Page 96 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
Gabriel stared at Arabella, then reached up and caught a curl of her glossy black hair in his fist. Etty caught her breath.
But Lady Arabella took Gabriel’s hand and smiled. “Sweet boy,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to sit with me for tea, if your mama has no objection?”
She met Etty’s gaze, a plea in her eyes, and Etty understood the peace offering for what it was.
“You’d like that, Gabriel, wouldn’t you?” she said.
The boy nodded.
“Excellent!” Arabella said. “Eleanor tells me you like gardens, Gabriel. Did you know that my husband here is the finest gardener in the country?”
Etty’s heart warmed at the pride in her friend’s voice. It was not the selfish pride Arabella had once possessed in abundance—pride in her beauty, or her title. It was the pride in another, in the husband she so evidently loved.
Gabriel turned his wide-eyed expression toward Mr. Baxter.
“I’m sure he’d love to give you a tour of the gardens here, Gabriel,” Arabella continued. “He designed them himself. Perhaps he could show you after tea—then your mama and I can catch up on the past.” She glanced at Etty. “Or, perhaps, we can forget the past and reforge our friendship for the future.”
She took Etty’s hand, the tightening of her grip conveying more than any words.
“Yes,” Etty whispered. “I should like to reforge friendships—and to look to the future.”
“Excellent!” Arabella patted the couch next to her. “Come sit beside me, Juliette. Lawrence can make room.”
Etty glanced toward Frances, who stood beside the doors, discomfort in her eyes.
“Come and sit with me, Frances,” Eleanor said. “Then you can tell me what you think of my cook’s cake.”
The young girl hesitated, then took a seat, after which Eleanor began to serve the tea, issuing instructions to the footman, who sliced the cake.
Etty relaxed into her seat, relishing the air of friendship and informality. Eleanor and Frances laughed together while they discussed the merits of soaking fruit in wine before baking, and Arabella shared her cake with Gabriel, fussing over him while he sat on her knee as Mr. Baxter regaled the boy with tales of the finest wonders of the world—ancient palaces and exotic gardens that he had re-created in the grounds of Rosecombe.
For the first time, Etty was able to shed the façades she had striven to wear all her life. Her secrets now exposed, she no longer had need to deceive, and nor had she the need to atone for past sins. She was with friends, and family, who accepted her for who she was and what she had done.
Perhaps, at last, she was truly home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sandcombe, Lincolnshire. October 1817
The chief benefitof liquor was its ability to dull the senses and numb the pain. But, as all topers must come to learn, an excess of liquor placed a man in danger of acknowledging the absolute truth.
“Foolish nonsense,” Andrew muttered as he refilled his glass then took another mouthful of brandy. The liquor burned the back of his throat and he swallowed quickly. Then he tipped his head back, drained the glass, and slammed it on the table.
Theabsolute truthof the matter was thatshedidn’t deserve him.
He filled the glass once more, then clicked his tongue in frustration as he tipped the now-empty decanter up, shaking the last droplets out.
He took another mouthful.
I’m well rid of her.
He swallowed once more and winced at the sharp spike of pain between his eyes.
“I’m better off without her!” he declared to no one.
No, you’re not—and well you know it.
Bloody hell—liquor was supposed todullthe senses. But where his conscience was concerned, it only seemed to sharpen with each mouthful until it jabbed at his mind in its relentless determination to thrust a mirror before his soul.
