“You have never shown any desire to be a mother before.”
“How would you know that? You have never expended any effort to ask me.”
The dowager took her time returning her saucer and cup to the table before asking, “So you do wish to have children?”
“I believe most women have that desire. I am no exception.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” came the murmured, distracted reply.
Staring at the woman across from her, Isabel attempted to collect her aim. There was one, if only she could puzzle it out.
“Isabel.” The sound of her favorite raspy voice soothed her immensely.
She turned with a bright smile to face Gray as he entered. His hair was windblown and his cheeks flushed, the handsomest man she had ever seen. She had always thought so. Now, looking at him with all the love she possessed, she was rendered breathless by the sight of him. “Yes, my lord?”
“The vicar’s wife gave birth to their sixth child today.” He held out both hands to her, and then pulled her to her feet. “A small crowd gathered with well-wishes. Instruments were brought out to provide music, others brought food. Now something of a celebration is happening in the village and I would dearly love to take you there.”
“Yes, yes.” Her excitement was sparked by his, her fingers tightening in response to his affectionate squeeze.
“May I come?” his mother asked, rising.
“I doubt it would be something you would enjoy,” Gerard said, tearing his gaze away from Pel’s radiant face. Then he shrugged. “But I have no objection.”
“A moment to refresh, if you would, please,” Isabel asked softly.
“Take all the time you need,” he assured her. “I will have the landaulet brought around. It is a short distance, but neither of you are dressed for the walk.”
Isabel left the room with her customary graceful glide. He began to follow her when his mother halted his egress.
“How will you know if the children she bears are truly yours?”
Gerard stilled, then turned slowly about. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“You don’t honestly believe she will be faithful to you, do you? When she increases, the whole of society will wonder who the father is.”
He sighed. Would his mother ever leave well enough alone? “Since Isabel will never become pregnant, your distasteful scenario will never come to fruition.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me clearly the first time. After what happened to Emily, how could you think I would ever go through that ordeal again? Michael or Spencer’s eldest male issue will inherit. I will not risk Isabel when there is no dire need to.”
She blinked, and then broke out in a broad grin. “I see.”
“I hope you do.” Shaking a finger at her, he narrowed his gaze and said, “Do not think to blame this on my wife as a shortcoming. I have made the decision.”
His mother nodded with unusual docility. “I understand completely.”
“Good.” He turned away again and strode to the door. “We shall be departing shortly. If you want to come, be ready.”
“Never fear, Grayson,” she called after him. “I would not miss this for the world.”
“Celebration” was an apt description for the merry crowd that filled the lawn before the vicar’s small house and the church next to it. Beneath two large trees gathered a few dozen dancing and loudly conversing villagers, and one beaming vicar.
Isabel could not help but offer a wide smile to everyone who approached their equipage in welcome. Grayson made a grand show of introducing her to the boisterous group, and she was greeted with great excitement.
For the next hour, she watched as Gray mingled. He spoke at length with the gentlemen he had labored alongside while building part of the stone wall, and deepened their regard with his ability to recall the names of their family members and neighbors. He lifted small children into the air, and reduced a group of smitten young girls to fits of giggles by complimenting their pretty hair ribbons.
All the while, Isabel basked in his charm from afar and fell so deeply in love, she ached all over with it. Her chest grew tight, and her heart clenched. The innocent infatuation she had felt for Pelham was nothing, nothing compared to the mature joy she found with Grayson.
“His father had the same charisma,” the dowager said beside her. “My other sons do not display it in quite the same measure and I am afraid their wives will dilute the trait further. A pity it will not be passed down from Grayson, who has it in such abundance.”
Shielded by her enjoyment of the day, Isabel shrugged off the usual irritation she felt with the dowager. “Who can foretell what traits a child will bear when it has yet to be conceived?”
“Since Grayson assured me back at the manse that he has no wish to beget issue off you, I think it’s safe to say that he will not be passing along any traits at all.”
Isabel glanced aside at her mother-in-law. With her once pretty features shielded by the brim of her hat, the dowager revealed no outward sign to the milling guests of the ugliness hidden beneath the façade. But that underlying rot was all Isabel could see.
“What are you talking about?” she snapped, turning to face her antagonist head-on. She could take poorly veiled barbs, but pure undiluted venom was too much.
“I offered my felicitations to Grayson on his decision to dedicate himself to preserving the title as he should.” The dowager’s chin lowered, shielding her eyes, but still revealing the smug curve to her thin lips. “He was quick to assure me that Emily is the only woman who would ever carry a child of his. He loved her, and she is irreplaceable.”
Isabel’s stomach roiled at the sudden remembrance of Gray’s happiness over Em’s condition. Thinking back, she found she couldn’t recall a time since his return when Grayson had ever mentioned wanting to have children with her. Even last night, he had avoided the subject rather than address it, stressing that his brothers would see to the task of begetting an heir. “You lie.”
“Why would I lie about something so easily disproved?” the dowager asked with mock innocence. “Truly, Isabel, you two are the most mismatched pair. Of course, if you can put aside any desire for children of your own and live with the knowledge that Grayson’s heir will be the product of another woman, you may manage to rub along with some semblance of contentment.”
Isabel’s hands clenched into fists, and she fought the urge to hiss and scratch like a furious cat. Or cry. She couldn’t decide which. But she knew either response would only give the dowager an advantage. So she managed a smile and a shrug. “I will take great pleasure in proving you wrong.”
Moving a short distance away, she rounded the trunk of a large tree. There, safe from prying eyes, she fell back against the rough bark, heedless of the dirt and possible damage to her gown. Shaking, she laced her fingers together and took deep breaths. She could not appear less than fully composed.
Despite everything inside her that told her to have faith, to believe that she was good enough for Grayson, to trust that he cared for her and wanted her happiness, there was still the voice inside her that reminded her that Pelham had found her lacking.
“Isabel?”
As Grayson stepped beneath the shade of the tree, she met his concerned gaze. “Yes, my lord?”
“Are you well?” he asked, stepping closer. “You look pale.”
She waved her hand carelessly. “Your mother is stirring the pot again. It’s nothing. A moment and I will regain my composure.”
The warning rumble in his throat soothed her, the sound of a man ready to defend his mate. “What did she say to you?”
“Lies, lies, and more lies. What recourse is left to her? You and I are no longer estranged, and we share the same bed, so the only thing she could wound me with was the topic of children.”
Gray tensed visibly, something she noted with a flare of unease.
“What about children?” he asked gruffly.
“She claims you do not want any with me.”
He stood unmoving for a long while and then winced. Her heart stopped, and then caught in her throat.
“Is it true?” Her hand lifted to her bosom. “Gerard?” she prodded when he did not answer.
Growling, he looked away. “I want to give you things, all things. I want to make you happy.”
“But no children?”
His jaw tightened.
“Why?” she cried, her heart breaking.
Lifting his gaze to hers, he bit out, “I will not lose you. I cannot lose you. Risking you to childbirth is not an option.”
Stumbling away, Isabel covered her mouth.
“For God’s sake, don’t look at me like that, Pel! We can be happy just the two of us.”
“Can we? I remember the joy you felt when Emily was pregnant. I remember your exuberance.” Shaking her head, she pressed her fingertips hard against her lower lip to still its quivering. “I wanted to give you that.”
“Do you also remember my pain?” he asked, on the defensive. “What I feel for you is beyond anything I have ever felt for anyone. To lose you would destroy me.”
“You think I am too old for you.” Unable to bear the sight of his torment, which reflected her own, she stepped around him.
“This has nothing to do with age.”
“Yes, it does.”
Gray caught her arm as she walked by. “I promised you I would be enough, and I will be. I can make you happy.”
“Release me,” she said softly, meeting his gaze. “I need to be alone.”
The blue of his eyes swirled with frustration, fear, and a tinge of anger. None of that affected her. She was numb, as she had learned long ago how to be when pierced with a mortal wound.
No children.
Pressing a hand over her aching chest, she tugged the arm that was still trapped in his grip.
“I cannot allow you to go like this, Pel.”
“You have no choice,” she said simply. “You will not hold me against my will in front of all these people.”
“Then I shall go with you.”
“I want to be alone,” she reiterated.
Gerard stared at his wife’s frigid shell and felt a gulf between them so wide he wondered if they could cross it. Panic made his heart race and his breathing shallow. “For Christ’s sake, you never said anything about wanting children. You made me promise not to spill my seed in you!”
“That was before you made our temporary bargain into a permanent marriage!”
“How in hell was I to know that your feelings on the matter had changed?”
“Foolish me.” Her eyes burned with amber fire. “I should have said, ‘By the way, before I fall in love with you and want children, let me ask if you have any objections.’”
Before I fall in love with you…
At any other moment those words would have raised him to the heights. Now they cut him to the quick. “Isabel…” he breathed, tugging her closer. “I love you, too.”
She shook her head, causing the artless curls at her nape to sway violently. “No.” Her hand came up to ward him off. “That is the last thing I want to hear from you. I wanted to be a wife to you in all ways, I was willing to try, but you refuse me. We have nothing left now. Nothing!”
“What the devil are you talking about? We have each other.”
“No, we do not,” she said, with such finality his throat clenched tight as a fist, cutting off his air. “You took us beyond friendship and we cannot go back. And now…” She choked on a sob. “I cannot make love to you now, so we have no marriage either.”
He froze, the beat of his heart faltering. “What?”
“I would resent you every time you sheathed yourself in a French letter or withdrew to spill your seed. To know that you will not allow me to carry your child—”
Catching her about the shoulders, Gerard attempted to shake some sense into his wife. Isabel retaliated with a booted kick to his shin, causing him to swear and release her in surprise. She raced swiftly back to the waiting landaulet, and he hurried after her as fast as decorum would allow. Just as Isabel clambered without assistance into the equipage, his mother stepped into his path.
“Witch!” he growled, grabbing her by the elbow and yanking her roughly aside. “When I depart today, I am leaving you here.”
“Grayson!”
“You like this property, so refrain from looking so horrified.” He loomed over her, making her cringe. “Save your horror for the day you see me again. I pray you never do, because it will mean that Isabel would not take me back. And if that happens, even God himself will not be able to spare you from my wrath.”
He threw her aside and followed the fleeing landaulet on foot, but found his way repeatedly blocked by reveling villagers. When he finally arrived at the manse, Pel had already taken the traveling coach and departed.
Fighting a near crippling fear that he had damaged Isabel’s love beyond repair, Gerard saddled a horse and gave chase.
Chapter 20
Rhys waited in the hallway of the wing that housed Abby’s rooms. He paced nervously and tugged at his cravat, but never took his gaze away from her door. His coach waited out front, and the servants were loading his trunks. Time was growing short. He would be leaving soon, but refused to do so until he had spoken with Abigail.
He had been trying all morning, to no avail. He had attempted to take the seat next to her at breakfast, but she moved too quickly, picking a chair bracketed with guests on either side. A deliberate avoidance.
Blowing out an impatient breath, he heard the lock turn, then Abigail stepped out. He pounced.
“Abby.” Striding toward her quickly, he noted the pleasure that lit her eyes, before she lowered her lids and shielded them.
Damned wench was playing at something, and he would get to the bottom of it, by God! Make him fall in love with her and then toss him aside, would she? He would see about that.
