Marriage Made In Shame(19)

The war against France was not always won on the battlefields of valour, glory and blood. It was also fought well in the quiet comfort of bedchambers and in the presence of whispered secrets and willing bodies suspended in the last thrusts of ecstasy when all the walls were let down.

Daniel had called him kind and so had Cressida. But Gabriel knew that he had not been such for a very long time.

He had lived down to his reputation all of his adult life. Gabriel Hughes, the Prince of Passion. He’d heard the name in various places, spoken quiet with a hint of disbelief. Such rumour had helped him squeeze between the cracks of the polite and mannered world and on to the warm mattresses of confession.

A gun killed one man at a time, but words smote many. Anarchy and rebellion had shades of truth and honour, too, but as he passed on the names of those whom his paramours had mentioned, Gabriel could not dwell on that.

Sometimes he wondered though. Sometimes he heard the tales of men who were good and true killed by unnamed others, their blood running into the gutters of martyrdom and innocence. The hidden cost of his subterfuge. Yet still he had not wavered.

Until Henrietta Clements. She was just another mark at first, a way to listen in to the nefarious truths of her husband, but she had been lonely and he had been, too, pneumonia laying him low for many months of winter. With his guard down he had let her in, past the point of simply business. They had met on numerous occasions and by then she was dangerous: to the British Service and to him.

At the time of the fire he had even thought Wolfe had had a hand in it, a way of dealing efficiently with every problem, but he had found out later that Randolph Clements had been camped out in the woods near Ravenshill with a group of his men.

Revenge. Retribution.

The strong emotions left little space for caution and Gabriel had been flung from that life into this one.

No one knew the true cost of his injuries. No one. And he damned well meant to keep it that way.

* * *

Lucy Carrigan’s small afternoon tea party was finally coming to an end and Adelaide was pleased to see her uncle and her chaperon nearby getting ready to take their leave. The débâcle at the Whitely ball seemed now to be a thing of the past, the rumours of Adelaide’s personal fortune cancelling out other perceived flaws. Indeed, despite her uncle and Imelda’s misgivings, the gossip and disapproval had quickly dissipated.

She had caught sight of Mr Friar earlier in the day and had managed to keep out of his way since then, but suddenly there he was before them as they were making their way to the door.

‘Lord Penbury.’ He tipped his head and then straightened. ‘I did not realise you were here this afternoon, Miss Ashfield, or I should certainly have come over to give you my regards.’

Resisting the urge to answer, Adelaide stayed quiet, hoping that they might leave their meeting at that. But Mr Friar carried on regardless.

‘Well, there was also something that I needed to relate to you in particular, Miss Ashfield. A friend of mine, Mr Kenneth Davis, has made it known to me that he was a neighbour of yours in Sherborne many years ago and he wished for me to give you his regards if by chance I did see you in my travels.’

Adelaide’s world narrowed and then reformed, the spots of fear in her vision threatening to overcome her completely. Was this a warning? The beginnings of blackmail? She pushed her hair back with a shaking hand and tried to smile even as her uncle spoke.

‘The world is a small place, is it not, Adelaide? Kenneth Davis and my niece were once great friends until he hared off to parts unknown in search of a fortune.’

‘A fortune?’ Friar turned the words on his tongue. ‘He lives in Baltimore now, Lord Penbury, and is doing more then well.’

‘Such a coincidence, is it not, Adelaide?’

As her uncle offered this opinion George Friar laughed. ‘Much of his conversation is about the wonderful time he had as a youth here in England. I think he fancied himself in love with your niece, my lord, and after meeting her I can well see why.’

‘He was a wild boy, Mr Friar, and rather wayward. The colonies are probably most suited to men such as him.’

‘That they are, my lord, but his stories are most amusing. Perhaps you might allow me your company in order to relate them to you, Miss Ashfield.’

George Friar knew what had happened all those years ago and he knew Adelaide knew that he did. All the horror and fear she felt became entwined in another even more dreadful realisation.

If she refused his suit, for that was obviously what this conversation was about, what might happen next? She could not allow him to see her alone until she could formulate a plan.

The mention of a fortune had caught her uncle’s interest, however, and instead of leaving as they were about to he turned with a question in his eyes.

‘What is it you do there in Baltimore, Mr Friar?’

‘Shipping, my lord. I bring wood from the Americas to England. I also have a large holding on the Jones Falls River in Coles Harbour that I farm, for there are rich pickings to be had if one is willing to work for it and I most certainly am.’

‘Indeed. Your family must be proud of your endeavour, then. I always thought my own son should have tried his luck there. Perhaps you might take a turn about the room with Mr Friar, Adelaide. You would probably like to hear about Mr Davis and his new life in the Americas.’

And just like that she was dispatched into the care of Mr George Friar, his hand beneath her arm as he led her around the room.

‘I am sorry I did not tell you of my acquaintance with Kenneth Davis at the Harvey ball, Miss Ashfield. I thought it would be nice to get to know you first, to find out for myself if what he said of you could possibly be true. My tripping on that blasted plant put an end to that.’

So he would not mention his own lack of manners? She decided to play along. ‘And what was it he has said of me, sir?’

The affable but bumbling tone suddenly changed. ‘He said you held one of the richest fortunes in England in your palm, Miss Ashfield, and that if his father had not had him manhandled on to the next boat out of England you would have had to marry him.’

She was pleased that he now showed her his true malice.

‘He was wrong in that assumption, Mr Friar. No woman has to do anything she does not wish to simply because of the poor manners of a suitor.’

Her heart was thumping, but she kept her smile in place and was glad to feel her strength returning. Cover a bluff with a bluff; a cardroom strategy that she’d heard from Bertie.

‘Society here needs just to hear a rumour of impropriety to believe it to be true, Miss Ashfield. Especially in a woman.’ The cold threat in his voice was evident. ‘It is dangerous ground that you are treading.’

‘You seem to be ignoring the opposing argument that those who tell tales often come under their own scrutiny, Mr Friar. If it is truly a wealthy wife you want from this visit to England, it would pay you to stay out of such quagmires.’

He took a step back, the smile on his face now overwritten with anger. ‘My offer to marry you still stands, Miss Ashfield. I believe we could do well together. The beginnings of a dynasty. And if not...’ He left the threat unfinished.’

My God, he believed she would simply surrender to his bullying? Was he mad? ‘I will surely think about it, Mr Friar, but for now I need to leave. A headache, you understand.’ She brought her hand to her brow and tried to look suitably in pain.

When Friar tipped his head and let her go she knew she had won a short respite at least. Better to let him believe that he was in with a chance than to cut him off completely. Breathing out, she walked towards her uncle, praying all the way that the absolute fury she felt inside would not be showing on her face.

* * *

Gabriel fell into a wide leather wingchair at White’s and ordered a stiff brandy.

Daniel Wylde sat opposite him, the smoke of a cheroot winding up between them.

‘My wife is worried about you, Gabriel. She thinks you are lonely.’

‘Lonely for strong wine and shapely women,’ he drawled back. The persona he had fostered was so easy to regather in the face of anything personal.

‘Lonely in life, were her exact words. She thinks Miss Adelaide Ashfield would suit you nicely as a bride and has bidden me to raise the subject.’

Speechless for once, Gabriel listened.

‘She is wealthy and she is comely. But most of all she is clever and real. A woman like that is rare. Amethyst thinks you are half in love with her already.’

‘Love is a strong word, Daniel, and one I have had no practice in at all.’

‘Love is the only word that takes away loneliness. Perhaps you should think about that.’

Gabriel laughed, but the sound was mirthless. ‘Your matchmaking ability leaves much to be desired. Perhaps if you just stop there we’d both be relieved.’

‘It’s good to be back in your company, Gabe.’

The quiet honesty of the statement floored Gabriel and he remained silent, fighting back the desire to lay down every one of his problems before the scrutiny of an old friend.

Daniel lowered his voice. ‘It is also whispered you work for the Service. Undercover?’ He allowed this to settle a moment before continuing. ‘Battle was wearying in the Peninsular campaign, but it was usually quickly over. You have the looks of a man who has been under fire for a very long time.’