AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Quite how it had happened she was not certain. She was heartsick over Gray and he was, clearly, anxious about his cousin and they could not talk of him—he for reasons of discretion, she because it was all still too raw. Yet, they seemed to need each other’s company and Henry threw himself into helping her move into the new little house.
They talked of the wine trade and travel, of Henry’s family problems a little and rather more of his ambitions for the future. Jane had dismissed Henry early on as harmless and took no pains to chaperone them on either walks or long conversations, or when Henry spent an afternoon walking backwards and forward, shifting the hired furniture about in the receptions rooms until Gaby was satisfied.
And now with everything to her liking and an excellent dinner behind them she kicked off her satin slippers, curled her feet up under her, leaned her chin on her hand and smiled at Henry. She felt slightly sleepy and very comfortable.
‘There must be s
omeone in Portugal waiting impatiently for your return,’ Henry said, as he settled back in an armchair with a glass of port in his hand.
‘My staff, I suppose. But my manager writes regularly—I had a letter only today. All is well.’
‘No.’ He smiled and shook his head at her. ‘That’s not what I meant. Some man. A special man.’
Gaby shook her own head in return. ‘No one. How can I marry? If I do, Frost’s becomes his, and I lose all control.’
He frowned over that. ‘It would be the normal thing, would it not? You could deed the business to some relative if it is important to keep it in the family name.’
‘I have no relatives, none I would want to have control of the quinta, at least. No, you do not understand.’ Perhaps she had drunk too many glasses of wine at dinner, she thought as she began to explain both her idea and her problem to the man sitting opposite her, nodding sympathetically in the candlelight.
‘Impossible, I know,’ Gaby finished. ‘How to find the right man? And how to ensure his silence? And then how to produce a plausible proof of the wedding and cause of death? I should not even think of it.’
‘Hmm.’ Henry neither laughed, nor exclaimed in horror. ‘Tricky, of course, but the marriage itself is no problem. Nor is making you a widow.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, realised her mouth was unbecomingly open and closed it with a snap.
‘Murder, of course,’ Henry said. Then he did laugh. ‘I am teasing you. No, but the marriage part is easy. When you find the man he needs to procure a special licence. A special, not an ordinary one, mind. That enables you to be married without banns being called and anywhere you choose.’
‘Yes, but then I will be married. And the entire point is that—’
‘And he gives a false name for himself. You can marry him where and when you like—but it will not be a valid marriage because the licence is based on a false declaration. Mind you, the man had best leave the country, because if it did come out, then he lays himself open to all kinds of trouble with both civil and church law. So, he goes on a voyage and is shipwrecked. There you are holding a licence and a genuine entry of marriage in the register—and with a sadly drowned husband. What does it matter that you will have to wait seven years, or whatever it is, to have him declared dead? You do not want to marry in reality, after all.’
‘Henry, that is brilliant.’
‘It is, rather,’ he said with a grin, then sobered abruptly. ‘I do hope I have not developed a talent for deceit as good as my late, unlamented father’s.’
‘I cannot see any flaw with that.’ Absently Gaby reached for the decanter and poured herself another glass of port, then leaned across to pass the decanter to Henry. ‘All that would remain is to find a suitable gentleman and that, I fear, is going to be even harder.’
Henry filled his glass almost to the brim and then had to spend a few moments lowering the contents to a safe level. ‘I...er...may have another idea, one that would solve that difficulty.’
‘Tell me.’ Gaby sat up straighter. ‘You are a miracle worker.’
‘Not here.’ He glanced up at the ceiling as a floorboard creaked overhead, reminding her that Jane’s room was just over where they sat. ‘Look, I know this is a shocking thing to suggest, but we do need complete secrecy about this matter. All your servants are newly hired and you cannot trust their discretion if they were to catch even a hint of it. We really should not have been discussing it so freely just now. Miss Moseley said something about dining with acquaintances after a lecture tomorrow, I think? You were not intending to accompany her?’
‘No, I was not.’ Gaby shook her head with some emphasis. ‘The conversation around a dinner table full of geologists is not something I can even follow, let alone participate in.’
‘Then dine with me, at Gray’s house. We will have all the time of the lecture, and her dinner party, to ourselves. Gray’s servants are discreet and if I suggest to the butler that I wish to dine alone with a lady I believe we can be confident of being left in peace.’ He grimaced. ‘But saying that would suggest to them a liaison and would damage your reputation. I should have thought of that. Perhaps we should confine ourselves to talking in the middle of Green Park.’
He looked so hangdog that Gaby couldn’t help but laugh. The sound startled her. Perhaps it was the first time she had felt like laughing since she and Gray had parted. ‘There is no need for such scheming. Tell them that it is a business meeting. Unbend to the butler and confide that I am asking you to investigate the markets in Boston. They all know that Gray has been assisting me, they will think nothing of it. We will plunge into tedious detail before dinner—with the door wide open—and by the time we sit down to the meal they will think nothing of it when you vaguely wave them out of the room and say we will serve ourselves.’
‘You, Miss Frost, are an intelligent and cunning female.’
‘I know,’ she admitted, making no effort not to sound smug about it. She still couldn’t help but feel that she was going to return to Portugal heartsick and childless. Henry was enthusiastic and optimistic and his idea about the false details on the marriage licence was inspired. But she was rapidly losing all faith in the idea of finding, and then losing, a father for her child in a way that she could feel was both safe and morally right.
Still, Henry was a good friend, she enjoyed his company and an evening spent talking about things that interested them both was something to look forward to.
* * *
Finally. The chaise turned between the tall stone gateposts, rattled round the first curve of the driveway and there, at the end of the avenue of battered old oaks, was Winfell. Home. Gray fought the instinct to stop the carriage, get out and run. He wouldn’t get there faster, he knew that. Slowly the house came into sight, as grey as the gateposts, as battered as the oaks, as old as the hills.
