The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series (23 page)

Reaching the doorway, she gulped in air and released it slowly before stepping into the room. She expected her cousin to be in attendance already, but the dowager duchess and an upstairs maid were the only occupants of the pale blue sitting room.

Gabriel’s grandmother looked over to the clock on the mantel and then to Calliope. She was one minute late. Only one; that wasn’t too terrible. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy.

Making no comment, the dowager duchess gestured to the chair directly across the low table from her place on the gold silk settee. “I trust you enjoyed your outing this morning, Miss Croft.”

Calliope felt a rush of panic. Had the dowager duchess seen them together and without a chaperone? “Very much, though it is the only time such an outing has occurred. I have spent the majority of my time indoors. With my cousin.” Who was not here to corroborate her story.

The dowager duchess looked to the empty seat and then summoned the maid to pour the tea. “Your cousin sent her regrets this morning. She is . . . unwell. I do hope your high color does not mean you are becoming ill too.”

Calliope lifted her hands to her face, trying to cool her cheeks. Absently, she wondered if her lips were swollen as well. “I don’t believe so, Your Grace.”

“Good. I’ve always found that those who come from larger families have heartier constitutions.”

Calliope glanced at the dowager duchess, who had an air of careless disregard as she folded her hands in her lap, waiting patiently. On the tray was an assortment of small dishes filled with sugar, milk, lemon slices, and even mint leaves. After what Gabriel had mentioned a few moments ago, she knew this was a test.

Did Gabriel care whether or not his grandmother approved of her?

Her heart quickened. Calliope was no longer the young debutante who’d been so easily swept off her feet. The truth was, she never would have allowed Gabriel—or wanted him—to seduce her if she didn’t love him already.

Love him
.

But wait . . . wasn’t she still falling? Surely, it was like stumbling after tripping over a hem. She still had the chance to right herself. Didn’t she?

Shaken, she already knew the answer.

Love
.

It had taken her unaware again. This time, it was different. Real. Tangible.

Reaching forward, Calliope picked up the tongs. She made her choice, her hand surprisingly steady.

The lemon slid into the dark liquid without a ripple. Yet she felt as if a great wave had risen out of her cup and washed over her. In this one simple act, a profound realization took hold. By choosing a slice of lemon, she was declaring her love for Gabriel.

She’d had no idea that tea with the dowager duchess would be such a monumental occurrence in her life.

“Your family is moderately sized, with you the second eldest, beneath your brother and above your three sisters,” the dowager duchess continued, adding a slice of lemon to her own tea as if nothing of great importance had transpired. Or as if she’d expected nothing less. “Do twins run in your family?”

Calliope was still reeling. It took a moment for her to catch up to the dowager duchess’s question. It surprised her that the dowager duchess knew so much about the Crofts, including the fact that Phoebe and Asteria were twins.

Had she passed the test, she wondered, or was this another part of it?

Calliope nodded. “On my mother’s side, my uncle has two sets of twins among his seven children.”

“
Seven
. Good heavens, what a number.” The dowager duchess’s eyes widened, her cup paused in midair. Then she pursed her lips and tilted her head, as if in contemplation, before she returned the cup to the saucer. “The important news is that you are used to large families. As you know, until his father remarried, Gabriel was an only child. Though he dotes on his siblings, the years between them are too great to have offered him much companionship. I’ve always thought that he is of a nature that would do well with a large family.”

Suddenly, Calliope remembered the wager. The light fluttering of her heart stopped.

How could she have forgotten? The three gentlemen living here had declared not to marry for a year. Or perhaps, not to marry at all. What if she was the only one suffering from this affliction? After all, Gabriel had made no declaration.

The dark liquid in her teacup had turned sour. And now, her fleeting hope wavered, like the slice of lemon on the surface.

To her companion, Calliope nodded in agreement but did not say a word. It was not her place to inform the dowager duchess that Gabriel had no intention of marrying or of starting a family, large or small.

She recognized her own pang of remorse. These days with Gabriel had opened her heart to love once more. Unfortunately, she had a peculiar tendency to fall in love with men who only pretended an interest in her.

F
rom the window in the north tower, Gabriel stared out at the cedar tree across the expanse of snow, and smiled. The sleigh tracks nearby were still visible, even though it had been hours since he’d had Calliope in his arms. He wanted those marks to remain there forever.

“I’m disappointed, Everhart,” a voice said from a distance behind him. “You’re making it far too easy for your friends to win the wager.”

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder to see that Brightwell had entered the map room. His friend wore no easy grin or teasing expression, and the lack of it caused apprehension to settle like a vise at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Brightwell picked up a spyglass from a nearby table and peered through it toward the window over Gabriel’s shoulder. “Or perhaps you’ll be saved—
once again
—and she will leave Fallow Hall.”

The mocking tone singed his ears. Gabriel had never heard such spite from Brightwell. “If you are concerned for your new cousin-in-law’s reputation, you needn’t be.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at her.” Brightwell lowered the telescope and replaced it on the table. “The way you’ve always looked at her.”

He’d known all these years?
Did Brightwell still have feelings for Calliope, even though he’d married Pamela? The idea left him uneasy and wary.

Gabriel’s pulse accelerated, as if preparing for a physical attack. Yet he knew Brightwell would never cross the distance to challenge him. That hard glare was the only blow he would strike. “There is no point in speaking of the past. We are friends. That is all that matters.”

Brightwell scoffed. “Yes, and I have been most fortunate to have your friendship.”

If Brightwell knew everything—even about the letter—then Gabriel supposed he’d earned such censure. He had to admit that their friendship had been more about Gabriel’s needs and then his guilt, than about any true bond. “The truth is, you deserved a better friend in the beginning, but I have tried to make amends.” If everything progressed as Gabriel imagined, they would become family.

Brightwell gave a stiff nod.

Valentine cleared his throat from the doorway. “My lord, Miss Croft’s carriage and driver have arrived.”

Her carriage? Damn!
It was here too soon. He had much to tell Calliope before she left. First, he needed to confess to her about the letters. “Make the driver comfortable for the remainder of the day.”

The butler inclined his head. “In addition, my lord, when the tea concluded, there were two slices of lemon missing from the dish and nothing more.”

A breath rushed out of Gabriel’s lungs. “Thank you, Valentine. That will be all.”

When the butler departed, Gabriel turned back toward the window so that Brightwell would not see the undoubtedly sappy grin spreading across his face.

“Two slices of lemon missing,” Brightwell said, his curiosity evident. “What an odd event to report.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Who knows why Valentine says the things he does? Perhaps there is madness at Fallow Hall.”

Right that instant, Gabriel felt a fierce sort of madness swimming in his veins at the thought of Calliope’s choosing lemon for her tea. That simple choice meant a great deal.

It meant that she was choosing
him
.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
he carriage had arrived.

Calliope spent the afternoon discussing her gown for the evening and her traveling clothes for tomorrow with Meg, while everything else being was packed away. She visited with Mrs. Merkel, who professed a desire for Calliope to return to Fallow Hall very soon. Mrs. Swan said that she was preparing a special syllabub for Calliope’s last dinner here. And since the cold weather in Lincolnshire did not agree with the dowager duchess, she wanted to enjoy one more tour of the hothouse. Unfortunately, she did not want to stop by the map room on her way.

During the tour, nothing of great import was mentioned. There was no more talk of the dowager duchess’s desire for Everhart to have a large family. Instead, they spoke at length of flowers and the differences of native species in England as opposed to those of South America.

At dinner, the dowager rearranged the seating so that Calliope was to her right, while Gabriel sat at the opposite end beside his father. Not wanting to appear rude, Calliope tried not to let her gaze drift down the table any more than six or eight times. Certainly no more than a dozen glances in all. And he looked down the table at her just as often.

She wanted to speak with him. Privately. Not having the chance to do so filled her with anxiety. She wasn’t about to reveal her epiphany at tea with the dowager duchess and proclaim her love for him. However, she would like to know if she would see him again. Perhaps in one year, when the wager was over.

Shortly after dinner, everyone gathered in the parlor. Everhart, his father, and his grandmother sat among the chairs and sofa, facing one another. Montwood and Danvers were at a smaller table, playing cards. Pamela and Brightwell had retired immediately after dinner, as had Alistair Ridgeway.

Calliope hoped to steal away for a moment to speak with Everhart, but the dowager duchess requested that she read passages from the journal she’d mentioned during the tour of Fallow Hall.

“I should like to understand the appeal of such explorations,” the dowager duchess said.

It wasn’t long before a discussion ensued, and even the Duke of Heathcoat had an opinion on South America. Throughout this, whenever Calliope’s gaze met Gabriel’s—which she had to admit was quite often—he appeared equally frustrated.

They hadn’t had a single moment alone to say good-bye. Or to shed light on what was happening between them.

“Miss Croft,” Everhart said abruptly when she paused to turn the page. “I have heard that you are leaving on the morrow.”

At his uncharacteristically earnest expression, she swallowed. “So it would seem, Lord Everhart.” Had it really only been hours ago that she was whispering his name in ecstasy? She blushed at the thought and hoped no one noticed. “Preparing for the journey has been quite the whirlwind.”

“I can well imagine.” His lips quirked in a grin, as if he’d read her
every
thought. “So much can change in so short a time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She searched his face, wondering if there was a chance that he reciprocated her feelings. “I would.”

He offered an imperceptible nod and was about to speak again, but instead his grandmother interrupted.

“You must forgive me, Miss Croft. I have kept you up late to read for my enjoyment.” She rose from her chair, and everyone in the room followed suit.

“It has been my pleasure, Your Grace,” Calliope said.

“I must lay the blame at your feet, however, because of your exceedingly pleasant tone. It brings to mind your namesake, the muse that inspired Homer.” The dowager duchess tapped her cane once on the floor. “Wouldn’t you agree that our Calliope is a veritable muse, Gabriel?”

Our Calliope
. She could scarcely breathe. Had the Dowager Duchess of Heathcoat just granted her approval?

A
veritable muse?
Gabriel studied his grandmother carefully before responding. “I would.”

How much did she know?

“You have nearly completed your own odyssey, I’d say.” A gleam flashed in the dowager duchess’s eyes. “And many years away from home.”

Without a doubt, the dear old dragon knew everything. Gabriel grinned. Then he leaned forward and bussed his grandmother’s cheek. “You still manage to surprise me.”

“Age brings with it certain advantages, young man. Not to mention a sense of urgency.” She patted his cheek. “Since you are fond of early mornings, I expect you to be ready to see off your guests. Your father and I will be leaving in the morning as well.”

Gabriel looked from the dowager to his father before resting on Calliope. “Perhaps I would prefer a large snowfall overnight that would keep all the guests here. If a blizzard fell over Fallow Hall tonight, it would be most welcome.”

Calliope blushed.

“What nonsense,” the dowager duchess said, her gruff tone belied by the fact that she wore a grin. “Miss Croft, we would do well to leave this charmer’s company before he has each of us wishing for snow.”

L
ater that night, Calliope stood alone in her room. Staring out her bedchamber window, she did indeed wish for snow. Unfortunately, not a single flake appeared in the sky. In fact, this close to spring, there wouldn’t likely be another snowfall.

Before dinner, she’d told Meg to retire early and that she would ready herself for bed. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow. However, instead of preparing for bed as she ought, her restless thoughts took her to the writing desk. She couldn’t leave without telling Gabriel how she felt.

Unfortunately, the first letter she wrote did not convey the depth of feeling she intended. The second letter contained too much. And the third was entirely too stilted and forced. While it was easy for her to write a list of characteristics of the gentlemen she’d studied, putting an overwhelming sea of emotions on the page proved impossible.