She imagined the relief of it, the release, the unburdening of an emotion that felt too heavy to keep shouldering alone.
She thought about her debonair, charming father, always smiling or laughing or tossing her a kiss over his shoulder as he and Henrietta swept out the door, off to one of their many social engagements.His presence had filled Ashbourn House with verve and vitality; he may not have been welcomed back into the embrace of the highest ranks of the Ton after his second marriage, but he had been very popular amongst those in Society who valued their entertainments and pleasures over following the rigid rules of protocol.
Gemma remembered his advice, after that first, ill-fated ball of her first Season.
“Never you mind what they think, Gemma girl,” he’d said, sloshing brandy into a pair of cut crystal tumblers and handing her one.“Miserable, the lot of them.Be different.Do what you like.Make yourself happy.That’s all that matters in this life.”
Well, he had certainly lived by that code, and so had she, for a time.It was difficult not draw a connection between that reckless, neck-and-leather way of living and Father’s terrible—and utterly avoidable—carriage accident.It was sometimes quite difficult not to be angry with Father.
For leaving them with nothing, yes…but more than that, for leaving them at all.
Shuddering in a breath, Gemma clenched her fists and turned her face up to the canopy of gently rustling leaves and waited.Her temples throbbed and her eyes stung.Her throat ached.
But nothing happened.
The tears stubbornly refused to fall, the sobs stayed locked behind her clenched teeth.The grief wrung tighter and tighter until it was all but strangling her into silence.
Panting, Gemma squeezed her eyes shut and forced out a sharp scream of frustration that lanced through the quiet of the woods like a blade.Utterly defeated, she buried her face in her gloved hands.
“What’s wrong,” she heard a man’s voice call out.
Unable to believe her ears, Gemma looked up to see Hal bloody Deveril striding down the path toward her like an avenging angel in a worn, tan coat, ready to do battle.Gemma very nearly screamed again in frustration.
“What are you doing here?”she demanded, perhaps a trifle hysterically.“Why are you always here, in the exact moment when I’m making a fool of myself?”
“Tell me where you’re hurt,” he clipped out, coming close enough to grasp her shoulders in those big, strong, capable hands.
Gemma shivered, then scowled, annoyed with herself, aggravated with him, and irritated with the entire world.It was too much to be borne.She covered her face with her hands, attempting to regain some scrap of composure.
“Are you crying?”Hal sounded alarmed.
Gemma snorted at the irony and dropped her gloved hands.“No.I’m not crying.I told you, I don’t cry.I’m not sure I even remember how.”
Confusion creased his forehead.“Are you injured in some way?”
She pulled away from him and immediately missed the warm, reassuring touch.“I’m not hurt.I’m perfectly well.Please go away.”
Hal’s hands hovered in the air for a moment, then dropped to his sides.He scowled back at her.“Then what the hell were you screaming at, you daft woman?”
She couldn’t say ‘my dead father’ so she improvised.“An insect.A large one.With far too many legs.But it’s gone now, and I have places to be, so good day to you, sir.”
Gemma gave him a short nod and set off up the path at a brisk trot.To her dismay, he turned and walked with her back the way he’d come, easily keeping pace.He didn’t speak, but she could feel his gaze boring through the brim of her bonnet to burn against her flushed cheek.
“Where are you off to?”he asked.
When she glanced at him, he was raking her from head to toe with narrowed eyes, taking in every detail of her admittedlyslightlyrisqué gown.
“None of your business,” she retorted, lifting her chin and unhooking the front panel of her spencer just to torment him.It was too warm out here for a velvet coat anyway.
Hal slid his hands into his pockets, but his jaw was as hard as stone as he watched her work her arms out of the long, tight sleeves.“Just out for a stroll in your flimsiest dress, I suppose.Hoping to impress the squirrels with the latest fashions from Paris?”
“Please.”Gemma folded her spencer over her arm and tipped her head high as she walked on.“I won’t take fashion critiques from a man who can’t even be bothered to put on a coat that fits.”
He looked down at himself as though surprised to find he was wearing a coat at all.“This coat fits!”
“That coat would fit two of you.”It was criminal, actually, how little that garment did to highlight Hal’s considerable assets.
Hal snorted.“Not if the two of me wanted to get any work done.I’m not some rich toff who spends his days lifting nothing heavier than a silver spoon.”
