A Gentleman Never Tells (24 page)

“What?”

“I went to see Sir Randolph Gibson. I knew his father made his money in shipping, and I thought he might know some people in that business or in some way be able to help them. And it appears he did. They told me yesterday that they have leased the space they need to get their business started.”

“That is good news for them.”

He nodded. “And when your father returns, I’ll tell him any negotiating he and I had started before he left is canceled. I’ll be going back to Brentwood without you.”

Her eyes searched his. “You’re leaving London?”

“I came to see my brothers settled. I’ve done that. Anything else I planned to do in London can wait for some other time.”

Brutus made a coughing, gagging sound, and they both looked at him in time to see him slowly sink down and roll over on his side.

“Brutus!” Gabrielle exclaimed and dropped down beside him.

Brent knelt on the other side of the big dog. His breathing was labored and his eyes were closed.

“What’s wrong with him?” Gabrielle asked frantically, rubbing his neck and shoulders as the old dog struggled to breathe.

“I don’t know. He must be chilled.” Brent unbuttoned his coat and took it off, holding it over the dog like an umbrella.

“What can we do?” Gabrielle said, tears mixing with rain on her cheeks. “We’ve got to get him home and do something for him.”

“Stay calm. We will.”

Brent looked up and down the street but already knew this was not the kind of neighborhood that had cabs for hire. In fact, there were no carriages at all on the street. He would need to go several blocks over for that. But this also wasn’t the kind of neighborhood where he wanted to leave Gabrielle alone.

“I’m going to pick him up and carry him until we find a carriage.”

Gabrielle looked at him as if he were a madman. “You can’t pick him up; he’s too big.”

“Nevertheless, I will try. I’m not leaving the two of you alone on this street while I go for help.”

“Brent, you must,” she said desperately. “There’s no other way.”

“I won’t, Gabrielle,” he stated firmly and handed his coat to her.

Brent planted his feet solidly on the ground and bent at his knees. He slid his arms under Brutus’s large body and lifted.

Damnation, the dog was heavy.

The muscles in his arms burned, and his legs trembled as he struggled to stand with the dog that probably weighed as much as he did. He had to give up and settle the dog back down on the ground again.

“I’m going to help you,” Gabrielle said.

He put his hand on her arm. “No, I can manage,” he said, unwilling to doubt his strength to do so. “I need to get a better grip on him.”

Gabrielle pulled on Brent’s arm. “He’s my dog, Brent. I will help lift him and carry him to safety.”

Brent looked at her lovely, emphatic, and worried face, and knew he couldn’t deny her anything.

“All right then, on the count of three. One. Two.” In the distance, Brent heard a familiar sound and glanced behind him. Out of the foggy rain he saw Godfrey walking toward them, pulling his cart.

Brent gave a heaving sigh of relief and whispered, “That boy is about to earn his first pay.”

Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with.

—Mark Twain

Shivering, Gabrielle flung open the front door to the town house. “Auntie, Rosa, Mrs. Lathbury, somebody quick! Come help us!”

Brent and Godfrey hurried in behind her, struggling to stay in step as, between the two of them, they carried the mastiff into the house. Gabrielle led them down the corridor toward the drawing room. The three of them had done their best to warm Brutus after they had found a hackney to bring them home, but it was difficult to do, as none of them had a dry thread in their clothing.

Gabrielle didn’t know what they would have done if Godfrey hadn’t happened upon them. He and Brent had lifted Brutus into his cart. They had raced across streets and taken shortcuts down alleyways until they found a carriage for hire.

Thankfully, a fire was lit in the drawing room. Gabrielle pulled Brutus’s giant pillow close to the fire, and they gently laid the dog down. His eyes were closed, but he let out a low, strangled woof. Her heart squeezed. She knew he was letting her know he was glad to be home.

Gabrielle rushed back to the corridor and almost ran into Mrs. Lathbury. “We need blankets,” Gabrielle said, peeling off her wet gloves.

The woman scampered away. Gabrielle hurried back to Brutus, untying her cloak with one hand and her bonnet with the other as she went. She flung the saturated garments aside and knelt on the floor beside her dog.

Brent rose and handed Godfrey a few coins. “There is enough here to pay the driver for bringing us here and to take you back to your cart. The rain has stopped, so I’m depending on you to get those other dogs returned to their owners before the afternoon is over.”

“You can depend on me, my lord.”

Gabrielle looked up at the wet young man and said, “Thank you, Godfrey. I don’t know what we would have done had you not helped us. Brutus is such a big dog.”

“That he is, my lady,” Godfrey said, “but I don’t need any thanks. I’ll be off now unless there is more I can do.”

Gabrielle looked at Brent. She didn’t like the look of concern that etched the corners of his eyes and mouth.

“Brent, perhaps we should send him after the veterinarian Papa uses for his horses when one is down. Maybe he can help Brutus.”

Brent’s expression was strained but his voice tender as he said, “I don’t think you need to do that, Gabrie. Brutus knows he’s at home, safe and warm now. That’s what he wanted. I don’t think he wants to be looked at or bothered by a stranger right now.”

Gabrielle knew what Brent was trying to tell her, and all she could do was deny the truth of his words by shaking her head and looking at her beloved dog. She heard Godfrey leave and felt Brent kneel down beside her, but she kept her gaze on Brutus, willing him to open his eyes and raise his head.

“Tell me Brutus is going to be all right,” she whispered.

Brent tenderly placed his warm hand over her cold hands. “I can’t do that, Gabrie. I don’t know. Don’t lose hope.”

“Gabby, what’s wrong?” Auntie Bethie said, rushing into the drawing room. “And who was that strange young man I just saw walking out the front door?”

“He helped us with Brutus, Auntie,” Gabrie said, looking up at her aunt, trying to hold back the tears that surfaced in her eyes and clouded her vision. “We got caught in the rain, and he collapsed. He’s so big we couldn’t lift him, we couldn’t find a cab, and the icy rain just kept pouring down on us.”

Auntie Bethie looked down at Brutus and then over to Brent. Gabrielle winced with soul-shattering pain because she knew what their exchanged glances meant. She wanted to cry so bad her throat ached, her chest heaved, but somehow she managed to control her emotions and not let them spill over into weeping.

“But he’s home now, dearie,” her aunt said, placing a comforting hand on Gabrielle’s soggy shoulder. “He’s on his big pillow by the fire, his favorite place to be. He’ll be all right now, no matter what happens.”

Mrs. Lathbury came rushing in with the blankets and Brent helped Gabrielle tuck them around Brutus. He hadn’t opened his eyes since he collapsed, and Gabrielle knew that was not a good sign.

“Gabrie,” Brent said softly, “you need to go to your room and get out of your wet clothing.”

She shook her head and rubbed behind Brutus’s ears. “I’m not leaving him until I know he’s going to be all right.”

“Be sensible, Gabrie,” Brent said. “If you catch a chill, you won’t be able to look after Brutus.”

“You are just as wet as I,” she said without looking up at him.

“But I am a strong man, and you are a gentle lady. I will stay right here and not leave Brutus until you return. Mrs. Potter will stay too, right?”

“Of course. I will do anything.”

Gabrielle shook her head again. She glanced at Brent and appreciated the concern he had for her and for Brutus. Unwanted tears pooled in her eyes but somehow, once again, she kept them from spilling. “I’m not leaving him. Don’t you understand I’m afraid he might die while I’m away, and I couldn’t bear it if I wasn’t here with him?”

“Oh, dearie,” her aunt said in an unusually soft voice. “Here, at least get out of that soaked pelisse and step out of those wet shoes. You, too, Lord Brentwood. This is not the time to stand on ceremony. Out of that wet coat you’re wearing so your shirt can dry. You’re both going to catch a chill. Hand them to me, and I’ll hang them before the fire.

“Mrs. Potter,” Brent said, handing her his coat and waistcoat, “why don’t you have someone prepare her hot chocolate with a little brandy in it? That should warm her up quickly, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, it will,” Auntie Bethie said in a stronger voice. “I’ll see to it right now.”

“No, Auntie, please,” Gabrielle said, handing off her soggy pelisse. “I really couldn’t put anything in my stomach right now.”

“All right, dearie, we’ll wait a little while.”

“Oh, Gabby, there you are,” Rosabelle exclaimed, hurrying into the room. “I thought I heard you calling me. I didn’t think you would ever get home. Where have you been?” Rosa skidded to a stop beside her aunt. “My lord.” She curtseyed to Lord Brentwood and quickly turned back to Gabrielle. “I must talk to you alone. I have something to share with you that you simply won’t believe. Let’s go to my room.”

Lord Brentwood rose and said, “Lady Rosabelle, now is not a good time for your sister. Brutus is not well. Perhaps you could hold off with whatever you wanted to talk to her about until she can see to Brutus.”

Rosabelle’s gaze darted from Lord Brentwood down to Brutus. She frowned. “Oh, my, yes, of course.” She backed away. “He doesn’t look good, does he? What’s wrong with him?”

“We’re not sure,” Brent said.

“It appears he’s sick.” She stared down at Brutus. “I don’t think he’s breathing.”

Gabrielle sucked in a loud breath, wanting Rosa to go away. She couldn’t deal with her right now.

“He is breathing,” Brent said tightly.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you know about that better than I do. I’m just going to leave you alone, Gabby. You know I simply can’t bear situations like this.”

“Rosa,” Auntie Bethie said, “I was just going out. I’ve decided which house I’m going to lease, and I need to let the owners know. Why don’t you go with me to make all the arrangements?”

“Yes, Auntie, I believe I would like that. We’ll talk later, Gabby, after Brutus is better.” Rosa quickly fled the room.

Gabrielle looked up at her aunt and mouthed a “thank you.”

Her aunt turned to Brent and said, “You’ll be here with Gabby, won’t you, my lord? I think it best if I get Rosa out of the house for a while.”

“So do I,” Brent agreed. “And don’t worry, madame, I’m not leaving Lady Gabrielle.”

“Good. I’ll tell the staff you’re not to be disturbed, and I’ll entrust her to your care.”

Gabrielle heard her aunt leave the room, but she couldn’t take her attention off Brutus. Beneath the blankets, she could see his breathing was slow and labored. She wanted him to rise and look at her. She wanted him to bark, sniff, and lick her hand as playfully as he had when a puppy, but all he did was lie there so still. She would give anything to help him right now. She wanted to give him back his youth, to turn back the clock so he could be the fierce protector he once was, but all she could do was stay by his side and stroke his head.

For a moment, she was angry that the warmth of the room and the fire had heated her body and already had her clothing drying. She was angry that Rosabelle was so happy and her aunt was leasing a house. It seemed so unfair that life was moving on, going forward, and her Brutus wasn’t.

“He’s not in any pain, is he?” she managed to look over at Brent and ask without her voice breaking.

“No,” Brent said, adding some wood to the fire and then stoking it before glancing back at her with caring eyes and a sympathetic expression. “He’s peaceful.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want him to be in pain.” She paused for a moment and then added, “I don’t know what I will do without him.”

Brent took hold of her hand again and squeezed it as his gaze swept down her face with compassion. “Don’t think about what might happen; just keep good thoughts.”

She smiled gratefully at him. A few minutes later, she heard Rosa and Auntie Bethie chatting in the front hall, and then the front door open and shut. It was then, knowing they were alone, that Brent pulled her into his arms. She melted against him, resting her cheek against his damp shirt as she continued to stroke Brutus’s head and rub behind his ears.

“Thank you for staying with me.”

He kissed the top of her damp hair, sighing heavily. “I wouldn’t leave you, or Brutus, right now, Gabrie. I know it’s my fault Brutus collapsed. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have had it happen for anything.”

She raised her head and looked into his warm golden-brown eyes. She wasn’t sure she could talk, but she managed to say, “This wasn’t your fault. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. You told me it wasn’t a good time to bring him and I forced you to do it.”

“No, he was fine until he ran to help me when Godfrey hit me. Brutus’s big old heart just couldn’t take the exertion. It was too much for him.”

In that moment, Gabrielle was filled with so much love for Brent it swelled in her chest and throat, and she didn’t know if she could contain it.

“Neither of us asked him to do it. You were good to him, and he wanted to protect you.”

“Even at his age, he was fearless.”

Brent’s words were so touching, Gabrielle had to hide her face in his warm chest again, needing and drawing strength from the consolation he was so generously giving.

“And I’ve known for a long time that his days were short, but I’ve not wanted to accept it. He’s lived well beyond most dogs his size. My heart aches for him,” she said against Brent’s chest, not knowing or caring if he could understand her muffled words. “I just want to turn back the hands of time and renew his youth.”

“But life doesn’t work that way for any of earth’s creatures,” he whispered against her cheek. “It’s all right if you want to cry, Gabrie.”

“No,” she answered, finding such comfort in his embrace it was almost too much to take in. “I don’t want to.”

Gabrielle sat quietly while Brent held her, half of her face hidden by Brent’s strong chest but one eye staring at Brutus. She kept her gaze on her dog until his chest slowly stopped moving beneath the blankets and his lids stopped twitching.

Pushing out of Brent’s arms, she whispered, “He’s gone.”

Brent threw the blankets aside and bent over Brutus. He laid his head to the mastiff’s chest and listened. He raised his head and looked at Gabrielle.

“I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t bear the sympathy she saw in Brent’s face. A breathy sigh of despair pushed forth from her aching lungs and she could no longer hold in the tears. All she could think was that she wanted to run away from the pain of loss. She stumbled to her feet. Brent called her name and tried to grab her arm, but she broke free and fled the room.

“Gabrielle,” he called again.

The sound of running feet echoed behind her, but she didn’t stop. She needed to get to her father’s book room so she could hide and cry as much and for as long as she wanted to. She slammed the door shut and fell onto the floor in front of the settee and laid her head on the seat cushion. Burying her face in her hands, she poured out her heart through wracking sobs and endless tears.

She didn’t know how long she cried, and she never heard the door open, only felt a warm masculine arm go around her back. She recoiled from Brent’s touch, but he caught her to his chest and held tightly. She struggled to get free, demanding to be let go, but he put his hand to the back of her head, cupping her to his chest and forcing her to be still and accept the comfort of his embrace.

“I’m not leaving you alone, Gabrielle,” he whispered, hugging her close.

Brent kept whispering he wouldn’t leave her. But he was. He’d told her he was going back to Brentwood. He was leaving her, leaving London. She had lost Brutus, and Brent too. Her heart was so broken she did the only thing she could do. She buried her wet face in Brent’s neck and wept again.

She cried for Brutus and for herself. She cried for the loss of a mother she never got to know. She cried because her father had never really learned how to love her. And she cried because she knew, even though she had tried desperately to push Brent away, what she really desired was for him to love her and to want to marry her. He had given her what she said she wanted—her freedom and his to marry whomever they wished. But now she knew Brent was the man she would choose to be her husband.

Brent laid his cheek against her hair and ran his hand soothingly up and down her back, over her shoulder, and around her neck as they sat on the floor in front of the settee. He patted her arm, kissed the top of her head, and brushed his fingers along the side of her face. In a husky voice, he caressed her with comforting words and gave her protection in his strong embrace.

As her sobs faded and her tears dried, hearing the steady beat of his heart against his chest consoled her weary and distraught mind.