A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Six

A certain amount of opposition is a great help to man. Kites rise against, not with, the wind.

—John Neal

It was blasted cold.

Brent muttered more than one curse to himself as he drove his curricle along London’s quiet streets at the break of dawn. The nippy wind dried out his eyes, and his warm breath stirred the frosty air. Most of the streetlights had been extinguished with the coming light, but there were very little stirrings of life moving along the boardwalks or in the shops he passed. He seemed to be one of the few people insane enough to be on the streets at this ungodly hour.

After leaving the duke and Lady Gabrielle last evening, he’d come home to find that neither his servants nor his brothers had had any better luck finding Prissy yesterday than he’d had. But he wasn’t ready to give her up as lost. He probably could have covered more ground in the park on horseback than on foot or in the curricle, except for the fact that he wanted to carry food and water for her. Besides, if—no, when he found her, should she be hurt, it would be better to have a carriage for her to ride in. For some reason, the idea had come to him that he would have a better chance of finding Prissy at about the same time he’d lost her yesterday.

Brent gently tugged on the right ribbon, turning the horse and entering the park as a pinkish gray lightened the dark sky. The fog had lifted, which was a good sign that there might actually be a few hours of sunshine at some point during the day. He immediately left the well-worn path the carriages usually took around the park and cut across the expansive, uneven ground that led to the center. He traveled a short distance and then stopped.

He gave as loud a whistle as his swollen lip would allow, and then called, “Pris! Here, girl. Come on; let me hear your bark.”

He listened but heard nothing other than the bone-chilling quietness of early morn. He slapped the ribbons on the horse’s rump and continued deeper into the park before stopping and calling for Prissy again. The mare shuddered, snorted, and shook her head, rattling the harness, but there was no other sound to break the silence. Brent repeated this routine again and again until he heard sounds of another vehicle coming toward him. He set the brake and laid the ribbons aside. He tightened the collar of his greatcoat around his neck and blew his breath into his gloved hands to warm them while he waited to see who would emerge out of the stand of trees.

It wasn’t long before he recognized the rattle of milk containers and saw the robust lad and two young women he’d seen with their milk cart yesterday. When the youngster noticed him, he automatically slowed his steps, and the two women cautiously moved closer together.

“Hello there,” Brent said, jumping down from the curricle.

As he walked closer, Brent saw the lad looked to be around twelve or thirteen, and on closer scrutiny, Brent could see the females were not as old as he’d thought yesterday. They were more the age of schoolgirls than young women. One appeared to be maybe sixteen or seventeen, and the other a year or two younger.

“Do you remember me from yesterday?” Brent asked.

The lad stopped the cart, let go of the handles, and straightened to his full height. His gaze remained steadfastly on Brent’s face, clearly distrusting him. Brent couldn’t blame him. With a black eye and busted lip, Brent knew he looked like a ruffian who’d been in a tavern brawl.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said quietly and moved slightly to stand between Brent and the lasses. “I remember you.”

Obviously, the young man’s job was not only to deliver the milk but to take care of the girls with him, as well. He wasn’t very tall, but he was stout and looked strong as an ox. Brent couldn’t help but think Lady Gabrielle would have done well to have had such a watchful lad as he with her yesterday morning. It would certainly have made Brent’s life a lot easier if she’d had.

“I am Viscount Brentwood,” he said, walking closer to the trio. “You have no reason to fear harm from me.”

The lad rolled his hat off his head, showing thick, unevenly trimmed brownish-red hair. He bowed and then fixed Brent with a wary gaze as he said, “I’ve never met a lord before.”

Brent did not doubt that. “No matter. I’m just like any other man you’d meet. What is your name?”

“Godfrey.”

“Very well, Godfrey, I want to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t rightly know how to talk to a lord, my lord. I just deliver the milk for me mum.”

Sensing his fear and wanting to make him feel comfortable so he would talk to him, Brent said, “That’s a very important job you have. Everyone wants their milk when they rise. Tell me, are these girls your sisters?”

The young man cut his eyes over to the two and nodded.

“That’s good, Godfrey. I want you to talk to me the same way you would if you were talking to them. It’s that simple, all right?”

He nodded again.

“Do you remember seeing the small dog I had with me yesterday?”

“Yes, my lord.”

A snicker sounded from one of the girls, and Brent and the lad glanced their way. The younger girl held a gloved hand over her mouth while the older one fixed her with a disapproving glare.

“I… we,” the young man hesitated and cut his eyes around to his sisters. “We remember the dog.”

Only too well, Brent thought. The milkmaid could cover her smile and muffle her giggle, but laughter showed clearly in her youthful eyes.

“Good. Her name is Prissy, or Pris. She answers to both. She wandered away from me yesterday, and I can’t find her. In your travels back and forth, have you seen her?”

“No, my lord,” Godfrey said while nervously twisting and squeezing his wool hat in his hands.

“Do you always pass along the same route through the park each day?”

“Yes, my lord, but sometimes we don’t.”

Brent wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but said, “If you see her and can catch her, bring her to Number 12 Mayfair Lane, and I’ll see to it you are handsomely rewarded.” Brent reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling and threw it to the lad. He caught it up to his chest with both hands. “There will be more if you find her.”

Godfrey’s eyes rounded and brightened. Surprised gasps came from the two girls. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

Brent turned and walked back to his curricle. Within moments he was continuing his search for Pris. It was still too early for the sun to shine hot or bright enough to chase away the gray clouds, but it didn’t feel as cold as when he first arrived at the park. When he was close to the area where he’d last seen Prissy, he once again set the brake on the curricle and jumped down.

He intended to scour every inch of ground, including looking under every tree, bush, and shrub. Frustration mounted as he slipped on a patch of wet leaves and twisted his ankle, so it hurt a little every time he took a step. He knocked his hat off his head by a low-hanging branch, and a limb scratched the cheek that was still angry and swollen from his tussle with the duke’s men. But he found no sign of the pet.

Half an hour later, he was making his way back to the carriage when he heard what he thought was a familiar voice. He stopped and stood still.

“Prissy!” he heard a lady call.

Brent’s stomach tightened. Was he hearing things, or was that really Lady Gabrielle calling for his dog? He looked up at the sky and judged the time to be somewhere past eight. What the devil was she doing back in the park so early in the morn? And probably alone again, too!

He turned and started toward her voice. He heard a deep, menacing growl from Brutus, and Brent knew the dog had smelled him. He hoped that this time, Lady Gabrielle had a leash on the mammoth dog. Brent knew the mastiff to be old, deaf, and half blind, too, but not without the capability of knocking him down.

Brent walked out of a stand of trees and saw Lady Gabrielle and Brutus standing beside a two-seated open carriage, where a small, older lady sat, wearing a ridiculously fancy hat for so early in the day. A servant sat on the bench behind her. He recognized the driver as one of the men who’d chased him down and jumped on him yesterday. The man watched him warily, but he had no reason to fear Brent.

Lady Gabrielle’s bright-blue eyes widened with surprise as he walked toward her. Brutus barked another warning and then started wagging his tail. Brent also noticed the animal was once again unfettered. Lady Gabrielle reached down and patted Brutus’s shoulder and whispered something to him. Hopefully, it wasn’t the command to attack.

Brent approached them slowly and stopped a respectful distance away from her and the dog. He took off his hat, bowed, and said, “Lady Gabrielle, I must say I’m not at all shocked to find you in the park so early in the morning.”

“Nor I you, Lord Brentwood,” she said, giving him the customary curtsey his title deserved. “Obviously we’ve found something we have in common.”

He gave her a knowing smile. “I think you mean something else we have in common.” And then, not wanting to give her time to answer, he quickly turned his attention to the mastiff and added, “And how are you this morning, Brutus?”

The dog made another woof that seemed only a little friendlier than the first. “Temperamental as ever, I see. Perhaps you don’t enjoy the park on cold mornings as much as your mistress, or is it the early hour that bothers you?”

Lady Gabrielle ignored his comments to her dog and presented to him her companion, her mother’s sister, Mrs. Elizabeth Potter.

He smiled and said, “Mrs. Potter, you are a brave lady to be out on such a dreary day.”

“Balderdash, I’m not brave at all, I’m freezing my—”

“Auntie Bethie.” Lady Gabrielle interrupted her aunt before the last word was uttered, though Brent knew exactly what the loud-voiced lady was going to say.

While Lady Gabrielle was dressed in the same simple black-hooded cloak she’d worn yesterday, her aunt was not so restrained. Mrs. Potter wore a well-cut black coat trimmed at the neck with fur. Her hands were stuffed into a fur muffle, and her legs and feet were covered by a finely woven wool blanket. She was a small woman, and there wasn’t much of her that wasn’t covered in wool or fur, with the exception of a ridiculously tall, short-brimmed hat that was piled high with flowers and pheasant feathers. With sharp features, olive skin, and wide, deep-set brown eyes, she looked nothing like her much fairer and comely niece. Lady Gabrielle turned back to Brent and, with an almost shy smile, said, “My aunt is truly wonderful to indulge me as she does.”

“I’m not wonderful at all,” Mrs. Potter said with threads of humor lacing her lusty tone and a sparkle glinting in her dark eyes. “I’m here because I was coerced.”

“Auntie!” the duke’s daughter gasped. “You know I did no such thing.”

“Not you, silly girl.” Mrs. Potter laughed heartily in a voice that was much too deep and gruff for a woman her size. “I’m talking about your obnoxious father.”

Keeping her gaze on her aunt, Lady Gabrielle asked, “What did Papa do this time?”

“What he always says he will do but never does. That he will cut off my allowance and force me to live in one of his dreadfully damp country homes if I don’t keep an eagle eye on your every move. But don’t worry about that, dear. He has been saying that since your mother died. As you can see, I’ve been saved from his gallows many times.” She quickly turned her gaze on Brent and, without hesitation, said, “Not that the duke or his daughter told me all the intimate details, but I understand Lord Austerhill’s son jumped the fence at the paddock and you are the new stallion.”

Brent chuckled, stretching the injured corner of his mouth and wincing from the sudden pain.

“Auntie, please. You are being far too brash. You’ve just met the viscount. He doesn’t know your nature.”

“Nonsense, Gabby. Don’t be so fussy. If he’s marrying you, he’ll learn me soon enough,” she answered and then turned her incorrigible gaze on Brent again. “I understand nuptials are in the future for the two of you.”

“That is the case, Mrs. Potter,” Brent said to the lady and let his gaze slowly drift to Gabrielle as he added, “even though the duke doesn’t want it widely known until the previous engagement matters can be resolved. As soon as they are, the banns will be posted, and Lady Gabrielle and I will wed.”

“That sounds lovely,” Mrs. Potter said and then turned and smiled sweetly at Lady Gabrielle. “Does that suit your gentle nature better, my dear?”

“Much,” Lady Gabrielle said quite stiffly, making it clear she wasn’t happy her aunt was going beyond the pale.

Brent was enjoying the conversation between the two ladies, who were as different as night and day. The first time Mrs. Potter spoke, Brent knew she was nothing like her niece.

“No doubt you are the reason she wanted to come to the park so early this morning, so I’ll allow her five minutes to talk to you while my maid pours me another cup of chocolate. But next time, Gabby, don’t make up a story about a poor lost dog. Just tell me you desire to see your handsome viscount, and I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Lady Gabrielle opened her mouth as if to counter her aunt’s words but turned toward Brent instead when she heard his chuckle.

Brent held up his hand to stop her from speaking, and she pressed her lips together. He allowed his gaze to drift lazily over her lovely face. Lady Gabrielle let out a sighing breath. Her taut shoulders relaxed, obviously realizing he wasn’t offended by her aunt.

“Don’t let your aunt’s comments disturb you. I find her refreshing and charming, and I don’t, for a moment, believe you came to the park to see me.”

“Thank you for that, my lord, it is true.”

“But did you come to the park just to look for Prissy?”

A wrinkle of concern formed between her eyes. “I must admit I hardly slept a wink last night. I’ve been anxious about her since you told me she was missing. Have you found her?”

“Not yet, but I’m still hopeful.”

Lady Gabrielle’s frown deepened. “I feel responsible for her disappearance and was hoping if I came to the park that, perhaps, I could find her for you. Brutus has a very good nose. I fear she may have somehow gotten trapped or tangled up with her leash or…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, though Brent could imagine what she wanted to say but had then thought better of it. He’d found himself thinking the same thing more than once. And while he would love to blame Lady Gabrielle for Prissy’s running away, in truth only he was to blame.

“I’m the one who let go of her leash. I know she’s prone to be a wanderer, and that’s why I have never trusted any of the servants to walk her. If she can get away and explore, she will. Her disappearance is in no way your fault.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Her eyes searched the distance behind him. “I’m afraid the only thing I’ve found is this is a very big park when you are looking for a little dog.”

“That’s what I’ve found, too.”

Brent couldn’t help but be touched by her concern for Prissy, but knowing how much she liked dogs, he wasn’t surprised.

“How long have you been out here?” he asked.

“Though Auntie Bethie would lead you to believe we’ve been here hours, we haven’t been here that long,” she said and lowered her lashes over her eyes so he couldn’t see in their depths.

Brent didn’t believe her. The tip of her nose and crest of her cheeks were dark pink from the cold. Mrs. Potter was shivering from the chilly wind. However, he couldn’t help but be impressed Lady Gabrielle came out on this windy day just to look for his dog. He was quite certain he had never met another young lady who would trouble herself to do that on such a cold morning.

He took a step closer, lowered his voice, and said, “I’m glad to see you are properly chaperoned this time.”

She lifted her chin in quiet defiance. “I do try to never make the same mistake twice, my lord.”

“That’s good to know.”

Their gazes held a moment longer than was necessary, and then she said, “Your injuries look better today.”

He gave her what he knew was a crooked smile and shifted his hat from one hand to the other. “You think so? I thought a monster was looking back at me when I was shaving this morning.”

“It seems I still have things to apologize for. I’m sorry about what Muggs and Lord Austerhill’s footman did, as well.”

Brent threw a quick glance to the beefy man sitting on the driver’s bench as he touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Don’t be. It was a small price to pay for a few kisses.”

“You two are going to have to speak up if you want me to hear you,” Mrs. Potter called.

Lady Gabrielle glanced back toward the carriage with a smile and said, “We are only talking about the weather, Auntie.”

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” she answered and then chuckled. “In that case, carry on.”

“Your aunt is a very astute person.”

“I can see she amuses you. Some people, including my father, find her crude and offensive at times.”

“Everyone’s nature is different.”

“I know, but she has shocked most everyone in the ton at one time or another with her loose tongue.”

Brent nodded. “I’m sure. Has she lived with you since your mother’s death?”

“Good heavens no,” Lady Gabrielle said. “Not that I would have minded. I would much rather have had her than the string of governesses we’ve had over the years. But she and my father can’t tolerate each other for very long, and they stay away from each other as much as possible.”

“But he allows her to visit.”

“Yes, once or twice a year. She arrived in London just yesterday. She was going to help with last-minute preparations for the wedding.”

Brent watched Lady Gabrielle’s face carefully. There wasn’t even the tiniest bit of disappointment or bitterness showing in her eyes or voice when she mentioned the canceled wedding. That sort of thing would have devastated most young ladies. He couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t wanted to marry the earl’s son and why she was willing to elicit the aid of a complete stranger to make sure the wedding wouldn’t take place. That puzzled him immensely. He’d tried to get her to tell him when they talked yesterday. She was keeping that bit of information to herself, for now, but Brent intended to find out the answer.

“When I talked to your father yesterday, he mentioned your sister. I take it that, since she’s not with you, she doesn’t enjoy early morning jaunts to the park like you do.”

Brent watched a faraway look come to Lady Gabrielle’s eyes, as if she were remembering some private pain she didn’t want to surface, and he wondered what it was about the mention of her sister that brought such a look of sadness and contemplation to her face.

“Her name is Rosabelle,” she finally said. “Not even as a small child did Rosabelle want to start her day early or in a hurry. She has always wanted to stay up all night and sleep all day.”

“My mother was like that until she was given Prissy. That dog changed her life. She didn’t trust the servants to walk her, so she was up at dawn almost every morning to make sure Pris had her stroll.”

Lady Gabrielle lowered her lashes over her eyes, as if shielding what she felt from him. He hadn’t meant to bring up Prissy again.

“Gabby,” her aunt called, “I do believe it’s time for us to go. I’m going to catch a death chill if we stay out here any longer. Lord Brentwood?”

“Yes, madame?” he said, looking over Lady Gabrielle’s shoulder at the woman.

“We are planning to be at Lady Windham’s party on Saturday night. Will you be there?”

“Yes,” he said at the same time Lady Gabrielle walked closer to the carriage and said, “No, Auntie.”

“He just said yes,” Mrs. Potter contended.

“I mean no for me. I will not be attending any parties for the foreseeable future.”

The older woman’s brow wrinkled, and her lip curled up curiously. “That’s pure poppycock.”

Lady Gabrielle glanced back to Brent before saying, “There’s bound to be talk, Auntie.”

“Of course there will, but you have to treat it like falling off a horse. If one throws you, you get right back on and ride him again to overcome your fear. That’s what you shall do in this case. Besides, the best way to confront scandal and gossip in Society is to face it head on and dare them to breathe it to your face. I will not allow you to hide away in your house and feel as if you have been shunned by Society. No, it won’t happen as long as I am here.” She turned back to the viscount. “We all know gossip travels fast, don’t we, my lord?”

“Yes, madame.”

“I’ve hardly been in Town twenty-four hours and I’ve already heard about your twin brothers. Interesting fellows they must be.”

“Society seems infatuated with them, and I must admit they are not shying away but enjoying the attention.”

“See, Gabrielle. That’s how you handle scandal. Will they be attending Lady Windham’s party with you?”

“I’ve not talked to them personally about it, but they will probably be there, too.”

“Good. They can help keep you out of trouble. Judging from what little I know about your rendezvous with Gabby, I believe there will be a certain amount of unflattering talk when both of you appear at the same party for the first time. You must keep your wits, she must keep her head held high, and you both must resist the urge to fight back verbally or otherwise. It will only invigorate and prolong the gossip and enlarge the scandal. It will do more harm, and I would say the two of you have done quite enough already, wouldn’t you, Lord Brentwood?”

She spoke with such authority Brent was surprised the lady wasn’t the duke’s sister. But perhaps that was the reason she didn’t get along with Lady Gabrielle’s father. They were too much alike.

“Yes, Mrs. Potter, I understand,” Brent said, “but I would find it difficult not to defend Lady Gabrielle’s good name should it come to that.”

“Understood, my lord, however you must. She is a duke’s daughter, so she will be forgiven more easily than most young ladies in her current circumstances. The majority of people in Society will be respectful of her position, but there will be some who cannot contain themselves. For her, you must. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”

Mrs. Potter smiled and said, “Good. Come along, Gabby, we’ll return to the park at another time to look for your phantom dog. Preferably when it’s warmer and the sun is shining.”

“I’ll be right there, Auntie. Muggs, would you please help Brutus get into the carriage?”

Gabrielle turned back to Brent. Her blue gaze lighted on his face. She studied him as if she were trying to absorb every detail of his features, causing his lower stomach to tighten. He remembered her saying yesterday it was madness that caused her to kiss him, and he could almost believe it, because right now he was feeling a little madness himself. He was tempted to pull her to him and kiss her right in front of her aunt.

Lady Gabrielle looked deeply into his eyes for a moment before saying, “I hope you find Prissy.”

He nodded once, thankful he hadn’t followed his urge to kiss her. That would have been sheer, unadulterated madness.

“Do you want me to tell Mrs. Potter there is really a lost dog you were looking for?”

She shook her head. “She wouldn’t believe you.”

“I didn’t think so. Thank you for your help, Lady Gabrielle.”

Her expression changed to one of concern again, and she said, “There is always the possibility someone has taken Prissy home and is desperately trying to find her owner as we speak.”

“That she is safe and warm in someone’s gentle care is a comforting thought.”

“Gabby, we really must go.”

“I’m sure Prissy will turn up soon, Lord Brentwood. Would you mind sending me a note once you find her?”

He nodded. “Lady Gabrielle, Mrs. Potter.”

The servant rushed to help her onto the carriage, but Brent stepped in front of him and held out his hand for her. Lady Gabrielle hesitated and then looked at her aunt for approval. Only when Mrs. Potter gave the nod did Lady Gabrielle accept his offer and place the tips of her gloved fingers in his before stepping into the carriage. But just that brief touch was enough to send the heat of sexual desire rushing through him. He didn’t know why, but she affected him like no other woman ever had.

Lady Gabrielle seated herself beside her aunt and turned back and smiled at him with such genuine happiness that Brent’s breath caught in his chest. He felt the same feelings he’d had yesterday when she’d approached him. At times like this, she utterly enchanted him.

This was the lady who had intrigued him so desperately he forgot about everything but her in his arms. When they’d first met, she appeared so capable and independent. And this was the lady who stood so confidently before him and admitted she was betrothed to another.

He watched her as the carriage pulled away. Her father was a strong, unyielding man. Obviously, he’d taught his daughter to be a strong-willed and accomplished young lady, and obviously she had learned early how to get her way. And when he was with her, enjoying their banter, it was easy to forget she’d designed to catch him in a parson’s mousetrap. There could be only one reason why she had. She didn’t want to marry the earl’s son. But why?

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Lady Windham’s party so he could see the lovely and intriguing Lady Gabrielle again. He made a mental note that it would be five days.

He stood and watched until her carriage was out of sight before he started back toward his own vehicle. He would write up a notice for The Times and all the other newsprints when he got back home. Maybe offering a handsome reward for Prissy’s safe return would bring results quicker than his outings to the park.

A few minutes later, when Brent neared the curricle, he noticed a man standing a short distance away, looking at his horse. “Can I help you?” Brent called.

The man turned toward Brent, and the first thing Brent saw was a black patch covering one of the stranger’s eyes. His long beard was graying and unkempt. A tattered plaid scarf wrapped around his neck. His hands and arms were huddled to his chest in an unusual position, and as Brent got closer, he could see that he cuddled something beneath his coat—and it was moving.

Prissy was Brent’s first thought. He picked up his pace.

“No, sir,” the man answered, turning to walk away. “I was just admiring your fine horse and carriage. I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait,” Brent said, gaining on the man. “Are you holding something underneath your coat?”

The man stopped and faced Brent. “Yes, sir,” he said in a calm voice and showing no fear of being caught doing something wrong. “But I didn’t steal anything from your carriage.”

Brent didn’t know what the man carried but now realized it couldn’t be Prissy. She would have started barking like a fiend the moment she heard Brent’s voice. But he was curious as to what the stranger held.

“I believe you, but do you mind showing me what you are holding on to?”

“Don’t mind at all. Got nothing to hide.” The man unfastened the one large button on his coat and cautiously opened it.

Brent saw the wild black beaded eyes of a gray rabbit.

“Got yourself a pet, I see,” Brent said, realizing he was disappointed the animal wasn’t Prissy.

The man shook his head. “On a cold morning like this, I hold them underneath my coat to help keep me warm. I catch them in the park and sell them to taverns, inns.” He shrugged. “I sell to anyone that’s buying. Are you interested in it for your supper?”

“Not today,” Brent said, and climbed up on his curricle and headed out of the park.