Page 56 of Lady Frederica and the Scot Who Would Not
Gabe jerked his gaze back to Carrington from the window where he’d diverted his attention. “What?”
Carrington nodded, studying him as sweat broke out on Gabe’s neck. Freddy couldn’t leave him. He knew he’d said all the wrong things, but he needed her here. That was the damned problem. He had not wanted to need her, and now he did, and it scared him just how much.
“Beckford, I’ve never offered ye advice, but ye gave me some once with my wife, which helped me, so I’m going to return the favor.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nay,” Carrington said with a chuckle. “I’ve known ye for a long time, and the one thing I’ve always known is that ye harbor enormous guilt for things ye could not control. Neither yer mother’s death nor Georgette’s was yer fault.” Gabe opened his mouth to protest, but Carrington held up his hand. “Hear me out.”
Gabe nodded.
“Ye distanced yerself from everyone after Georgette died, except yer sister, and I suspect ye would have distanced yerself from her if she’d allowed it, but she wouldn’t. And then along came Freddy.”
Gabe couldn’t stop the smile that came to him just thinking about her. “She forced her way into my life.”
“That’s our Freddy.” Carrington nodded. “Listen, Beckford, ye don’t have to feel guilty because ye’ve come to care for Frederica. I think Georgette would want that. I—”
“That’s not it,” Gabe said, deciding to finally break his promise to Georgette to never tell why they had truly wed. He quickly told Carrington the tale. “It’s not guilt. It’s… Well—” Devil take it. He could not speak of how he was feeling to his friend, but Carrington gave him a knowing look.
“If it’s loss that ye fear, ye’ll lose her certainly if ye refuse to let her close. She’ll still be yer wife legally, but there are technical marriages and then there are real ones. Trust me. I’ve had both, and ye don’t want the first one.”
Gabe thought about everything he’d said to her, how he’d reacted to the news of the babe. It had struck an even greater fear in him that he would fail them both, be unable to protect them from the dangers of the world, and when she’d ordered him to leave, he’d taken the opportunity like a coward. He was afraid of himself, of what she made him feel. But sitting here now, thinking on her, thinking on the babe, he knew without a doubt that he’d rather have this fear than a life without her and his child.
He’d feel better if he found Hawk, but Hawk was not the only danger in the world. He’d used Hawk as an excuse to hide from more pain, but in doing so, he had robbed himself of living. He wanted to live fully with Freddy. “I need to go talk to her.”
“Aye, ye do, but she was at my house when I came here so ye don’t need to rush. But when ye do talk to her, ye might want to explain how ye came to marry Georgette. Freddy seems to think that one of the reasons ye are keeping yer distance from her is that ye are in love with a ghost.”
He frowned. “Where’d she get that idea?”
Carrington laughed. “From ye, ye thick skull! And yer sister apparently, who agreed with her that ye must still be in love with Georgette.”
“I’m going to need a fingerful of whisky before I face my wife and grovel.”
“Smart man,” Carrington said. “Pour me one, as well, and I’ll tell ye what I’ve learned about the art of groveling to one’s wife.”
“Guinevere!” Freddy said in surprise as the footman announced her sister, whose house she had only left a short time ago. But a lot had happened since departing Guinevere’s. Blythe had arrived and Huntley had arrived and told her Hawk had contacted Blythe and would meet Blythe and Freddy at the orphanage tonight. Freddy glanced at the dark, sensible gown she’d donned for the mission to capture Hawk, and then she glanced over at Huntley and Blythe, who were both aiding her, standing at the sideboard. They looked frozen in surprise at Guinevere’s appearance. Freddy willed them not to do something foolish that would reveal what they were about to do. She was positive Guinevere would race to her husband and tell him, and then he’d tell Gabriel, and Gabriel would stop her. He may not want to love her or want her in his life, but he thought it his duty to protect her.
“What are you doing here?” Freddy asked her sister, giving the footman a nod that he could go. As he departed, Guinevere entered the room, eyeing Freddy, Huntley, and Blythe with narrowed eyes.
“I didn’t feel like our talk at my house was finished.” Guinevere came to stand in front of Freddy but cast her gaze to Blythe and Huntley. “Huntley,” Guinevere said, amusement in her voice, “I never would have believed you would be involved in whatever shenanigans Blythe and Freddy have plotted.”
He opened his mouth, looking as if he were about to protest, but Guinevere held up her hand with a chuckle. “Don’t bother denying it. I’ll not ask what the three of you are about because I know I won’t get a truthful answer, but I’ll remind you two,” Guinevere said, sounding stern, “and you,” she added, looking at Freddy, “that Freddy is with child and needs to act accordingly.”
Freddy scowled at her sister, even as her hand fluttered protectively to her belly. “That is at the forefront of my mind, I assure you, but being enceinte does not render me an invalid.”
“Quite right, Freddy. Doing it your way as usual, I see, but I’m glad of it. That’s what makes you, you. And you are special.”
Freddy frowned. “What’s this about?”
Instead of answering her, Guinevere turned to Blythe and Huntley, who still stood at the sideboard. “Might I have a moment alone with Freddy?”
Blythe and Huntley nodded and departed hurriedly. When the door closed, Guinevere said, “My, how love has changed Huntley. He’s actually become aware of others’ wants besides his own.”
“Yes,” Freddy agreed, pleased. She loved her brother, always had, but he had been rather self-absorbed and self-indulgent before he’d met Blythe. Before, he had not wanted to be bothered with Freddy, Guinevere, or Vivian, other than to chide them, which he’d done to Freddy, in particular, a great deal, telling her repeatedly that she was embarrassing not only herself but him when she behaved, well, like herself.
“However, I am not here about Huntley. I’m here about you. I had hoped marriage to someone like Beckford, who I felt certain could appreciate a woman with your gusty nature and even complement it, would help you accept yourself, but our talk earlier at my house made me sure it hasn’t.”
Freddy frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
