That’s if there ever was one.
Sighing, she turned her attention back to the handsome stranger. And he was handsome, despite his pallor and swamped in her father’s cast offs. In repose, he looked younger, although there were a few flecks of grey in his black curls. His hair was long, much longer than current fashion dictated and although relatively clean shaven, it was obvious his last attempt had been done without a mirror. She tried to remember what colour his eyes were and was almost frustrated that they were shut. Until suddenly they weren’t.
They were grey, almost silver she realised as they regarded her drowsily. For some foolish reason, she returned his gaze and was instantly aware the minute he came fully awake. His expression was impassive, almost guarded and she felt her face redden for the second time in as many minutes. Hurriedly, she lowered her eyes and stared down at the book in her lap. Gabriel Atwood was clearly a man accustomed to giving nothing away. She wondered how he’d ended up in his current situation.
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and attempted to clear her mind of its ridiculous imaginings. Surprisingly, she quickly fell asleep.
‘Tare an’ hounds, it’s started snowing.’ Her father’s muttered observation brought Hope abruptly from her unsettling dreams, and she glanced out of the carriage window, viewing the drifting flakes anxiously. The light had changed considerably since last she was awake and it was now much darker outside.
‘We’ve been travelling for nearly six hours,’ she guessed. ‘Ravenstone can’t be much further now.’
‘I deuced well hope not,’ retorted her father. ‘It’ll be getting dark in another hour or two and we’ve already passed the only inn on this road.’
‘So, Nicholas is staying with Adam Colbourne,’ Gabriel determined. ‘I wasn’t aware they were acquainted.’ Reverend Shackleford eyed him narrowly, realising that this was the first time he’d given the man any indication of their destination.
‘Pray tell me how a man dressed like a damned vagrant has any idea of the comings and goings of high society?’ he questioned flatly.
Gabriel looked over at him and raised his eyebrows. ‘Good question,’ was all he murmured with a faint smile.
Hope was about to comment, when Percy, who up to now had been entirely uncommunicative, suddenly leaned forward with a frown. ‘I can hear horses,’ he blurted.
‘Well of course you can,’ retorted the Reverend, ‘we’ve got four of them pulling this damned carriage.’
The curate shook his head. ‘You don’t understand, I think there are horses coming up behind us.’
One year earlier
Gabriel Atwood, the fifth Viscount Northwood stared at himself in the mirror. What the deuce did it matter whether his cravat was tied in a waterfall or a bloody mathematical? The whole consideration was absurd. Abruptly he nodded at the reflection of his valet who was currently hovering anxiously behind him. ‘That will be all Heavers,’ he advised abruptly finally unable to stand any more of the man’s fussing. Turning away from the mirror, he softened his brusqueness with a nod and a smile as he picked up his cloak.
Why the devil his uncle would drag him up from Northwood and choose a Christmas ball to brief him, he had no idea - the opportunity to speak privately would be practically non-existent given the inevitable crush that would no doubt accompany such a gathering at Albany House. Sighing, he headed out the front door of his little used Belgravia townhouse and stepped into his waiting carriage.
He had only been in London a night and already he was chafing at the ridiculousness of it all. It seemed to Gabriel as though the vast majority of thetonexisted in a bubble that bore no semblance to reality. Their cares and concerns appeared only to focus on the lateston ditor scandal or marriage or the myriad of other mindless pursuits that made up the London Season and under normal circumstances he would have none of it.
Grimacing, Gabriel glanced out of the window into the dark. He hated London and spent as little time as possible there. When not travelling at his uncle’s behest, he preferred to spend his time on his Estate in Wiltshire - unlike his late father who’d much preferred the bustle of Belgravia to his Country Seat. Northwood Court had never really been home to David Atwood since his wife had died in the birthing of his only son and heir, and for as long as Gabriel could remember, the old Viscount had spent most of his time in Town indulging in all manner of reckless pursuits from gambling to horse racing.
For the most part Gabriel was far closer in disposition to his father’s younger brother. Benjamin Atwood had led an almost charmed career in the Royal Navy, rising to the rank of Admiral whilst still relatively young. Naturally the adolescent impressionable heir to the Viscountcy dreamed of following in his uncle’s illustrious footsteps.
On reaching his majority, Gabriel eagerly sought his father’s blessing, but perhaps unsurprisingly given their estrangement, the Viscount’s only reaction was a callous indifference. Indeed, once he’d purchased his son’s commission, David Atwood appeared to lack even the remotest curiosity in his offspring’s career and Gabriel saw his father on only one occasion before Lord Northwood’s recklessness saw him thrown from his horse whilst racing across Hampstead Heath. He was fifty-three.
Gabriel’s sudden elevation to the title had been as unwelcome as it was unexpected. Indeed, Gabriel had only recently been promoted to First Lieutenant when the news of his father’s death reached him and his burgeoning naval career skidded to an inevitable halt.
After being forced to resign his commission and return home, everyone expected the new Viscount to take up the same pursuits as his father, but Gabriel simply wasn’t interested. At first the Estate took up most of his time, but he had not entirely lost his burning desire to serve King and Country and when his uncle approached him with certainclandestineproposals, Gabriel threw himself into the role of undercover envoy with alacrity. He could come and go from his estate with no one really the wiser. Spain was the destination of most of his assignments, and while he hated the ever-present heat and dust that seemed to seep into his very pores, he could not deny that he felt more alive than at any time since he’d resigned his commission to take up his father’s mantel at Northwood.
Gabriel’s musings came to an abrupt halt as he realised the carriage was slowing down, and five minutes later he was surrounded by a multitude of peacocks as they jostled to join the throng already perspiring in the Duke and Duchess of Albany’s ballroom. Once inside, Gabriel helped himself to a glass of lukewarm Champagne and looked around for his uncle, finally catching sight of him on the other side of the room. Determinedly ignoring the sidelong glances cast his way from the current crop of debutantes shopping for a husband, Gabriel eventually managed to push and shove his way to Admiral Atwood.
Benjamin Atwood had always been more politically aware than his older brother. Indeed, it was occasionally and very quietly professed a shame that he had not been the one to inherit the Northwood title. That aside, it came as no surprise to anyone that Atwood achieved the rank of Admiral before his fiftieth birthday. In truth, his ambition had always been such that most people were more surprised he’d had the time or the inclination to father a son of his own.
Predictably his wife was an heiress whose family could trace their naval roots back to the Tudors. On the triumphant production of their only offspring who she named Henry after her father, Caroline Atwood was content to remain in the background, preferring to spend the majority of her time at their manor house near to Portsmouth.
‘Good evening, Sir.’ Gabriel gave a slight bow and spoke with the deference due to a man of a higher rank than himself, even though in such a civilian setting, the Viscount was possessed of the loftier station.
But then, few people knew that Benjamin Atwood’s nephew was still on His Majesty’s payroll.
The Admiral seemed unusually out of sorts, appearing reluctant to even look at his nephew. Gabriel frowned. It wasn’t like his uncle at all. Usually, the two had much to talk about and enjoyed the brief periods they spent together. Mayhap the very public situation they were in was concerning the older man.
When his uncle finally spoke, he was still staring straight ahead. ‘I have no doubt you are wondering why the deuce I have brought you here this evening,’ he remarked levelly.
‘Indeed Sir, it had crossed my mind that it’s very difficult to have anything approaching a serious conversation in such a crush.’
