Page 2 of A Bride By Morning
By the time Lydia was one-and-twenty, her Aunt Francis had begun to delicately point out that Gabriel had ceased answering her letters nearly two years before. Lydia could tell that Lady Derby’s sympathetic manner sought to disguise pity—that her aunt believed Gabriel had moved on. Forgotten Lydia. Taken a post in another country and decided to remain, any desire for courtship entirely vanished.
But Lydia had made him a vow; she would not break it.
Seven years after he left, Gabriel St. Clair returned to England after the tragic death of his father and elder brother in a rail accident. The new Earl of Montgomery had been forced to retire from the diplomatic service and take his father’s seat in the House of Lords.
When Lydia showed up on his doorstep to offer her condolences, Gabriel’s butler turned her away.
And the first time Lydia saw him after so many years, Gabriel pretended he didn’t even know her.
1
LONDON. TEN YEARS LATER.
There were many things Gabriel St. Clair detested about attending balls.
First, the jaunty tune played by the small orchestra that perforated his eardrums. Then, the oppressive heat of the ballroom as hundreds of attendees congregated and danced. Third, the polite conversation he maintained with debutantes and their mothers that was little more than an effort to preserve his pretense as the most charming gentleman in London.
But all were minor annoyances that paled to the thing he hated most: smiling. Fuck, but Gabriel loathed smiling.
Maintaining that cordial, charming expression minute by minute and hour by hour took work. It took diligence and perseverance through the throbbing headache at his temples.
He’d held the expression for the better part of two hours. By now, he wondered if it resembled a maniacal grimace, if the friendly facade he had so carefully preserved during assemblies had begun to crumble around the edges.
But if it had, the lady he danced with would have gone running in the other direction. Instead, Miss Howard stared up at him with the pretty blush of a lady who believed herself to be in the company of a perfect gentleman. He had, after all, cultivated that role. Society matrons called him the catch of the season.
Poor, poor Miss Howard. Poor, poor society matrons.
They were all his fucking dupes.
“—enjoy holidaying in Brighton,” Miss Howard was saying as Gabriel spun her around the ballroom in a waltz. “But I really would love to go someplace else at the end of the season. Scotland, perhaps.” She grinned up at him. “Have you ever been to Scotland?”
“I have,” he said. He pressed his teeth together before his voice began to waver. His headache gained in its ferocity.Don’t let your mask slip. Try again.“Enchanting views, if you don’t mind the rugged conditions.”
Christ, what he wouldn’t give to be in that remote corner of the country, relaxing in the secluded property he’d purchased away from the clamor of London. He would let the rain and cold seep into his bones. Bask in the glacial winds of the Highlands.
He was, after all, a creature of ice now.
Miss Howard’s nose wrinkled. “Rugged? How so?”
Gabriel returned his attention to the debutante. “Turbulent roads outside of the lowlands,” he replied. “Inclement weather that causes long delays.” To him, these qualities in Scotland were ideal; they cultivated its isolation. He didn’t have to pretend for anyone there, certainly not for adoring debutantes.
“Oh. Perhaps not Scotland, then.” She brightened. “But you were in the diplomatic service before coming into your title, yes? Where would you recommend?”
Every part of Gabriel went motionless. It only lasted a moment; Miss Howard didn’t appear to notice the slight falter in his step. His recovery was swift enough. Gabriel ought to have grown used to the queries over his past employment—it wasn’t often that an earl did anything so common aswork, even if he hadn’t been born the Montgomery heir. But every time someone asked the question, fragments of ice unfurled through his bloodstream. His mask almost slipped.
It was only through years of practice that Gabriel was able to hold his smile and smoothly spin Miss Howard in an effort to compensate for his earlier lapse.
“I’m afraid the places I traveled were not as lovely as Brighton,” Gabriel said. He couldn’t help the flat tone of his voice; his performance was withering at the edges. Then, as the music ceased, he bowed over Miss Howard’s hand. “Nor was the company anywhere near as pleasant.”
Miss Howard blushed and giggled. He guided her back to the observant matron who had watched them dance with a joy that suggested fantasies of clanging wedding bells. Gabriel would have to disappoint her. He thanked Miss Howard for the pleasure of her company, grinned at her mother, and departed their presence.
There. Gabriel had completed his three dances for the evening, and in another hour, he would leave. That particular social ritual had become as habitual as clockwork.
Gabriel nodded in greeting to a few other guests as he strolled over to where Mr. Mattias Wentworth conversed with their hostess, Lady Coningsby. When Wentworth noticed Gabriel’s approach, he quickly excused himself.
Gabriel and Wentworth convened in a corner of the ballroom where no one would overhear them.
“She give you anything?” Gabriel asked quietly, leaning against one of the marble columns.
