My Fair Princess (32 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Dawn was approaching by the time Gillian and Charles finally made it back to Fenfield Manor. There had been the local constable to send for and riding officers to track down, and then they had to give them detailed explanations of events. Since the constable was a rather ponderous fellow, it took a considerable time before Jenkins and his henchman were bundled up and dispatched into the tender arms of the law.

As for Scunthorpe, he was in the wind. Gillian could tell that made Charles furious, but she was too tired to give it much thought. In fact, almost as soon as he had pulled her onto the saddle of his horse and settled her in front of him, she'd all but fallen into a doze. That had been as much a self-defense tactic as anything else, since Charles was clearly itching to ring a peal over her head. But he was too much of a gentleman to berate her while she was dead on her feet.

Any hope she had held that she might slip up to bed without speaking to anyone—including her fiancé—died a quick death. The manor house was lit up as if for a party.

“Blast,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Charles drew the horse to a halt before the front steps.

“I suppose it's too much to hope that my mother and your sister were not disturbed by the evening's events.”

He let out a snort. “The evening's events? Such a dainty way to characterize it, don't you think? An epic disaster would be a more appropriate description.”

She did her best to ignore his sarcasm. “Well, it all turned out fine in the end, didn't it? We brought the villains to heel and recovered the jewels. I rather think we may have heard the last of smuggling runs across estate lands as well, so hurrah for us.”

When Charles didn't respond, Gillian twisted around in the saddle to look at him. He was staring at her like she'd sprouted wings from her temples.

“You're demented,” he said.

That stung, but she made herself shrug it off. “You're not the first to say that, and I expect you won't be the last.”

He muttered a few choice words—rather shocking ones, coming from him. When one of the footmen yanked open the door and ran down the steps to grasp the horse's bridle, she took the opportunity to slide to the ground.

“Gillian, wait,” Charles called as she dashed into the house.

She ignored him and headed for the central staircase. Unfortunately, she was only halfway there when the door to the library flew open and her mother rushed out, Lady Filby in her wake.

“Gillian, thank God.” Mamma pulled her into her arms. “I've been so worried.”

Gillian returned the embrace gingerly, not wanting to smear mud all over her mother's wrapper. “I'm fine, Mamma. Just a little dirty.”

“Goodness me,” said Lady Filby. “You look like a street urchin. Where is my—ah, there you are, Charles. I must say you don't look much better than Gillian. Have you been rolling about in the dirt?”

“Actually, yes,” Charles said as he stalked across the hall to join them. “And in a variety of other noxious substances that don't bear thinking about.”

“Oh dear,” Gillian said as she gave his tall form a quick perusal. “You are rather a mess.”

He'd lost his hat somewhere along the way, and his hair was disheveled, flat in some parts and sticking straight up in others. His jaw was rough with stubble, he had a dirt smudge on one cheek, his cravat was askew, and his normally shiny boots were scuffed. He looked rough, dangerous, and as far from Perfect Penley as one could imagine.

But perfectly wonderful for all that, Gillian couldn't help thinking. Unfortunately, his eyes had narrowed to irate slits, and his gaze was fastened right on her.

“Poor Charles,” said Lady Filby, trying not to laugh. “I cannot imagine what your valet will say. He might have an apoplectic fit.”

“He'll likely quit on the spot as soon as he sees me. Not that I give a tinker's damn, at this point. What I do give a damn about is Gillian's outrageous—”

Fortunately, the long-case clock in the hall interrupted them, conveniently bonging out the hour.

Gillian took quick advantage. “I had no idea it was so late. Really, Mamma, you should not have waited up for me. Come, I'll go up with you right now.”

Charles's big hand whipped out and grasped her wrist. “Oh, no you don't.” He started to drag her toward the library. “You're not going anywhere until we talk.”

“But Mamma is exhausted,” she protested.

“Don't think I don't realize you're trying to avoid me. It won't work.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” she demanded.

He raised an ironic brow. All she could do was scowl back at him because, well, she was being a coward. She wanted to have this conversation as much as she wanted to go to a masquerade ball—which was to say, not at all.

He hauled her to a chair by the fireplace, then waved her mother and Lady Filby onto the settee across from her. He chose to stand in front of the mantel, legs braced, arms crossed over his chest. He radiated rough power and assurance, along with an inferno of masculine ire.

Much to her disgust, Gillian found it wildly attractive. In fact, she almost wished they were alone so she could throw herself into his arms and kiss him out of his bad mood. Really, the man had made her go entirely soft in the head.

“My love,” her mother said, “why would you embark on so dangerous an escapade?”

Gillian reached into her inner coat pocket and pulled out the cloth pouch. “I recovered our jewels, Mamma,
and
brought the thieves to justice. I'm sorry you were anxious, but there was never anything to worry about. Leverton and I had everything under control.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Charles said, sounding thoroughly disgusted. Gillian decided to take the high road and ignore him.

“See,” she said, opening the pouch. “Here's my necklace, and your ring and bracelets. Unfortunately, your gold medallion is still missing. I'm so sorry about that. I know how much it meant to you.”

Her mother got up and crossed to her. Barely glancing at the pouch, she took it and placed it on the table by the chair. Then she went down on her knees, taking Gillian's hands. “Darling, you are my most precious jewel. You are what's important to me, not some silly old baubles.”

“But my stepfather gave us those necklaces,” Gillian said. “You were so upset when that blackguard took it from you.”

Mamma let out a sigh laden with regret. “What a terrible mother I've been to allow you to think for a moment that a necklace is more important to me than your safety or happiness.”

Gillian blinked. “How can you say that? I know how much you love me. You've been a wonderful mother.”

Mamma tilted her head to study Gillian. “In what way have I been a wonderful mother?”

“Well, you kept me, for one thing. Most women in your position would not have done so.”

“Most women in my position would not have been given the choice. Fortunately, your grandmother lent me her support, even over the objections of your grandfather.”

Gillian felt her ears begin to flame. How embarrassing to haul out the family skeletons in front of Charles and his sister. The Penleys were paragons of decorum, while the Marburys were anything but.

She glanced up at Charles with a grimace of apology. He simply regarded her with a thoughtful air, before giving her a slight nod, as if encouraging her.

“I, for one, think it was exceedingly brave of you to keep Gillian,” Lady Filby said in a stout tone. “Well done, I say.”

Mamma let out a funny little sigh and patted Gillian's hands before rising. “I would like to believe that it took an act of courage to keep Gillian with me, but I'm afraid the opposite was true. I loved her too much to part with her, even though I probably should have. Selfishly, I couldn't bear the thought.”

Gillian jumped to her feet. “How can you say that? You suffered so much. You were exiled to Sicily, forced to leave behind everything you loved.
And
you had to put up with Grandfather's being so beastly about it all.”

“I won't say it was easy, at least in the beginning,” Mamma said. “But then I met your stepfather, and for some reason I could never fathom, he loved me without reserve. As he did you, my dear.” She flashed Gillian a rueful smile. “And why not? You were the most engaging little scamp. He adored you from the first.”

“Then it worked out for both of us, didn't it?” Gillian said. “Even Grandfather came around before he died. I had a very good life in Sicily, and you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“My sweet child,” her mother said. “You've never held a grudge against any of us, have you?”

“She only holds grudges toward dastardly villains,” Charles said. “Then she turns into Nemesis.”

Gillian shot him a scowl. He gave her a lopsided grin that she found ridiculously endearing.

“Why would I hold a grudge against any of you, Mamma?” Gillian asked, returning her attention to her mother.

“Because we never allowed you to be fully part of our family, or part of the society in which we moved. You lived in the shadows, never truly belonging to any world but the one you created for yourself.” Her mother shook her head. “I did you a great wrong, Gillian. I was too selfish to give you up to a family that would have accepted you completely, and I was too cowardly to take on your grandfather and anyone else who pushed you away. I should have taken better care of you. You should have always been the most important thing in my life, and the shame is mine that you were not.”

Gillian felt like giant hands were squeezing the breath from her body. “I . . . I don't know what you want from me, Mamma.”

Her mother stood straight and tall, looking ready to take on the entire world on her daughter's behalf. “I want you to let me take care of you from now on.”

Gillian had no idea what to make of this version of her parent. “Can you give me a hint as to what that actually entails?”

Mamma flicked a glance in Lady Filby's direction, and the countess rose to stand beside her. The women faced Gillian with a feminine determination that she found rather intimidating.

“Your mother and I have been talking,” Lady Filby said. “She feels quite strongly that you must give up your goal of returning to Sicily—”

“It wasn't truly a goal. Just idle chat, really,” Gillian said, casting a nervous glance at Charles. After all, she was supposed to be engaged to the man. She could hardly expect him to move back to Sicily with her.

He arched a sardonic brow, looking not in the least surprised by Lady Filby's revelation. Meanwhile, the countess carried on as if Gillian hadn't interrupted her. “Your mother and I agree that England is now most certainly your home. There must be no more talk of running away to Sicily.”

“Certainly not,” said Mamma in a firm voice.

Gillian glanced at Charles. “And were you part of this little cabal deciding my future?”

He raised his hands, palms out. “I had no part in any of it.”

That gave her a nasty jolt, although it probably shouldn't have. After tonight's misadventures, he'd probably be happy to put her on the boat himself.

“Gillian, you seem to think we don't have your best interests at heart, but nothing could be further from the truth,” her mother said impatiently. “There is nothing left for you in Sicily other than old memories and old enemies. I want more for you than that. I want you to remain in England, with me.”

Gillian frowned. “But you only left Sicily because of me. You had a good life there, even after my stepfather died. You were so popular at the Court of Palermo. The queen adored you.”

“My darling, Italian aristocrats are just as snobby as their English counterparts,” her mother said in a wry tone. “You simply weren't as exposed to it, which was perhaps the only benefit of living on the fringes of society. Regardless, England is my home. This is where I wish to live and, one day, wish to be buried.”

“That's a rather morbid way to put it,” Gillian said.

“You know I do tend to run to the grand gesture,” Mamma said. “How else am I to manage such a strong-willed family?”

Gillian stared at her for a moment, then they both started to laugh. It was certainly the strangest conversation she'd ever had with her mother, and the most honest. It actually felt quite wonderful.

“Besides,” Mamma said, “I don't wish to leave your grandmother. She's not getting any younger, and she has no intention of returning to Italy. She will need both of us in the coming years.”

“No, of course we can't leave her.” Still, Gillian couldn't help feeling a degree of skepticism. “And you truly don't mind all the gossip about us? The nasty names and rumors?”

“Those will fade in time.” Her mother pointed a finger at her. “If you stop fueling them.”

“I don't do it on purpose,” Gillian protested.

“Ha,” Charles said.

She'd almost forgotten about him, which was rather amazing. Then again, it wasn't every day that one's ideas about one's mother were turned upside down.

“Very well,” Gillian said. “I'll stay. If Charles doesn't have a problem with it, that is.”

“I do have a problem,” he said in a clipped tone. “A very big one.”

Well, that did not sound good.

“I believe this is our cue to leave,” Lady Filby said. She stopped to pat her brother on the cheek. “Don't be a complete ogre, or Gillian will be forced to stab you.”

“An outcome I will do my best to avoid,” he said caustically.