Page 46 of My Darling Rogue
He’d discovered the idea of marriage, once an abhorrent undertaking, had quickly become his greatest desire. He was eager to wed Celia. To claim her as his own. She would serve as a valuable asset while he navigated this new phase of his life. Her grasp of society’s rules would guide his path among theton.
Indeed, his acceptance would be molded by her delicate hands.
It would not matter that his father wed his mother in secret before casting her aside for fear of social stigma. Noblemen just did not marry actresses or opera singers. It was acceptable to install one as a mistress, but marriage? It was an abomination in theton’snarrow view. Gabriel supposed it was to his father’s credit he never annulled the marriage before his birth. Perhaps his parents might have even worked through the difficulties caused by their different stations had his mother not died. Surely, they must have loved one another at some point.
But if love was the reason a marquess could marry an actress, what explained Rosenthorne’s treatment of his newborn son? Gabriel was shuttered away like a dirty secret just as his mother had been. He was ignored and isolated for years, and on his sixteenth birthday, his father unwisely attempted reconciliation.
Gabriel would not accept nor listen to any explanations put forth by the marquess for his heartless actions. They’d argued to the point of violence. That surly insolence of Gabriel’s earned him the distinctive scar bisecting his eyebrow. The bloody wound caused by Rosenthorne’s walking cane brought the brief altercation to an abrupt end.
Gabriel fled the boarding school where his father paid a dear tuition every year. He was quickly absorbed into France’s underground world. A place where survival depended on the development of instincts never tapped into. And somehow, he survived on the fringes until the fateful day Sebastian Cain saved his life in a whorehouse alleyway.
Until his arrival in England, Gabriel had been unaware he had a half-brother born three years after his own birth. Tragically, or perhaps prophetically, the marquess’s second wife had also died in childbirth. Gabriel felt pity for the woman. By all accounts, the second marchioness was a very sweet, young lady when she wed the much older Lord Rosenthorne. It was hardly a love match, and it appeared the marriage was one of convenience only. But the lady did bear the marquess a son. It was naturally assumed Heath was the heir until the secret emerged regarding Gabriel’s legitimacy.
Gabriel had not yet formed a bond with Heath, but he appreciated the similarities in their lives. Both grew up without their mothers. And both learned their father’s secrets only upon his death.
Upon arrival at Rosenthorne Park, Gabriel immediately met with the estate’s steward. Mister Kinsey was reportedly one of the more trustworthy servants his father employed. While Gabriel had no intention of making changes when it came to the staff, he would be watching matters very closely.
“You’ll find things in order, Your Lordship,” Mister Kinsey said as they sat together in the study. The ledger books sat in a pile between them. “Your father’s estates turned a handsome profit last year and are on pace to do the same this one as well. Of course, there were unfortunate incidents regarding some employees who were not the best fit here at the estate, but in general, matters have run very smoothly, indeed.”
Gabriel regarded the thin, elderly man who so earnestly addressed him. His instincts told him the steward was being truthful. There was no deception in his tone or mannerisms. “You’ve dismissed some of the staff?”
“Thirty-six, milord, which also includes some stable workers. I’ve already begun the hiring of new individuals to take their places. I’ve also instructed the steward at Rosenthorne Hall in Mayfair to see the staff is adequate for your lordship.”
Gabriel nodded. “I would like to stay apprised of the progress on that front.”
Mister Kinsey bobbed his head. “Of course. If I may be so bold as to inquire if My Lordship and the Marchioness will be residing here? Or one of the other estates?”
Gabriel had thought long and hard about this particular subject. Truly, he had no desire to walk the same halls on a daily basis. Did not want to sleep in the same, overly large bed that had belonged to his father. But as the new lord and master of all his father had owned, Gabriel knew it was necessary if he was to establish himself. He could not hide away at one of the lesser estates. No, he must stake his claim. Here. Boldly. Quickly. No hesitation.
Hewasthe new Marquess of Rosenthorne. There must be no doubt in the minds and opinions of others.
“We shall make our home here. There will be a complete overhaul of the manor, beginning immediately with the master bedchamber, followed by this study. The rest I shall leave up to the discretion of my future wife. When we return, I expect the bedchambers completed and a team waiting and ready to do the marchioness’s bidding.”
To his surprise, Mister Kinsey was not rattled by the request. “Of course, my lord. We most certainly shall begin at once. Indeed, I suspected this would be a requirement upon your assuming the title. Therefore, I’ve taken the liberty of securing the necessary workers required for the task. I need only your direction and preferences when it comes to materials and general aesthetics of the space.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, impressed by the man’s initiative. “I believe we shall do well together, Mister Kinsey.”
“I hope to meet your expectations, my lord. And that of the marchioness.”
That was something the estate steward and new marquess had in common. Gabriel wanted nothing more than to exceed Celia’s expectations and desires. He would begin by giving her full rein to redecorate the manor in any manner she pleased.
* * *
It wasanother four days before Gabriel’s carriage pulled into Beaumont’s circular drive.
He was tired. Hungry. Travel weary. But as he trudged up the mansion’s steps and entered the grand double doors, only one thing mattered. The need to see Celia. To touch her silky skin and inhale her soft, delicate rose scent. He’d been dreaming of her for days, which had not improved his mood in the least. Was there ever a time he’d been so fixated on a woman? And could he help the fact his obsession now bordered on the obscene? Drawing his gloves and hat off, he tossed them to Alfred, Beaumont’s butler.
“Welcome back, my lord,” Alfred bowed. “Anna has your rooms prepared and at the ready.”
“Thank you.”
Gabriel had entered the foyer, expecting Celia would greet him there. She would rush into his arms. Plant a kiss upon his lips with that breathy, little sigh he was coming to crave. Instead, Sara Bentley peeked out of one of the many doorways surrounding the central foyer and then hurried forth.
“The marquess returns,” Sara exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you, Rosenthorne!”
He was still adjusting to the title and found it irksome that the surname his mother had given him should be shunted aside. It was even more bothersome that he was now expected to answer to the name of a man he despised.
“You may still call me ‘Rose’, Lady Bentley. In fact, I rather prefer it.”
