A Gentleman Never Tells (8 page)

“That is how I feel, Auntie. But did I really sound like my mother?”

Her aunt nodded and smiled sadly at Gabrielle. “Oh, yes. She always wanted to do the right thing, and it tormented the fires of hell out of her when she didn’t.”

“Auntie.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” her aunt said without apologizing for her indelicate language. “She was always coming to me and saying, ‘Oh, Bethie, what should I do about this?’ Or, ‘Bethie, I did this and such, or I said that and the other, and I shouldn’t have. What can I do?’ She was always in a dither about something. And I would always tell her, ‘Forget about it, dearie. It doesn’t matter.’ But she wouldn’t rest until she made whatever it was right. Now me, I’m a far different person.” She winked at Gabrielle and chuckled low in her throat again.

“Not so much, Auntie,” Gabrielle said.

“Oh yes, I am, and Rosa is more like me. I never cared a bluebell in hell if what I did was right or wrong. I only cared to do what I wanted when I wanted.”

“Shame on you, Auntie,” Gabrielle said with no real admonishment in her voice. “And you know Rosa is not like that.”

She gave her a curious look. “You don’t think so?”

“No, of course not.”

Auntie Bethie shrugged. “Everyone has their own opinion. So tell me what goes on with this handsome viscount who just left. From what little you’ve said and what your father told me about your being in the park this morning, it sounds to me as if Mr. Alfred Staunton is out of favor with you and Lord Brentwood is in.”

Gabrielle inhaled deeply and then said, “Definitely Staunton is out of my life, and yes, Lord Brentwood is in it—for now.”

“And that means?”

“That right now, Papa and the viscount want us to marry, but I’m trying to find a way to keep that from happening.”

Her aunt frowned. “Why don’t you want to marry him? You met him in the park.”

Gabrielle didn’t want to go over all that again, so she said, “I don’t want another arranged marriage, Auntie. And I certainly don’t want Lord Brentwood to marry me because he’s forced to.”

Her aunt gave her a naughty smile. “You could always find another handsome gentleman to kiss in the park. Dare I say that would be an easy way to get rid of the viscount?”

“Oh, no, Auntie,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head as she wrapped the shawl tighter about her. “I’ve learned my lesson about that. Once was enough for me. I must find a way out of this situation without creating another scandal. And I will.”

A certain amount of opposition is a great help to man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind.

—John Neal

It was blasted cold.

Brent muttered more than one curse to himself as he drove his curricle along London’s quiet streets at the break of dawn. The nippy wind dried out his eyes, and his warm breath stirred the frosty air. Most of the streetlights had been extinguished with the coming light, but there were very little stirrings of life moving along the boardwalks or in the shops he passed. He seemed to be one of the few people insane enough to be on the streets at this ungodly hour.

After leaving the duke and Lady Gabrielle last evening, he’d come home to find that neither his servants nor his brothers had had any better luck finding Prissy yesterday than he’d had. But he wasn’t ready to give her up as lost. He probably could have covered more ground in the park on horseback than on foot or in the curricle, except for the fact that he wanted to carry food and water for her. Besides, if—no, when he found her, should she be hurt, it would be better to have a carriage for her to ride in. For some reason, the idea had come to him that he would have a better chance of finding Prissy at about the same time he’d lost her yesterday.

Brent gently tugged on the right ribbon, turning the horse and entering the park as a pinkish gray lightened the dark sky. The fog had lifted, which was a good sign that there might actually be a few hours of sunshine at some point during the day. He immediately left the well-worn path the carriages usually took around the park and cut across the expansive, uneven ground that led to the center. He traveled a short distance and then stopped.

He gave as loud a whistle as his swollen lip would allow, and then called, “Pris! Here, girl. Come on; let me hear your bark.”

He listened but heard nothing other than the bone-chilling quietness of early morn. He slapped the ribbons on the horse’s rump and continued deeper into the park before stopping and calling for Prissy again. The mare shuddered, snorted, and shook her head, rattling the harness, but there was no other sound to break the silence. Brent repeated this routine again and again until he heard sounds of another vehicle coming toward him. He set the brake and laid the ribbons aside. He tightened the collar of his greatcoat around his neck and blew his breath into his gloved hands to warm them while he waited to see who would emerge out of the stand of trees.

It wasn’t long before he recognized the rattle of milk containers and saw the robust lad and two young women he’d seen with their milk cart yesterday. When the youngster noticed him, he automatically slowed his steps, and the two women cautiously moved closer together.

“Hello there,” Brent said, jumping down from the curricle.

As he walked closer, Brent saw the lad looked to be around twelve or thirteen, and on closer scrutiny, Brent could see the females were not as old as he’d thought yesterday. They were more the age of schoolgirls than young women. One appeared to be maybe sixteen or seventeen, and the other a year or two younger.

“Do you remember me from yesterday?” Brent asked.

The lad stopped the cart, let go of the handles, and straightened to his full height. His gaze remained steadfastly on Brent’s face, clearly distrusting him. Brent couldn’t blame him. With a black eye and busted lip, Brent knew he looked like a ruffian who’d been in a tavern brawl.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said quietly and moved slightly to stand between Brent and the lasses. “I remember you.”

Obviously, the young man’s job was not only to deliver the milk but to take care of the girls with him, as well. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stout and looked strong as an ox. Brent couldn’t help but think Lady Gabrielle would have done well to have had such a watchful lad as he with her yesterday morning. It would certainly have made Brent’s life a lot easier if she’d had.

“I am Viscount Brentwood,” he said, walking closer to the trio. “You have no reason to fear harm from me.”

The lad rolled his hat off his head, showing thick, unevenly trimmed brownish-red hair. He bowed and then fixed Brent with a wary gaze as he said, “I’ve never met a lord before.”

Brent did not doubt that. “No matter. I’m just like any other man you’d meet. What is your name?”

“Godfrey.”

“Very well, Godfrey, I want to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t rightly know how to talk to a lord, my lord. I just deliver the milk for me mum.”

Sensing his fear and wanting to make him feel comfortable so he would talk to him, Brent said, “That’s a very important job you have. Everyone wants their milk when they rise. Tell me, are these girls your sisters?”

The young man cut his eyes over to the two and nodded.

“That’s good, Godfrey. I want you to talk to me the same way you would if you were talking to them. It’s that simple, all right?”

He nodded again.

“Do you remember seeing the small dog I had with me yesterday?”

“Yes, my lord.”

A snicker sounded from one of the girls, and Brent and the lad glanced their way. The younger girl held a gloved hand over her mouth while the older one fixed her with a disapproving glare.

“I… we,” the young man hesitated and cut his eyes around to his sisters. “We remember the dog.”

Only too well, Brent thought. The milkmaid could cover her smile and muffle her giggle, but laughter showed clearly in her youthful eyes.

“Good. Her name is Prissy, or Pris. She answers to both. She wandered away from me yesterday, and I can’t find her. In your travels back and forth, have you seen her?”

“No, my lord,” Godfrey said while nervously twisting and squeezing his wool hat in his hands.

“Do you always pass along the same route through the park each day?”

“Yes, my lord, but sometimes we don’t.”

Brent wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but said, “If you see her and can catch her, bring her to Number 12 Mayfair Lane, and I’ll see to it you are handsomely rewarded.” Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling and threw it to the lad. He caught it up to his chest with both hands. “There will be more if you find her.”

Godfrey’s eyes rounded and brightened. Surprised gasps came from the two girls. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

Brent turned and walked back to his curricle. Within moments he was continuing his search for Pris. It was still too early for the sun to shine hot or bright enough to chase away the gray clouds, but it didn’t feel as cold as when he first arrived at the park. When he was close to the area where he’d last seen Prissy, he once again set the brake on the curricle and jumped down.

He intended to scour every inch of ground, including looking under every tree, bush, and shrub. Frustration mounted as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves and twisted his ankle, so it hurt a little every time he took a step. He knocked his hat off his head by a low-hanging branch, and a limb scratched the cheek that was still angry and swollen from his tussle with the duke’s men. But he found no sign of the pet.

Half an hour later, he was making his way back to the carriage when he heard what he thought was a familiar voice. He stopped and stood still.

“Prissy!” he heard a lady call.

Brent’s stomach tightened. Was he hearing things, or was that really Lady Gabrielle calling for his dog? He looked up at the sky and judged the time to be somewhere past eight. What the devil was she doing back in the park so early in the morn? And probably alone again, too!

He turned and started toward her voice. He heard a deep, menacing growl from Brutus, and Brent knew the dog had smelled him. He hoped that this time, Lady Gabrielle had a leash on the mammoth dog. Brent knew the mastiff to be old, deaf, and half blind, too, but not without the capability of knocking him down.

Brent walked out of a stand of trees and saw Lady Gabrielle and Brutus standing beside a two-seated open carriage, where a small, older lady sat, wearing a ridiculously fancy hat for so early in the day. A servant sat on the bench behind her. He recognized the driver as one of the men who’d chased him down and jumped on him yesterday. The man watched him warily, but he had no reason to fear Brent.

Lady Gabrielle’s bright-blue eyes widened with surprise as he walked toward her. Brutus barked another warning and then started wagging his tail. Brent also noticed the animal was once again unfettered. Lady Gabrielle reached down and patted Brutus’s shoulder and whispered something to him. Hopefully, it wasn’t the command to attack.

Brent approached them slowly and stopped a respectful distance away from her and the dog. He took off his hat, bowed, and said, “Lady Gabrielle, I must say I’m not at all shocked to find you in the park so early in the morning.”

“Nor I you, Lord Brentwood,” she said, giving him the customary curtsey his title deserved. “Obviously we’ve found something we have in common.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “I think you mean something
else
we have in common.” And then, not wanting to give her time to answer, he quickly turned his attention to the mastiff and added, “And how are you this morning, Brutus?”

The dog made another woof that seemed only a little friendlier than the first. “Temperamental as ever, I see. Perhaps you don’t enjoy the park on cold mornings as much as your mistress, or is it the early hour that bothers you?”

Lady Gabrielle ignored his comments to her dog and presented to him her companion, her mother’s sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Potter.

He smiled and said, “Mrs. Potter, you are a brave lady to be out on such a dreary day.”

“Balderdash, I’m not brave at all, I’m freezing my—”

“Auntie Bethie.” Lady Gabrielle interrupted her aunt before the last word was uttered, though Brent knew exactly what the loud-voiced lady was going to say.

While Lady Gabrielle was dressed in the same simple black-hooded cloak she’d worn yesterday, her aunt was not so restrained. Mrs. Potter wore a well-cut black coat trimmed at the neck with fur. Her hands were stuffed into a fur muffle, and her legs and feet were covered by a finely woven wool blanket. She was a small woman, and there wasn’t much of her that wasn’t covered in wool or fur, with the exception of a ridiculously tall, short-brimmed hat that was piled high with flowers and pheasant feathers. With sharp features, olive skin, and wide, deep-set brown eyes, she looked nothing like her much fairer and comely niece. Lady Gabrielle turned back to Brent and, with an almost shy smile, said, “My aunt is truly wonderful to indulge me as she does.”

“I’m not wonderful at all,” Mrs. Potter said with threads of humor lacing her lusty tone and a sparkle glinting in her dark eyes. “I’m here because I was coerced.”

“Auntie!” the duke’s daughter gasped. “You know I did no such thing.”

“Not you, silly girl.” Mrs. Potter laughed heartily in a voice that was much too deep and gruff for a woman her size. “I’m talking about your obnoxious father.”

Keeping her gaze on her aunt, Lady Gabrielle asked, “What did Papa do this time?”

“What he always says he will do but never does. That he will cut off my allowance and force me to live in one of his dreadfully damp country homes if I don’t keep an eagle eye on your every move. But don’t worry about that, dear. He has been saying that since your mother died. As you can see, I’ve been saved from his gallows many times.” She quickly turned her gaze on Brent and, without hesitation, said, “Not that the duke or his daughter told me all the intimate details, but I understand Lord Austerhill’s son jumped the fence at the paddock and you are the new stallion.”

Brent chuckled, stretching the injured corner of his mouth and wincing from the sudden pain.

“Auntie, please. You are being far too brash. You’ve just met the viscount. He doesn’t know your nature.”

“Nonsense, Gabby. Don’t be so fussy. If he’s marrying you, he’ll learn me soon enough,” she answered and then turned her incorrigible gaze on Brent again. “I understand nuptials are in the future for the two of you.”

“That is the case, Mrs. Potter,” Brent said to the lady and let his gaze slowly drift to Gabrielle as he added, “even though the duke doesn’t want it widely known until the previous engagement matters can be resolved. As soon as they are, the banns will be posted, and Lady Gabrielle and I will wed.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mrs. Potter said and then turned and smiled sweetly at Lady Gabrielle. “Does that suit your gentle nature better, my dear?”

“Much,” Lady Gabrielle said quite stiffly, making it clear she wasn’t happy her aunt was going beyond the pale.

Brent was enjoying the conversation between the two ladies, who were as different as night and day. The first time Mrs. Potter spoke, Brent knew she was nothing like her niece.

“No doubt you are the reason she wanted to come to the park so early this morning, so I’ll allow her five minutes to talk to you while my maid pours me another cup of chocolate. But next time, Gabby, don’t make up a story about a poor lost dog. Just tell me you desire to see your handsome viscount, and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Lady Gabrielle opened her mouth as if to counter her aunt’s words but turned toward Brent instead when she heard his chuckle.

Brent held up his hand to stop her from speaking, and she pressed her lips together. He allowed his gaze to drift lazily over her lovely face. Lady Gabrielle let out a sighing breath. Her taut shoulders relaxed, obviously realizing he wasn’t offended by her aunt.

“Don’t let your aunt’s comments disturb you. I find her refreshing and charming, and I don’t, for a moment, believe you came to the park to see me.”

“Thank you for that, my lord, it is true.”

“But did you come to the park just to look for Prissy?”

A wrinkle of concern formed between her eyes. “I must admit I hardly slept a wink last night. I’ve been anxious about her since you told me she was missing. Have you found her?”

“Not yet, but I’m still hopeful.”

Lady Gabrielle’s frown deepened. “I feel responsible for her disappearance and was hoping if I came to the park that, perhaps, I could find her for you. Brutus has a very good nose. I fear she may have somehow gotten trapped or tangled up with her leash or…”