CHAPTER 7
“Wit you well, I will never be your wife.”
Sir Thomas Malory,Le Morte d’Arthur
JANUARY 27, 1822
Miss Bigsby had demanded answers with what little strength remained to her, but the combination of fear, exhaustion, and the vessel’s relentless motion had soon overwhelmed her weakened constitution. She had collapsed into an uneasy sleep against Gabriel’s shoulder, her breathing finally settling into a more regular rhythm as her body surrendered to its need for rest.
Gabriel held her steady for what felt like hours, doing what he could to provide her fragile peace. Gradually, he became aware that the ship’s violent pitching had begun to ease somewhat. The storm was still raging, but the worst of it seemedto be passing, and the vessel no longer felt as though it might tear itself apart with each wave.
When he was certain Miss Bigsby was deeply asleep, Gabriel extracted himself from beneath her, settling her as comfortably as possible on the narrow bunk with his coat wrapped around her for warmth. She stirred slightly but did not wake, and he waited several more minutes before quietly making his way above deck.
The wind still howled across the deck, and spray stung his face as he emerged from the cabin. The captain was at his post near the wheel, shouting orders to his crew as they worked to keep the ship on course.
“She is finally at rest?” André called out when he spotted Gabriel, his guttural French almost carried away by the brisk wind, but his weathered face was no longer etched with the desperate concentration required during the height of the storm.
Gabriel nodded, moving closer so they could speak without shouting. “The seasickness exhausted her completely. I have never seen anyone so ill.”
André studied Gabriel’s face in the dim light from the ship’s lanterns, likely noting the tension around his eyes, the careful way he moved as if his entire body ached with strain. “You look like a man carrying the weight of the world, my friend. This is not like you.”
“I feel terrible for what I have done to her,” Gabriel admitted, the words coming more easily in French, as if the foreign language provided some distance from the magnitude of his actions. Or, mayhap, the fact that he saw the captain so infrequently made him unusually loquacious as he confessed his worries to the older man. “She is an innocent woman, André. She did nothing to deserve this. But my mission left me without choice. There are lives hanging in the balance.”
“Ah, but you forget something important,” the captain declared, leaning forward with the intensity Gabriel had come to know well over their years of working together. He showed admirable restraint in accepting Miss Bigsby’s presence without needing any justification. But the captain possessed a healthy dose of Gallic pragmatism. “You are a good man, Gabriel. A man of honor. You will find a way to make this right.”
“How can I possibly make this right? I have ruined her reputation, destroyed her independence, forced her into a situation where marriage to me is her only option to salvage anything of her former life.”
André was quiet for a long moment, considering. “Then you must take extraordinary measures to make it up to her.”
They continued their discussion for several minutes, but then the boat began to rock more violently.
“I should return to her.” Gabriel sighed, glancing back toward the cabin. “She should not wake alone in a strange place.”
“Go,” André replied with understanding. “But think on what I have said.”
Gabriel made his way back below deck, moving carefully in the still-rough seas. He slipped quietly into the cabin, where Miss Bigsby remained deeply asleep. Her determined little chin was slack in exhaustion, her normally creamy skin clammy from the ordeal of seasickness, yet even in this vulnerable state, she was achingly beautiful. He settled down beside her, watching over her as the ship continued its journey through the night.
This was unprecedented for him. In all his years of diplomatic work, of careful negotiations and calculated risks, he had never allowed personal considerations to complicate his missions. He had trained himself to remain detached, professional, focused solely on the task at hand.
But Miss Henrietta Bigsby had always been his weakness.
From the moment he had first met her in her uncle’s drawing room two years ago, she had fascinated him in ways he had not believed possible. Her sharp wit, her bubbly personality that could light up even the most tedious political gathering, the sheer courage and skill it took for her to hold a man’s position in the hostile environment of Westminster politics. She navigated the pompous members of Parliament with a grace and intelligence that left Gabriel in awe.
He had never made any advances toward her, had never allowed himself to hope for more than their professional interactions and the occasional social pleasantries. The phantasy of Miss Bigsby had been safer than risking the devastating reality of her rejection. A woman of her caliber, her independence and strength, would hardly be interested in a man who lived half his life in shadows, who disappeared for weeks at a time on Crown business he could never discuss.
But now she had no choice. The scandal of her disappearance, the ruin to her reputation, meant that marriage to him was her only path to salvaging anything of her former life. The thought should have brought him satisfaction, but instead it filled him with a gnawing dread and guilt so profound it threatened to choke him.
“There will still be questions when we return to England.”Gabriel recollected his admission from his discussion above deck.“People will wonder why she vanished, where she has been. The gossips will have a field day regardless of what explanation we provide.”
“Then you must give them a story they can accept,”André had replied pragmatically.“A romantic elopement, perhaps. A secret courtship that culminated in an impulsive flight to France for a hasty wedding.”
Gabriel had almost laughed at the bitter irony.“If only it were that simple.”
“It can be, if you make it so. But you must be prepared to be the kind of husband she deserves. A man with fortitude, who can defend her against the worst of the scandal and gossip. You must also be willing to give her space to breathe, to not overwhelm her with your own needs and fears.”
Gabriel knew André was right, but the prospect terrified him. How could he maintain the careful distance required to avoid frightening Miss Bigsby away when every instinct demanded he hold her close, protect her from a world that would judge her harshly for circumstances beyond her control? How could he be the stoic, reliable husband she would need when her very presence threatened to undo the iron control he had spent years perfecting?
The truth was that a rejection from Miss Bigsby now, when she was his wife in all but name, might very well kill the last embers of his heart. He had survived the deaths of his parents, the cold indifference of his grandfather, years of isolation and dangerous work, by locking away what remained of his heart. But Miss Bigsby had slipped past his defenses without his even realizing it, and now she held the power to destroy him completely.
