Page 74 of Lady of Providence
"Thank you, Sarah," said Elizabeth. "Have you any wish to find a man for yourself?"
Sarah sighed and shook her head. "I have other worries at the moment. Before I concern myself with the rest of my life, I wish to find my father, just to know who he is and whether we might have any type of relationship."
"We will help you with that," Elizabeth declared, and when Sarah began to protest, she held up a hand. "No arguments, now. Besides, it will give Gabriel something to focus his energies on — something productive, that is."
"Very well," Sarah finally agreed. "I do appreciate it."
"Of course," said Elizabeth. "Now, as for where to begin..."
They moved on from the subject of her marriage as they began to concentrate on Sarah's dilemma. It wouldn't be easy, but between the four of them — along with a little help — there didn't seem to be much they couldn't accomplish.
* * *
That night,Elizabeth and Gabriel lay together upon his bed, the huge, massive mahogany monstrosity, at least to Elizabeth’s way of thinking. They would compromise, he promised, and find a style that matched the two of them. Masculine, yet… aesthetically pleasing was how he had put it, if she remembered correctly.
"Do you miss your own home?" Gabriel asked as they lay together after making love, and Elizabeth shrugged. "I do appreciate the opportunity to change some of the decor here to my liking," she said. "The other home will always truly be my grandmother’s, though I know she enjoyed the company when I was there. Terrence, however, has decided to make his home there now. I think he was becoming rather lonely at the boardinghouse."
"I'm pleased to hear it," said Gabriel. "He's a good man, your brother."
Elizabeth nodded.
In the glow of the candlelight, Elizabeth marveled at the sinewy delight of Gabriel's body. While she had not exactly seen many men in their naked form, she couldn’t see how any other could possibly ever compare to Gabriel. Though he certainly worked at the way he looked, she thought with a smile.
"Whatever could be so funny?" he asked now at her expression as he leaned his head on his fist, his elbow on the bed beside her.
"You," she said, and he raised an eyebrow.
"I cannot say that I have often been one found to be humorous," he said. "Witty, sure. However, when one is a duke, people tend to laughwithhim and not at him."
"I would not consider myself just anyone."
"That, you certainly are not," he said, tapping her on the nose with his finger. "Now, out with it. What has caused such mirth?"
Elizabeth tried to think of the best way to word what was currently running through her mind.
"Well," she began, beginning with a compliment. "You are a very attractive man."
He grinned, bringing one hand around her shoulder.
"Go on."
"However I suppose I never before realized just how much... effort goes into making you look so perfect."
Gabriel's eyes widened for a moment, and Elizabeth was worried that she had somehow insulted him. But then he began to laugh — more than his usual slight chuckle, but a long, loud laugh that made her heart sing. This was a side to Gabriel that she had not, in the past, seen very much of, and a side she very much enjoyed.
"Are you calling your husband a vain man?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say vain," she said, turning to position herself on her back and face the painted gods and goddesses who danced across the ceiling. "Particular, perhaps."
His chuckle continued somewhat as he stretched out beside her.
"I am lucky to have Baxter, a valet who will put up with my particularities," he said. "I hope my wife will also forgive such ways."
Elizabeth reached up and trailed a finger along his cheek, where the day's stubble was just about to emerge — stubble that would be shaved down to the skin once more in the morning.
"There is nothing to forgive," she said. "It is part of who you are. And who am I to argue with the methods that provide me with the most attractive man in all of England?"
Gabriel reached an arm around her, pulling her close to him once more, and Elizabeth's skin tingled as it touched his.
