chin tilted toward him, suppressing laughter, just for him to see, so obvious and yet so private in front of everyone. A shared moment where she jested with him, almost daring him to go through with this.

He nearly laughed out loud.

Turning away, he hid his smile and nodded toward his mother. If Alexandria could win her over, she would have the world at her feet.

“Alexandria, my mother, the Duchess of St. Easton.”

He took Alexandria’s hand and led her over to the dowager. She curtsied low, almost as low as she had to the regent. “An honor, ma’am.”

“I’ve heard much about you.” His mother gave her a regal nod. “Not all of it good.”

The room sucked in a collective breath.

Alexandria gave her a small smile. “I have an interesting story, I suppose.” She quirked a perfectly groomed brow. “Would you care to hear the truth from me?”

Society was not so forthright when challenging someone of Gabriel’s mother’s status. Had no one told her? Eyes swung to Jane. Jane gave a small smile and shrugged. Gabriel tried to keep up with what was happening but he couldn’t. Were they being rude to her? Ridiculing her? He couldn’t bear not knowing.

He swung toward Meade with demanding brows raised.

Meade shrugged and gestured toward Alexandria.

What was going on?

“Mother, Alexandria is . . .” He grappled with the words. He swallowed around them, his arm out and gesturing to the party. He felt a fool in a room of scholars. “Mother.”

Jane jumped in. She chattered and bade Alexandria to sit near her. She gestured and shot a calming glance at Gabriel. He tried to keep up with what was happening. He tried to understand if they were accepting Alexandria or taking her under in the sea of social etiquette. He felt adrift, as if the sea had risen and waves were flinging him up and then drowning him until he didn’t know what was right-side up.

He clung to Alexandria’s face, watching for signs that she needed his help, his rescue. But she didn’t look at him. She nodded and talked and turned to whoever spoke and nodded and talked. She seemed to be doing all right, but he couldn’t shake the notion that they were interviewing her, testing and trying her . . . and he couldn’t help. He had to stand by and watch their fast-moving lips and her face, studying her face.

He hadn’t thought it would be like this, Meade unable to write everything such a large group said and he so at sea. There was nothing he could do to help her but pray God gave her grace.

She faced his family alone.

ALEX TOOK A LONG BREATH
and stood before the wide-open windows of her room. She wrapped the silken folds of the dressing gown around her, hugging her arms together, thinking of his family and all their concerns.

They were so afraid for him. For themselves.

Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they see his strength?

She leaned into the breeze coming from the window, smelling the flowers from the garden below. She knew the duke far less than any of them, and yet why was it that she could feel his strength running a straight line toward her, holding her up and giving her the courage to face their questions?

His mother, so elegant and stately, just as a duchess should be. She studied Alex in a way that made her want to squirm in her chair, though she didn’t. The sisters less so, though Charlotte frowned a lot. The brothers-in-law seemed hungry, eager for a misstep from her or Gabriel. She was particularly careful when answering them. Finally Gabriel had gestured her over. She took his arm, smiled serenely up at him, and allowed him to escort her into dinner.

It was the first time she was seated beside him, at his right side. She had kept her head down, too pleased and not wanting to show it, as he seated her at that place beside him that said she was someone special to him. His hands had lingered . . . at her elbow, her lower back, her waist, finally grasping her fingers for a tiny second as he pulled out her chair and seated her, leaning near her ear to whisper how lovely she looked before pulling away, as if he’d said nothing, and seating himself at the head of the table.

She could hardly bear to look at his face. He was too stunning in his dark evening clothes and his slick black hair and emerald green eyes—he took her breath away too thoroughly. The food came, course after course, tasting of grit and sand, her throat swallowing but her heart being so attuned to his that she could have been eating saddle leather and she wouldn’t have known the difference.

“Alexandria, tell us. What did you do with yourself on that dreary island of yours? It must have been terribly lonely,” Charlotte asked from down the long table.

“Oh, not at all. At least, it was the only life I knew then and I was quite content in it.” Alex turned to Gabriel and said, “Charlotte wants to know what I did on Holy Island.”

“Sheepherder.” Gabriel barked out with a laugh.

Alex smiled over at Charlotte. “Yes, he is quite right. I have a small herd that took up much of my time. We also fished and hunted rabbits. I learned to cook, experimented with recipes. Ann, that’s our maid of all work”—Alex nearly laughed at such a description of the woman who was like a harping grandmother to her—“she only knew a few dishes, and we grew so tired of them that I began experimenting with herbs and spices. Of course that led to my recipes for hair tonics and cosmetics. I will have to make up a batch of my lavender water if you like. Jane seems to like it so much.”

“Oh, I do!” Jane nodded with enthusiasm. “She has taught me how to make so many things. I think my favorite is that hair tonic. Charlotte, it makes the dullest brown hair fairly shine and smells so good.” Jane shot a glance over at Meade. “She even taught me a recipe for men that Mr. Meade was willing to try. I daresay it was . . . very appealing.” Jane looked down, pink in her cheeks as Meade swallowed hard and stuttered, “Q-q-quite nice.” He nodded, hurriedly taking another bite.

Alex laughed, turned to Gabriel, and said in a voice so quiet only he could hear, “They are extolling my tonics and perfumes.” She smelled the part of her inner wrist where she had applied some lavender water earlier and then held out the spot for Gabriel to smell.

It didn’t seem inappropriate at first, just something she would do to help communicate, and yet when he took her arm and held her wrist in a gentle grasp to his nose, his lips just touching the delicate skin of her inner wrist, her body flooded with warmth and her heart sped up.

Gabriel didn’t seem to care whose eyes were on them. He gave her that half smile and green-eyed look from beneath thick lashes that devastated her and then leaned toward her ear and inhaled at the spot just below it, his lips close and whispering, “I believe I like it here as well.”

It was all she could do to breathe and nod for her next course to be served.

Gabriel’s mother cleared her throat, loudly, making Alex’s head jerk up. Good heavens, she had to gain her composure before she did something worse.

“So the regent has given you one season to find a husband, Alexandria. Have you met anyone of interest thus far?”

It was a deliberate reminder of her duty to look among the ton for a husband. Of course, Alex could most definitely think of one person, but she couldn’t tell the duchess she was quite certain she was falling in love with her son. It was up to Gabriel to pursue her, which he had in the blue salon when he’d kissed her, but then he’d also said she was to look for a husband, which was confusing. And then there was the very great matter of the possibility that she was pregnant. She wasn’t sick or weak or even tired, as she’d heard was often the case, but she hadn’t had her monthly time in over two months, though it never came in regular intervals. When would she know for certain? If only she had her mother here to talk to. She’d never needed her more.

Her throat tightened with the thought of what Gabriel would do and think and feel when he discovered the truth. But she mustn’t think of that now in front of everyone. She might burst into tears. “I haven’t met very many eligible bachelors yet, Your Grace.”

“Yes, well that will be remedied after your ball. I daresay this house will be full of callers.”

Gabriel made an impatient movement, probably not able to see his mother so far down the table to keep up with what she was saying. Alex turned toward him, not sure what to say. “She speaks of finding me a husband.”

A flash of irritation and heat hardened his eyes. He took up Alex’s hand, rubbing her fingers with his thumb where no one could see, and said in a loud voice, “Alexandria will have the opportunity to meet any man I deem acceptable, rest assured, Mother.”

“Let us hope there are a few that fall into that category,” his mother said in a dry tone.

Jane looked to be suppressing laughter. Charlotte rolled her eyes and Mary looked afraid for her.

Meade intervened. “Oh yes. His Grace and I have drawn up a list of names. I believe Lady Alexandria has met two of them already, Lord Basham and Kit Harington.”

“Kit Harington is very nice,” Mary spoke up, “so dashing and handsome.” Mary’s husband glowered at her and she shrank back, making Alex feel sad for her.

“Oh, I like Basham better. He’s a smart fellow and doesn’t gamble. Hard to find one of that age who doesn’t dabble at the tables,” Charlotte put in.

“I daresay Basham would make an excellent husband if he should be so inclined to be shackled,” Charlotte’s husband, Lord Easley said, his voice haughty with a nasal edge that made Alex press back a smile.

“I do believe he would welcome Alex’s shackle.” Jane laughed. “He was tripping all over himself at the play trying to impress her.”

“I’ve changed my mind about Basham,” Gabriel boomed from the end of the table, frowning at the lot of them.

“Whatever could be wrong with Basham, Gabriel?” His mother challenged with raised brows and a puckered mouth. “He is of the right age and a decent enough fellow.” She shouted as she spoke, making Alex feel embarrassed for Gabriel. It was obvious that his mother did not know how to communicate with her son.

“I don’t approve of the way he looks at her.” There was an angry frustration coming from Gabriel that Alex could feel rising to an alarming degree. He was guessing at what they were talking about and seeming desperate to grasp a foothold in the conversation.

Alex looked at him and gave him a gentle smile. “I didn’t like the way he looked at me either,” she said softly.

He took a long breath and seemed to gather himself.

“Well, I doubt it is so different from the way you look at her,” the duchess intoned, chin up.

The table gasped, all except for Gabriel who hadn’t made out what she’d said. Alex looked with pleading eyes toward Jane to do something, which she did, turning the conversation to her mother’s favorite topic, her charities.

WHAT A LONG AND TIRING
night. And yet, as Alex looked out the window toward the garden below, she couldn’t sleep. There were too many questions, maddening mazes in her mind, and worries. What if someone like Lord Basham did offer for her? What if Gabriel pushed her toward one of the men of the ton? She would have to tell him about that night with John. Would he believe her, even accept a baby not his own? Who might she meet that would be willing to do that?

And what of Gabriel? Since telling her his secret, they had felt so close. He had kissed her and touched her and gave her every indication that he returned her feelings . . . but what would he do if she told him? And what of how she felt? A part of her, a very small part wanted to give John the legacy of a child. It would make up for her part in everything that had happened, a little.

She leaned her forehead against the pane of wavy glass and closed her eyes. She couldn’t seem to think about it . . . it seemed, still too unreal. If only she knew for certain. She shook her head against the glass and concentrated on God’s love for her, shying away from the cold place inside that terrified her.

Chapter Thirty-Two

G
abriel stood on the threshold of his ballroom at his town house at number 31 St. James Square and gave a sound of satisfaction, a rumbling from his throat like the purr of a cat. It was perfect—every detail polished and bright, a thousand candles lighting the gilt and blue room. In another hour the guests would begin to arrive and Alexandria would have her ball, her special night, her coming out from girl to woman. And he would be there for every moment of it.

He thought of the beginning. A letter from the prince regent who had decided on a whim that Gabriel would be the best choice for Alexandria Featherstone’s guardian. And then
her
letters—letters he cherished, still held in a secret place bound by green Irish ribbon. Letters that had saved him during the darkest time of his life. Letters that had led him to this moment.

And letters that had led him to love.

He thought of his plan and chuckled, a rumbling deep in his chest. He would kiss the prince regent square on the mouth if given half the chance. His sovereign had given him more than a guardianship. His sovereign had given him the love of his life and Gabriel thanked God for it.

“Your Grace.” Meade touched his shoulder, snapping him from his reverie.

Gabriel turned, brows raised. “Yes?”

“A letter from the regent, Your Grace.” Meade’s face was somber, a hint of unease resting in his eyes.

Gabriel took the missive and flipped it over, seeing the royal seal. A feeling of déjà vu came over him. He tried to shake it off as he pried up the wax with his fingernail. He flipped open the letter and quickly read: