“My marriage was not a happy one, ma’am,” he explained. “My wife told her mother that I had mistreated her, that I had been violent. And when I went to fetch my daughter from her grandmother’s home, I am afraid I did nothing to help my case. I behaved badly. I raged and threatened and—”
“And did you use violence upon your wife?” Marcel asked while Abigail’s mother, standing close to him, raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.
“No, sir,” Gil said.
“If you raged and threatened,” Marcel asked, “why did you not end up with your child? I assume the general was still from home?”
“He was,” Gil said. “I had got myself inside the house despite the effort of several servants to keep me out, but then Lady Pascoe came downstairs and stood blocking the staircase. And I could hear Katy crying upstairs. She was less than a year old. But she sounded frightened.”
“So you went away,” Elizabeth said.
“Yes,” Gil said. “Very soon after that, out of the blue, I was posted to St. Helena. General Pascoe’s doing, without a doubt. My wife died while I was there. By now they have dug in their heels. They have threatened through their lawyer to have me charged with assault if I do not go away quietly. Throughmylawyer I have threatened to chargethem with kidnapping. However, negotiations are ongoing and seem to be leading to a hearing before a judge, who will decide my daughter’s fate. I believe I have right and the law on my side, but General and Lady Pascoe have rank and power and influence on theirs.”
“And so,” Colin said, “it occurred to you and your lawyer that your chances would improve considerably if you married again and had a mother to offer the child as well as a father.”
“Yes,” Gil said.
He was, Abigail thought as she sat stiffly on the edge of the love seat, making a mess of this.
“But that isoutrageous,” her mother cried while Marcel set a hand on her shoulder. “You haveusedAbby. You have—”
“It is not so, Mama,” Abigail said. “When I agreed to marry Gil, I was in full possession of all the facts. We did not marryjustto improve his chances of regaining custody of his daughter. We married each other also because we wanted to.” She was not at all sure that was true of Gil, but she did not believe it was not true either. “I am happy with what I have done. I hope you can be happy for me. I hope you all can.”
There was the briefest of silences.
“Iam happy,” Estelle cried, and rushed from her own chair to sit beside Abigail and squeeze her hand. “Though I may never forgive you for not inviting me to your wedding. And just wait untilJessicahears the news.”
“I am happy for the two of you as well,” Cousin Althea said. “And I wish you every success with your court case, Lieutenant Colonel.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He inclined his head to her.
“Small, private weddings can be the loveliest things,”Elizabeth said. “I am sure yours was, Abigail and Lieutenant Colonel Bennington. I hope we will hear details. If not, I shall have to write and pester Harry.” Her eyes were twinkling again.
Bertrand came to offer his hand to Abigail. He was grinning. “I would say you have done well for yourself considering the fact that you were an aging spinster, stepsister,” he said. “You have married a high-ranking officer and gentleman.” He took her hand in his and leaned over her to kiss her cheek.
“I am not a gentleman,” Gil said from behind her. Abigail did not have to look to know that he was wearing his granite expression.
Everyone looked inquiringly at him. Elizabeth was smiling as though awaiting the other half of the joke. Abigail felt her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she turned her head to look back at him. He was standing in a familiar pose—military bearing, booted feet slightly apart, hands at his back.
“I was recruited by a sergeant when he passed through the village where I lived with my mother,” he said. “I lied about my age—I was fourteen at the time. I was a sergeant in India several years later when... someone who appeared to feel he owed me something purchased an ensign’s commission for me and later a lieutenant’s. I progressed from there on my own. It is not an impossibly difficult thing to do during wartime. But my military rank notwithstanding, I am not a gentleman. My mother was unmarried. She scraped together a living by taking in other people’s washing.”
The tension that was in the brief silence that followed his words could surely be cut with a knife, Abigail thought.
“One might call me a guttersnipe,” Gil added, “though my wife does not like the word.”
Two servants chose that precise moment to bring in a tray of glasses and two bottles of champagne. They set everything down on the sideboard and left with downcast eyes, no doubt unnerved by the silence.
Her mother meanwhile had crossed quietly to the window. Marcel had followed her there, but while she stood looking out, he faced into the room, his hand on her forearm.
“And, in case anyone has forgotten,” Abigail said, “I am not a lady.”
She heard her mother moan softly.
“If any of you are thinking that I married beneath myself,” Abigail continued, “you are mistaken. I married the man I wished to marry. No one has ever understood, but I will tell you now. What happened six years ago set me free. I did not realize it at the time, of course. It took me a long while. But I have never wanted to be restored to my former social position, all patched up and almost as good as new. I have wanted to be who I am. That too I did not understand for some time. But when I did, then I knew also that I was free, that what happened on that terrible day that sent Harry into the military and Mama and Camille and me fleeing to Bath was actually the greatest blessing of my life. I did not marry Gilbecausehe is no more a gentleman than I am a lady. Nor did I marry himdespitethe fact that we had vastly different upbringings. I was free to marry him because I wanted to.”
“Oh, Abigail,” Elizabeth said, while Estelle squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt. “Yes, do take her, Mama.” She handed the baby to Cousin Althea, while George on Colin’s lap played with his watch fob. Elizabeth came to sit on the arm of the love seat before patting Abigail’s hand. “Camille married the man of her heart. So did Viola—your mother. Now it is your turn to do the same thing. Bertrand, at therisk of sounding ill-mannered because I am a mere guest here, are you never going to pour that champagne and make the first toast to your stepsister and your new stepbrother-in-law?”
Bertrand hurried over to the sideboard. But what a travesty of a celebration, Abigail thought.
