Fallen Angel (26 page)

Exeter entered and announced that Mr. Parkins was there to see him.

“Show him in,” Gabriel said.

After three days of everyone in the household walking around sunk in gloom; it was a shock to see someone smiling, but Mr. Parkins was positively beaming.

“My lord, you will be quite pleased with what I have discovered.”

For a brief second Gabriel thought his accountant had found Miss Jolliffe, but then he recollected the task he had given Mr. Parkins. Somehow it no longer seemed important to Gabriel to discover the source of his inheritance, but mere courtesy demanded that he hear the other man out.

“It was as you suspected. Starting approximately a year before your birthday, Mrs. Everdon began liquidating her assets. To begin with, she auctioned off her horses and carriages and a rather fine collection of paintings. Next she disposed of a large estate in Hampshire and various smaller holdings in Surrey and Sussex. Following which, she sold her remaining shares in her late husband’s company, and a considerable number of government consols. And when all that was done, she sold her house in Berkeley Square complete with fur
nishings
.

“I have done my best to calculate the total amount she realized from the sales, although in some instances I was only able to estimate the value of what she sold. Shortly before your birthday, she pensioned off all her servants except one, purchased the house she is now residing in, and bought herself a small annuity. As nearly as I can calculate, the sum of money she had left was so close to the amount that you inherited that I think there can be no doubt about who your benefactor was.”

All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and the truth that Gabriel had been searching for was plain for him to see. Knowing that his grandmother had loved him enough to sacrifice all her wealth for his sake, he could no longer deny that his mother had loved him enough to sacrifice her freedom for him, and neither of them had ever asked anything of him in return.

Rubbing his forehead with his fingers, he admitted that he had been wrong. All those years he had been a shortsighted fool, who had thought he knew everything there was to know about power. But he had not understood the power of love.

In his arrogance he had told Miss Jolliffe that she was unique—that all other women were cut from the same cloth—that they were all selfish, self-centered, grasping, and incapable of anything more than lust. Yet compared to his mother and grandmother, he was the one who had been self-indulgent, self-seeking, egotistical.

He could almost believe that losing Miss Jolliffe was a just and fitting punishment for his pride and arrogance.

If he ever found her again, he would be a changed person. He would reform completely. Never again would he lose his temper. Never would he attempt to manipulate Miss Jolliffe or any other person for his own advantage. And he would accept all his responsibilities, even the ones that had been thrust upon him by circumstance, such as taking his seat in the House of Lords.

He was ready to promise anything—make any vow—if only he could find Miss Jolliffe.

Beside him Mr. Parkins cleared his throat. “Would you be wanting me to follow through on this information in any way?”

“No,” Gabriel said, feeling very tired, “I shall go and see my grandmother myself.”

The morning was already unseasonably warm, bringing promise of a day more suited to the beginning of April than the end of January. Londoners were going about their business with smiles on their faces and a bounce in their step. Gabriel found them all quite irritating.

Knocking on the door of the little house in Marylebone, he was admitted by the ancient serving woman, who ushered him into the same room as before. He found his grandmother already there, sitting before a fire that was giving off considerably more heat than the previous one.

“You did not tell me the entire story the other, day,” he said after declining an offer of tea.

“I told you the essential parts,” she replied. “What I left out is unimportant.”

“It is important to me. Despite your efforts to remain anonymous, I know that you beggared yourself in order to provide me with an inheritance on my twenty-first birthday. If you try to deny it, you will only be wasting your breath.”

“The money was mine to dispose of as I saw fit. I could think of no better way to spend it. My solicitor tried to persuade me that I should leave my assets safely invested in government consols, but I considered you to be the better investment. And time has proved me correct. I am so proud of you. You have brought me happiness beyond measure, and my only regret is that I was unable to help you until you came of age.”

“I wish to pay you back,” Gabriel said. “With interest.”

Standing up, the old woman approached him, and reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands. “You have already paid me back a thousandfold. You are flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone. I have loved you from the day you were bo
rn
, and I shall never stop loving you even after death.”

Tentatively he put his arms around her, almost afraid to touch her she appeared so tiny and frail. “How could you love me when you’d never even met me?”

“Oh, my dearest child,” she said, “it was the easiest thing in the world.”

Somewhere a door slammed, and instinctively Gabriel dropped his arms and stepped back.

“Oh, Mrs. Everdon,” a familiar voice called out, “I have found a really meaty mutton bone, and I believe I shall make some Scotch broth for supper.”

To Gabriel’s total astonishment, a smiling Miss Jolliffe appeared in the doorway. Looking very pretty in her green cloak, she was carrying two market baskets that were filled with assorted produce. Her cheeks were red from being out in the wind, and they turned even rosier when she saw him—and her smile became even broader.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with what was truly incredible restraint.

Her smile began to falter, and she eyed him a bit warily, as if trying to think up a plausible story.

“I have already spoken to your sister and brother-in-law,” he said, giving her no opportunity to concoct some Banbury tale. “So I know the circumstances under which you left their house.”

“I am sorry if they said anything to embarrass you.”

Gabriel realized he was beginning to grind his teeth, but he remembered his vow not to lose his temper, and he made a valiant effort to calm down. “Your corkbrained relatives are not the matter under discussion. What I want to know is what you are doing here—in this house.”

“It is quite simple really,” Miss Jolliffe said, setting down her baskets. “I was planning to return to Northumberland, but I wished to say good-bye to your grandmother, so I came here first. While we were talking about things, it occurred to me that with the income from the small trust fund my grandmother left me, plus the annuity your grandmother has, the two of us, by pooling our resources, could live quite comfortably together. Also Agnes, your grandmother’s serving woman, is getting quite on in years, and it is difficult for her to manage things as well as she used to, and since I am quite capable of running such a small household with no help, that made it seem like an even more advantageous arrangement. And so your grandmother agreed, and here I am, and we are finding it is all working out quite well.”

Gabriel stared at Miss Jolliffe in astonishment, unable to believe it was all so simple—and yet he had been unable to deduce it by himself.

“And do you know,” she continued, once more smiling brightly, “the most amazing thing is that I discovered the little book of recipes you gave me used to belong to your grandmother. She got it from her own grandmother, and she gave it to your mother on her wedding day, and some of the notes in it were written by your mother. Is that not indeed almost miraculous?”

Miss Jolliffe seemed prepared to rattle on all day, but Gabriel was determined to return to the crux of the matter. “Why did you not send word to me that you were staying here?”

She hesitated, the smile once more fading from her face. “I am not sure. Perhaps it was a natural reluctance to admit that you were right and I was wrong. I realize now that I was a fool to give my love to people who are incapable of ever loving me back, and I have resolved that in the future
...
”
Her eyes widened and whatever words she had been about to say died in her throat.

Gabriel had never been so angry in his life—a terrible rage swept through every vein in his body, and a red haze partially obscured his vision.

This could not be allowed! After all his efforts to win Miss Jolliffe’s love, he was not going to allow her to elude him—to change her mind at this late date.

Taking three steps forward, he scooped Miss Jolliffe up in his arms and carried her out the door. She was clinging to his neck and saying something to him, but the roaring in his ears was too loud for him to hear a word.

Dumping her unceremoniously into his carriage, he turned around and almost fell over his grandmother, who had followed him out of the house. Mindful of her old bones, he was more careful when he picked her up and deposited her beside Miss Jolliffe.

Driving with almost reckless abandon to Hanover Square, he turned down George Street and pulled his horses to a stop in front of the imposing portico of St. George’s Church. While he was helping his grandmother out of the carriage, Miss Jolliffe climbed out by herself, but before she could escape—or simply decide to wander off on her own—he caught her by the hand and virtually dragged her into the building, leaving his grandmother to follow.

He ordered the first person he met—a cleaning lady, as it turned out—to find the rector and inform him that his services were required immediately. Eyeing him askance, but not daring to contest his right to order her around, she scurried away to do his bidding.

“My lord,” Miss Jolliffe said softly, but he did not allow her any protest.

“If you value your skin, do not say a word,” he ordered. “I have a special license in my pocket, and when the rector comes, we are going to be married. Today. This hour. Do not even think about trying to dissuade me, because I have completely lost patience with you, and I am not prepared to be at all reasonable in this matter.”

Miss Jolliffe’s eyes grew round, and her cheeks whitened, but she made no further attempt to deflect him from his course.

The rector, when he appeared a few minutes later, apparently recognized that he was dealing with a man who had been pushed beyond his limits. He made no effort to protest the irregularity of the circumstances, at least not once Gabriel had shown him the special license.

The only recommendation the rector made was that his vicar be summoned to serve as the second witness since otherwise they would be forced to have the cleaning lady make her mark. Gabriel was agreeable to any suggestion, so long as the rector understood that no delays would be tolerated.

And as for Miss Jolliffe, he had a firm grip on her hand, and there was no way she could disappear on him again. Like the rector, she seemed at long last to have gotten it into her head that there would be no point in making the slightest attempt to thwart his wishes.

15

Standing beside L
ord Sherington, her hand firmly held in his, Verity felt sure she must be dreaming. Unaccustomed to the church being empty, she found the silence deafening, and her ears strained to hear the first notes of the organist who was not there.

No candles had been lit, but the early morning sun burst exuberantly through the beautiful Venetian glass window above the altar, bathing their tiny wedding party in ethereal colors.

Tentatively she sneaked a peek at Lord Sherington’s face, but his features were stern and unyielding. She felt guilty, knowing she had somehow—unwittingly, to be sure—made him feel he was obliged to marry her.

With all due pomp, the rector began intoning the words of the marriage service—words that would bind her henceforth to the man she had loved seemingly forever.

Lord Sherington doubtless felt constrained to marry her because he had been in a small part responsible, even if only obliquely, for her sister’s decision to disown her. Knowing that, Verity admitted in her heart that she herself had a moral responsibility to release Lord Sherington from any obligation he might feel he had to her, which was undoubtedly what was behind this sudden determination to marry her.

“Marry in haste, repent in leisure,” the old saying went. But what about marry in anger? For his lordship was indeed extremely angry with her and making no effort to hide it.

The preacher droned on, reading aloud familiar words that seemed as incomprehensible as if they were in a foreign language, increasing Verity’s feelings that this was all unreal.

But it was not. It was truly happening.

Lord Sherington could not be allowed to sacrifice himself in the name of honor. And she was the only one who could save him. All she had to do was simply refuse to give the proper response at the proper time. Because no matter how much she might desire it, this was a most improper marriage.

“Do you, Verity Anne Jolliffe, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

She tightened her lips, determined to remain silent and thereby do the right thing, but Lord Sherington hissed something at her, and turning to look up into his eyes, she knew she was every bit as wicked as her sister had accused her of being. She was shameless, and when all was said and done, she could not resist her own immodest desires.

Without meaning to, and fully intending not to, she blurted out, “I do,” and with those two innocent seeming little words, she committed herself to Lord Sherington, for better and for worse
...
and for all time.

The rest of the ceremony continued without interruption, except when Lord Sherington was asked to produce the ring. He had not, it seemed, remembered to purchase one, but without a second’s hesitation, he stripped the large signet ring from his own finger and placed it on hers. Then he cu
r
led her fingers around into her palm and held her fist tightly enclosed inside his own larger hand, as if determined to ensure that the ring would not slip from her finger and be lost.

“With this ring, I thee wed.” His voice was deep, and the words were said with such vehemence, Verity imagined she felt the rafters of the church shaking from the force of his will
...
but perhaps it was merely her own heart skipping a beat.

A ridiculously short time later, the rector pronounced them man and wife, their signatures were recorded in the marriage register, Mrs. Everdon and the vicar signed as witnesses, and the deed was done.