‘I’m afraid I will not be joining you,’ shuddered Agnes rising and gathering her shawl around her shoulders. ‘The cold plays havoc with my bunions. I will request a small repast to take with me into the sitting room where I’m certain I shall be more than cosy.’
‘Would you like some reading material to accompany you?’ asked Temperance solicitously.
The Reverend gave a muffled grunt. ‘She’ll be snoring on the chaise longue within a half an hour.
‘And it’s no more than you deserve my dove,’ he added hurriedly at his wife’s narrowed glare.
Within the hour Gabriel had been furnished with a whole new wardrobe despite his protestations and the party were warmly wrapped up and making their way down the snow-covered paths towards a small lake.
The younger Shacklefords were already rosy cheeked and proclaiming themselves starving, so Hope and Gabriel found themselves embroiled in more than one snowball fight as the older members of the party sought to divert their younger siblings’ attention from their stomachs. Freddy naturally chased after snowballs and anything else that took his fancy.
As they got closer to their destination however, the children skipped off in front towards the frozen lake, and after instructing them not to venture out onto the ice, Hope found herself walking alone with the Viscount. It was the first time they’d been alone since the morning before in the vicarage kitchen, and unlike that occasion, Hope now found herself inexplicably tongue tied. So much had happened in such a short space of time, it seemed perfectly ridiculous to now be indulging in small talk as though they’d just met in someone’s drawing room.
Gabriel for his part couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in close proximity to an attractive woman. The occasional dalliance he’d indulged in before Spain seemed a lifetime ago, and though his trip to Cadiz had only been the last of many uncertain trips abroad, some at sea during his time in the Royal Navy and others as an envoy for Admiral Atwood, he’d never been forced to survive alone on only his wits for such a long duration. He recognised that the experience had changed him forever.
After being forced to retire from the Navy, he’d found himself at a loss. He was nothing like his father, preferring life away from the excesses of the capital. Though initially he’d believed that throwing himself into the running of Northwood would be enough to occupy him, it had failed to quench his aspiration to leave his mark on the world - to do something that might make a difference. Indeed, the unanticipated duel with his cousin was entirely contrary to his usual proclivity.
The Viscount became aware that his companion was speaking. ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Hope was saying softly.
Gabriel looked down into the luminous hazel eyes of his companion and drew in his breath. God she was lovely. The cold had rendered her cheeks and lips a dark pink and tawny curls framed her face where her hair had escaped its pins. Against the backdrop of white, she looked almost exotic. As her face slowly suffused with colour, he realised he’d been staring at her impolitely for nearly half a minute. What the hell was wrong with him? He was behaving like a complete dolt. He coughed self-consciously. ‘Forgive my deplorable manners Miss Shackleford,’ he finally murmured. ‘In truth I was thinking you a rare vision, especially for one who has been without such a feast to the eyes for longer than he can remember.’
Hope’s colour deepened at the intensity in Gabriel’s scrutiny, and she had no idea what to say in return. She felt like a gauche country chit just out of the school room, though she’d been the one teaching her younger siblings for nigh on two years.
Abruptly she looked down, feeling like a complete fool. She did not know how to flirt. This was the first time she’d even held a conversation with a man. Did he believe her worldly like her older sisters? That she could indulge in witty banter at the drop of a hat? If so, he was about to be sorely disappointed.
‘I…I am sure they are waiting on us,’ she stammered in the end, though she could clearly see that the rest of the party were not even looking their way. With a quick curtsy, she picked up her skirts and fled towards safety, forcing back sudden tears of humiliation.
∞∞∞
The sun was shining through the dining room window as Benjamin Atwood attended his wife Caroline at breakfast. They might have been sitting at the same table but that was the extent of their intimacy. Neither spoke, but simply got on with the business of breaking their fast.
Caroline was not aware of his affliction. The Admiral had managed to get through Christmas Day without resorting to his bed. He’d half expected Henry to turn up, but he should have known better. And now it was Boxing Day and there had been no word from his son and heir.
His son and heir. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But then what he really wanted to do was smash everything within reaching distance. He smiled and nodded politely at his wife, his inner turmoil completely hidden, as she asked him if he wished for more tea.
Sipping at the lukewarm liquid, he thought back to when it all went so badly wrong. Oh, not the onset of his disease, he’d controlled that well enough for years. Even reaching the pinnacle of his career whilst secretly hiding his shame.
And it wasn’t even when his son took up gambling, depleting his doting mother’s modest inheritance to fund his habit before seeking to put a dent in his father's prize money.
No, it was when Henry sought to put a deuced hole in his cousin. ThecorrectViscount Northwood. The idiot had not only missed but cheated. It had cost him practically everything he had to hush the sordid incident up. The favours he’d had to pull in to buy Henry a commission and install him in his own bloody ship. Atwood felt the sweat blossom on his brow at the thought of how much he’d actually owed prior to Gabriel’s death.
Gabriel may have died at Henry’s hands, but his father had been the one who’d murdered the Viscount, just as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger.
And the worst of it?
He’d always loved Gabriel. In truth, much more than he ever had Henry.
Chapter Nine
Hope huddled down inside her warm blanket and watched the rest of the party cavort in the snow. Or rather her eyes may have been on their antics, but her mind was busy reprimanding herself for her gaucheness when conversing with Viscount Northwood.
There was no getting away from it, she’d acted like a complete pea goose. She glanced over at Grace and Temperance who were arguing animatedly with Felicity. Their faces were flushed from a combination of cold and laughter. The fact of the matter was, she was never going to possess the boisterous confidence of her twin and older siblings.
And it wasn’t just about self-confidence. Her only experience of men were her sisters’ husbands, which meant she had absolutely no idea how to converse socially with a member of the opposite sex, whether noble, commoner or indeed, possessed of two heads.
In short, she was matter of fact, kind to a fault, unfailingly polite and dull as dishwater.
What man would countenance that list of attributes, especially in a penniless vicar’s daughter? Hope frowned. Surely, she had more positive qualities?
