Fielding turned then, the shock on his face conveying his astonishment, and perhaps his outrage too, at what she’d just suggested. “I think not.” Returning his attention to the reins, he added, “I am not the sort of man who enjoys sharing.”
Gripping the seat iron at her side, Gabriella did her best to hide her emotions. She knew he was both competitive and possessive, that he loved nothing better than winning—it was what he lived for, the knowledge that he outdid all others in every pursuit that interested him. Which was why he always bought the year’s most fashionable carriages, the best bred horses and the latest innovations, including a private rail and locomotive for his country estate. It also explained his reason for coming to call on her in the first place.
Glancing aside as they entered the park, the cool May air infused with warm rays of sunshine blushing her cheeks, she knew the attention she’d garnered after her father had added Victoria’s dowry to her own was the only thing that had piqued Fielding’s interest. He wanted her fortune, she sensed, just as he’d wanted the horses last week, and just as he’d want another silk waistcoat tomorrow.
But, she reflected, she ought not complain. After all, she would be gaining a countess’s title and would live a life of comfort. Her parents would be pleased, and the whole of Society would be impressed, while she would have her children and her insects. She glanced at Fielding once more. Perhaps she ought to make her continued practice of entomology a prerequisite for marriage. Yes, that was the answer. She’d speak to her father and make the request and then cross her fingers and toes in the hope that he wouldn’t deny her.
“Ah, look,” Fielding said, the horses slowing to a gentle walk. “Here come the Marquess and Marchioness of Wilmington.” He tipped his hat while Gabriella waved, their curricle passing the Wilmington phaeton as it rolled in the opposite direction.
She was keenly aware that Fielding had refrained from mentioning Lord Wilmington’s friend, the notorious Mr. Lowell, who’d also been present in the carriage—a wealthy club owner whose fondness for opera singers, ballerinas and other men’s unhappy wives, if the rumors were to be believed, had labeled him something of a lothario.
But Gabriella knew that it was more than that alone—that it was Lowell’s constant criticism of the nobility that grated on Fielding’s nerves. As if to underscore this thought, he suddenly said, “I cannot abide that man. He completely lacks the elegance and poise that sets our class apart from the rest.” There was no doubt to whom he was referring, for she’d heard him say it before. “The aristocracy can only survive if we keep ourselves raised above the masses. All will be lost once we dip our toes into the pool of commonality, and frankly, there is nothing more common than Mr. Lowell, if you ask me. If you knew of the places he is said to frequent—” Fielding shuddered. “He is without a doubt bad company, my lady. That is an unavoidable fact.”
She would not argue.
“Your mother has invited me to join her book club,” she said instead, deliberately changing the subject. “I received a letter from her yesterday afternoon.”
“She likes you a great deal, you know, which is something of an accomplishment on your part.” He glanced at her briefly before turning the curricle onto a tree-lined path. “Mama detests silly girls, and I quite agree with her. Most of the debutantes these days are far too bold and—daring.”
“But I am not,” Gabriella found herself saying as they passed a trio of young ladies who were out enjoying a stroll. She recognized all of them, and so she waved. They returned the gesture with disingenuous politeness.
“Heavens no. You, my lady, are the very picture of propriety.”
The remark almost made Gabriella laugh. If he only knew how boisterous and carefree she’d been until a year ago when her parents had realized that everything depended on her ability to comport herself. She’d been pulled and squeezed ever since until she’d finally fit the box they intended for her.
“You would never say something untoward or do anything scandalous,” he added, her bumblebee rescue completely forgotten. “Your perfect upbringing would simply disallow it. Indeed, your code of conduct is, in my experience, so thoroughly ingrained in you that it would be impossible for anyone to find fault with your character.”
Gabriella stared at him. Fielding was describing the sort of lady she’d been trying to be since making her debut one month earlier—the attributes that her mother had assured her would secure an ideal husband—even though it was always forced. Now it was making her feel horribly dull and uninteresting too. She couldn’t help herself from sighing. “My sister, Victoria, is very different.”
“Yes,” he agreed, his tone significantly tighter than before. “I would advise you not to speak of her if you can avoid doing so since distancing yourself from the scandal she caused last year should be your greatest priority.”
“I suppose so,” Gabriella agreed. She regretted bringing it up.
“Not to worry though. Keeping my company ought to be of great advantage to you, and once we marry, your sister’s mistakes will simply fade into the background. You shall see, my lady. As the Countess of Fielding, people’s eagerness to earn your favor will make them forget what happened.”
Gabriella cringed at the superficiality with which Fielding described their peers. As for her sister . . . she still had a hard time coming to terms with her hasty decision to marry, and her sudden departure from England. The wedding had taken place by special license, so swiftly that Gabriella had not found out about it until it was over. Which could only mean one thing. Couldn’t it?
An awful report in the Mayfair Chronicle, describing the broken engagement with Bellmore and Victoria’s apparent elopement with Mr. Connolly, an ironworks owner from New York, had followed. In response to which Gabriella’s mother and father had sat Gabriella down and told her of her duty and how she alone would have to save them from ruin.
A year of unrelenting tutoring had followed, for it was no family secret that Gabriella was the difficult child on whom little hope had been placed before. It had been awful, but she had also understood her parents’ despair. Losing Victoria to such a fate had been both surprising and devastating, though Gabriella supposed that the choice her sister had made to marry for love was something to be admired. In fact, she knew that she ought to be happy for Victoria, yet, she simply couldn’t help resenting her for not confiding her feelings for Connolly in her. After all, they’d always been close, the two-year age difference between them completely insignificant.
Just a note. That was all that Victoria had left her in parting. And that had been almost a year ago. She’d yet to receive a letter with news of her life in America.
Disliking the mood their subject of conversation had brought on, Gabriella said, “I don’t believe I have commented on your gloves yet, my lord. I must confess that I find that shade of brown extremely fetching. Your taste in clothes as a whole is quite impeccable.”
He immediately rewarded her compliment with a pleasant smile that almost reached his eyes. She did not love him and she did not think that he would ever love her, but that didn’t really matter, did it? In the end they would both be perfectly content, and with her sister in mind, Gabriella was determined not to stray from her obligations, even though the thought of praising her husband’s ego until the day one of them expired did seem rather taxing.
No. She would definitely have to arrange for them to live apart. Perhaps that ought to be stipulated as well? She would have her children, her insects and perhaps a dog—a small one that could curl up in her lap—while Fielding would have his horses and her dowry and the heir he needed while avoiding the trials and tribulations that invariably came with marriage. Really, the suggestion would no doubt thrill him. He could remain in town while she enjoyed the country. It was the perfect solution, though one that probably ought to be discussed during a later visit when she’d had a little more time to consider the correct way in which to broach the topic.
But considering what she knew of Fielding and his keen determination to get his hands on her hundred thousand pounds, she was fairly confident that he would agree to a great many concessions.
With this in mind and her spirits greatly lifted, she spoke with her soon-to-be fiancé about the people they saw and the beautiful weather—inane topics, but pleasantly safe. And although she disagreed with him on several points, she refrained from voicing her opinion, since she knew that it wouldn’t matter one way or another. Indeed, it would serve no purpose at all, other than to irritate him, which was the last thing she wanted now that she sought his compliance.
By the time they returned to St. James Street, where her home was located, she’d learned nothing new about him, and he’d learned nothing new about her. Which meant that all was as expected—their courtship nothing more than a practical arrangement for both parties.
But as they neared Warwick House, they saw that a carriage—indeed, a common hackney—had pulled to a stop in front of the neighboring house where the late Duke of Huntley had resided until his sudden demise two months earlier. Rumor had it that he had not been able to bear the loss of his sons, who’d died just a couple of weeks prior to him in a tragic boating accident. Since then, there had been much speculation about the continuation of the Huntley title, for the duke had been an only child, and his sons had not yet married.
As the curricle came to a halt, Gabriella considered the hackney now blocking the street and delaying their progress. She couldn’t help but frown. More so when she saw two girls descending from it with hops and bounces, almost stumbling to the ground in a most inelegant fashion. Clearly, they were not accustomed to anything other than walking. And their clothes . . . well, they looked as though they belonged to street urchins.
