Page 68 of A Bride By Morning
She studied him as they approached her carriage. “You’ll beg my pardon if I’m doubtful. I comforted my niece for years during your absence when every season was a reminder of the promise you broke. And I held her after your return when you pretended as if the woman you had offered marriage was little more than an acquaintance on the periphery of your existence.”
A sliver of pain went through Gabriel as he recalled Lydia standing on the doorstep of his London townhouse, bravely trying to hide her tears. Lydia, occupying the corners of ballrooms, as if she were attempting to conceal her very existence. He had done that to her. Worse: he had recognized the pain it caused and did it anyway. Watching her despair had become his burden to carry, his hidden plague that infected his walls like a rot.
“I deserve your censure,” he told her.
“Yes, you do.”
She waited, as if expecting him to summon some reassurance. But he could not promise Lady Derby that he wouldn’t hurt Lydia again. After all, Gabriel had been crafted for that purpose in Moscow. But perhaps the better option would be to leave his wife with Lady Derby to help her pick up the pieces. Wasn’t that better than chipping away at her soul day by day?
But Gabriel said none of this. Instead, he pushed Wentworth’s offer from his mind. He tamped down that uncertain future beyond Medvedev’s capture or death—he would confront it when the time came.
Instead, he grasped Lady Derby’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I can’t offer the sort of reassurances you wish. But one thing I can do is keep her safe. I always will.”
That was one vow he knew he could keep.
“Now that, I do believe.” Lady Derby signaled to the driver conversing with Gabriel’s footmen. “But I want you to know one thing, Gabriel St. Clair: my niece deserves far more from you than that.”
32
Over the next few days, Lydia occupied herself by exploring Langdon Manor. The old estate was not in the same condition as Meadowcroft, but its peeling wallpaper and old, dusty furnishings held charm. If nothing else, traversing the ancient halls distracted Lydia from her thoughts, concerns, and doubts.
Ever since their first night at Langdon, Gabriel had kept his side of their connecting door locked. When she did manage to locate him during the day, he treated her with the same polite cordiality that he had perfected as Lord Montgomery. The only difference was the absence of his alluring smile; rather, his attentions had a fixed sort of focus, as if he were weighing some critical decision.
A choice that would impact their future.
With a sigh, Lydia roamed through the long hall of the upstairs gallery, stopping to examine the immense portraits of consecutive generations of the Earls of Montgomery and their families. Each shared Gabriel’s austere, handsome features, auburn hair, and green eyes.
Then, finally, she came to the portrait of Gabriel that hung with his ancestors, an image of him just past his emergence into adulthood. She supposed the late Earl of Montgomery had it painted before Gabriel left for Vienna; she recalled that his hair was longer then, his shoulders less broad.
But what struck her most was his eyes: they did not share the same remote, cold stare that revealed both nothing and all too much. Now that she’d learned more about his time in Moscow, Lydia marveled at how he managed to fool her after returning to England. That she had observed him across the ballroom and resented his broken promises rather than ask herself why he had deserted her in the first place.
The sudden creak of the heavy gallery door jarred her. A slow tread of boots crossed the long hall until the object of her anguish stopped beside her.
Somehow, Lydia could not bring herself to look at Gabriel—this man she loved but who had carried the weight of his burden in Moscow alone. Guilt flared hot, sinking inside her with shame as its companion.
“You didn’t come down for dinner,” Gabriel said quietly. “Are you unwell?”
Lydia tried not to think of how his voice stroked her like a loving caress. She wanted to shut her eyes and ask him to say nonsense words, forget her remorse, bask in his fixed attention. But she could not move. She could not accept that she merited those things.
“I wasn’t hungry.” Her words exposed the weight of her conscience.
Gabriel was silent beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he tipped his head back and examined the portrait of himself as he would a stranger. Perhaps, for him, that man was just as unrecognizable. “I remember when my father commissioned this,” he said finally, his voice soft. As if they were in a mausoleum, and this picture was just another dead ancestor. “I had recently graduated from Oxford, preparing to use all those hours studying languages in my post. I wanted to be an—”
“Ambassador,” she finished softly. “I remember.”
“My father was proud that I wished to go into the diplomatic service,” Gabriel continued. In her periphery, she saw his head turn toward her. “And he was proud that I wished to marry you.”
A thorn pricked through her heart as she remembered the former Earl of Montgomery. Though he was often away with his heir visiting the tenants on his other estates—leaving Gabriel in the care of a governess—Lydia remembered that he had a kind smile. Whenever he came home, it was with a bag of sweets that he requested Gabriel share with Lydia.
“You’ve mentioned them so little,” she murmured. “Your father and brother.”
He returned his attention to the painting. “They were good men,” Gabriel said. “Father did the best he could after his countess died and left him responsible for two young sons. And Thomas . . .” A soft breath came from him. “I was relieved that he was the heir instead of me.”
“Why?” Lydia asked.
After all their years apart, she felt like she was relearning everything about this man who became her husband. He was not the youth in the painting who had such an optimistic regard. That youth had gone into the world, and the world had sought to crush him.
“Thomas was so responsible,” Gabriel murmured. “He modeled his sense of duty after our father, and he wished to use the title to campaign for progressive laws.”
