Armored Hearts (7 page)

Gareth took to flying back and forth in his room, pacing from wall to wall, and dreaded the week ahead with guests. A knock sounded at his door. He came down and settled himself in the wingchair. “Yes?”

Sarah entered. “A package just arrived fer ye, sir.”

She moved out of the way while her husband, Thompton, carried in a long wooden crate.

“Just place it on his bed, Sweeting,” she said, gesturing.

Gareth averted his eyes, pretending not to notice Sarah pat her husband’s behind. The two were always like that, touching and calling each other pet names. Thompton placed the long crate on the burgundy quilt, and it took up nearly the length of it from headboard to foot. A white pine box with hardly a mark on it, and no return address. Thompton nodded, took out a crowbar, and cracked open the top. He left the lid down and bowed in Gareth’s direction before turning to leave.

“Would ye like me to have Thompton bring up yer chair so you can get to yer package?”

“No, I can manage. Please close the door as you leave.”

Sarah nodded and curtsied before withdrawing.

The moment the door clicked shut, Gareth flew to the bed and lifted the lid of the crate. He pushed away packing straw to reveal a long sword. Gareth lifted the flat blade with an edge on both sides and inspected it. It was a Scottish claymore. The hilt was ornate, with the wooden handle carved to look like vines intertwined together. There was something familiar to Gareth about the look of the vines but he couldn’t think of what they reminded him.

Another knock came from his door.

Gareth sat on his bed, still holding and inspecting the sword. “Yes?”

Tabitha stuck her head around the door. “Can we come in?”

Before he could give an answer, she and Jessamine rushed into his room. Tabitha’s blue eyes grew large as she took in the claymore. “Where did you get that?”

Jessamine eyed the sword from top to bottom. “It’s beautiful.”

Mr. Strong, he thought. But without a return address, Gareth couldn’t be certain. Instead, he shook his head as he lifted it, still inspecting the blade. “I’m not sure where it came from. Sarah said it just arrived for me.”

Tabitha held out a big, floppy, floral hat. “We are off to my bonnet club. Should Lord Pensees or Mr. Keller ask, tell them we will not be late for dinner.”

He frowned. “Yes, I will tell them.”

Tabitha turned to go but Jessamine stepped closer, placing her hand on the hilt. “The vines are beautiful. I wonder if the Flying Knight wields a sword as grand as this.”

Her hand brushed against Gareth’s. He glanced over at her, taking in her knowing smile, one that made him question all she might know about him. Again he inhaled her scent. She was too close. It took all he had not to fly off the bed to the other side of the room and cower in a corner. He wasn’t accustomed to such an onrush feelings. Their newness made them more difficult to suppress. He would have to practice.

Jessamine smiled, and her large, brown eyes peered into his. “I look forward to dinner tonight with you and your family.”

With a nod, she walked out the door. Tabitha shut it behind them.

***

Jessamine leaned against the wall once in the hall. Her heart pounded in her ears. It was him; she knew it. The eyes were the same and held the same intensity she remembered.

“Jessie, are you all right?” Tabitha made her way to where Jessamine had propped herself and placed her hand on Jessamine’s forehead. “You seem unwell.”

Jessamine took a deep breath and then let it out. “I’m fine. Just excited. It’s finally going to happen. My father has spoken with Lord Pensees. It has all being arranged. I’m so glad you had this emergency bonnet club meeting called or I should have paced the floor of my room in anticipation.”

“We need to hurry. Mrs. Collins has just found out about a rally organized for suffragettes, by Emmeline Pankhurst. She is a member of one of our sister bonnet clubs. We are making banners and printing pamphlets today.”

Jessamine grabbed her friend’s shoulder. “Women are asking for the vote? How exciting. We don’t even have that in America. Let’s go.”

***

After knocking, Tabitha entered Gareth’s room around the same time she always did. Her blue, silk skirts rustled as she made her way to him. Gareth knew little of fashion, but it was obvious the dress was not with the current style. It had probably been made over at least three times now by Sarah and looked worn.

His loyal confidant. She had come to stand lookout for him, so he could fly downstairs to his chair before dinner. He no longer allowed a male servant to carry him back and forth.

“Lord Gerald wishes you join him in his study before dinner.”

Gareth frowned. “Does it not bother you to call him that?”

Tabitha plopped down into the wingchair. “He gave me the last name ‘Fitzgerald,’ so he acknowledges me that way. At least he didn’t send me to an orphanage, and he’s trying to secure my future. I assume all of that means he cares. He’s not as harsh as when we were younger. I think poverty and old age has broken his pride down a bit. He speaks highly of you and your dealings with the locals on your business rides together.”

“He does?” Gareth didn’t know that. He glanced out the door. “You’re sure your houseguest isn’t around? Or one of the other servants?”

“Mr. Keller is outside checking out the stables with Thompton. Sarah has tied up all the house servants with dining room and dinner preparation. Jessamine, on the other hand, is busy in my bonnet room at the moment, working on something quite extensive. When she sets her mind to something, she becomes quite absorbed. I promise it’s safe.”

“How interesting can a bunch of reworked hats be?”

Tabitha grinned. “Maybe one day I’ll show you some of my things. Jessamine’s very impressed with my skills. She’s even told her father.”

“I saw the hats you two brought back. They looked exactly the same way they did when you left. They always do.”

Tabitha only giggled. She opened the door, glided down the stairs in silence, and called out in a whisper, “All is clear.”

Gareth flew down to his chair and took a seat. Tabitha wheeled him toward the study. She stepped around the chair to knock.

“Please be open to whatever he has to say. That’s all I ask.” She leaned in to kiss Gareth on the cheek and scooted away.

What was that about?

His grandfather’s deep voice boomed from behind the oak door. “Enter.”

Gareth swallowed hard, turned the knob, and pushed the door open to wheel himself in. His grandfather, Lord Gerald Smyth, Earl of Pensees, faced the fireplace, holding a glass of amber liquid.

At first the only sound was the crackle of the fire until Grandfather’s voice interrupted the silence. “Gareth, would you like something from the bar?”

“No, sir, but thank you.”

His grandfather turned to him, his face distraught. His color was that of paste, and the lines around his eyes had grown more pronounced. The old man’s brows furrowed and then released as if he’d just accepted whatever terrible thought had possessed him. It was a look he had often these days.

“I need to discuss Tabitha’s future with you. I know she’s as dear to you as she is to me, and you’ve always taken it upon yourself to look out for her. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ve admired that about you. Your father never thought of anyone but himself. I suppose your devotion must come from your mother’s side.” The old man looked away and took a quick gulp of his drink before he mumbled, “God knows you didn’t learn it from me.”

Gareth looked away and flared his nostrils in derision.
Some devotion, to go and abandon her child.

His grandfather continued. “I’m counting on you to help me now. This isn’t what I wanted for Tabitha or for you, but there isn’t really any other choice.”

Gareth felt his forehead wrinkle. “Grandfather, I’m not sure what you are talking about.”

“We’re out of money. Your father died with gambling debts that I’ve been paying off for years. The lands don’t bring in the income they once did, and I’ve got nothing to offer a possible suitor to make him interested in Tabitha. I should have married her mother and then she would at least have a family connection. But no, I was too proud to marry a servant. I didn’t even know the depths of my feelings until they told me she’d died giving birth and handed me Tabitha.” His grandfather faced him with tears in his eyes and finished the dregs of his glass.

Gareth sat in silence. He wasn’t accustomed to such frank talk from his grandfather. “Sir, I…” he stopped, still not sure what to say.

“Mr. Keller is here visiting his sister in town, but he’s also here to secure a future for his daughter. Miss Keller has become fond of Tabitha and has offered to let her go home with her father and be presented in American society in the hopes of finding a match for her there. They are new money, but they have lots of it. Miss Keller seeks to secure a good match here among the peerage. It should break down the door for them into high New York society where Tabitha will be presented.”

Gareth sat up straight.
Tabitha leaving? America?
He’d never thought of her leaving England. “Does she want to go stay with the Kellers?”

“Very much. But there is one condition.” Grandfather stared at the empty glass in his hand and rotated it so that it caught the light from the fireplace.

Gareth’s forehead scrunched. “So we need to find a man of title willing to marry Miss Keller? You know I don’t have close friends to suggest.”

“No. Miss Keller has set her sights on you. The idea of becoming Lady Smyth, future Countess of Pensees, seems to suit her very much. They will take Tabitha and pay all the expenses and present her to American society,
if
you marry Miss Jessamine Keller.”

Gareth’s mouth fell open. “I’m to marry Miss Keller. I don’t even like the girl.”

Grandfather stared at the glass, but a smirk played on his lips. “It would seem she likes you.”

Thoughts and possibilities ran through Gareth’s jumbled mind. He couldn’t have a wife. He’d have no freedom. He couldn’t let her catch him flying. He’d forever be stuck in the blasted chair. His fingers clenched into fists while his heart fluttered in panic. “No, I won’t do it. I can’t.”

Grandfather set his glass on the mantle fireplace, trudged over to his desk, and collapsed in his chair. He put his elbows on the desk and rested his face in his hands.

The clock on the mantle ticked, but Gareth’s heart raced it and won. Grandfather finally sat up and gazed at Gareth. His look was somber. “I was afraid of this. I had hoped your loyalty to Tabitha would be enough. We have no money. This meal is the last I can afford to purchase as our credit is strapped. Tabitha will have to send out letters seeking employment as a governess, and we will lock ourselves up to starve, I suppose.”

Gareth wheeled closer to his grandfather. “Things are really that desperate?”

The old man’s sober, blue eyes glared back. “They are exactly as I’ve said.”

“But I don’t want a wife,” Gareth whispered.

“What man does?”

Silence settled over the room like a fog. It choked them. The ticking clock on the mantle counted the seconds, drawing them out for an eternity.

Grandfather cleared his throat and stood. “This is Tabitha’s chance at a happy life. Someone in this house should finally have one. It might as well be her.”

Gareth looked up at his grandfather. “How would this marriage come about?”

He retrieved the empty glass and a crystal decanter from the fireplace. After returning to his seat at the desk, he popped the stopper and poured another glass. “You’d propose, just like any man. Marry her. Make her miserable, and send her home to America with her title.”

“And the money?”

“Upon the announcement of your engagement to Miss Keller, her substantial dowry will be transferred to my account, and a new account opened for Tabitha’s upkeep. Your future wife is quite wealthy. She’s filling our purse enough so that I can resume living in London, and you can live here.” He took a sip from his refreshed glass.

Gareth’s stomach was in knots. “So I marry her, and Tabitha gets the life she deserves. You get to live in the city as you prefer, and I get a wife I don’t want. The only other option is for you and I to starve together as we send Tabitha off into the world alone?”

“Yes.”

Gareth’s stomach was in his throat, and he lost all appetite. The idea was impossible. He’d be forever in the chair. Forever keeping his secret from someone too close for comfort. It would be hell on earth. He wouldn’t do it.

He balled his fist, ready to bring it down on the table beside him, but then he saw the painting of Tabitha on the wall. His sweet Tabitha, with those trusting eyes. There was no choice.

“I’ll talk to Miss Keller’s father tonight about courting her.”

“There’s no time for courting. Mr. Keller leaves Monday. You will propose tonight, and the wedding will be Saturday.” He stood again, glass in hand.

Gareth choked. “So soon? What about the reading of the banns?”

“We will get a special license. They are not Anglican either. They attend some American church, so the wedding will be held here at Waverly Park.”

Gareth glared at his grandfather. The desperation threatened to choke him. “I need more time.”

Grandfather slammed a palm on the top of his wide desk, making the decanter jump on his blotter. “There isn’t more time. You do this, or we send Tabitha off to a workhouse in the morning. Which will you have?”

The ticking clock resumed, but Gareth’s heart seemed to have stopped. “I’ve no choice.”

His grandfather produced a wide smile and came round his desk to pat him on the back. “I knew you’d do the right thing.” He sat his half-empty glass on the table next to Gareth and walked out.

Gareth reached over, took his grandfather’s glass and turned it up. It burned his throat going down. That seemed right to him. It ought to burn when entering hell.

They sat at the dinner table, all five of them. Gareth sat across from Mr. Keller and would rather have avoided him but found it necessary to make some sort of conversation with the man before asking for his daughter. Gareth cringed at the thought of matrimony. Sarah’s herbed soup was usually his favorite, but today he could hardly swallow the broth. His stomach was in knots. Gareth forced himself to swallow before asking, “So you own some factories in America?”