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Chapter 6
The next day, they still couldn’t get out on the road. The roads were still very wet, and even though the villagers fixed the axle, setting off could get it broken again in no time and possibly cause an injury this time. The rain stopped by midafternoon, though, so Gabriel hoped the roads would clear by the next morning.
It was a beautiful afternoon, although a bit chilly, so to idle away some time, they went out for a walk around the village grounds. The air was fresh with a hint of rain; the birds were chirping on the trees; the sky was clear.
Widow Jane gave Evie her old gray wrap to keep her warm. Gabriel asked for an old cape, which the widow quickly drew out from her late husband’s wardrobe, so he wouldn’t stand out. Now, Gabriel and Evie looked just like regular village folk, having a walk in the countryside.
Evie silently walked by his side, outwardly serene, but there was a certain tension in the air. Waves of unease were radiating off of her. Now that they’d spent some time together, he’d started to get curious about her situation. He knew her well enough. They had met plenty of times in the last seven years, ever since Clydesdale married her cousin. He knew her grandfather, Somerset, when he was alive. And he knew her guardian, Montbrook. What he didn’t know was the whole situation.
Some things just didn’t add up in her story. If the prospect of marrying Montbrook’s choice was so horrifying, why didn’t she worry about it before Somerset’s death? It wasn’t like he was in perfect health. He had been over eighty when he died, after all.
Gabriel knew she had recently been betrothed to a soldier, and they even tried to elope in a wild scheme that got Gabriel involved and ultimately got him cut off. And now, she was unmarried, running from her guardian to Scotland, to marry him, the Viscount St. Clare, notorious rake, of all people, and bribing him to do it too. He had so many questions to ask her.
“So, no fish, huh?” he asked instead.
“Pardon?” She looked at him bewildered, a frown between her brows.
“Fish,” he repeated. “Makes you nauseous?”
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand dismissively and gave a tiny giggle. “I detest it. Always have.”
“Why?” He looked at her while they walked, studying the subtle changes of her features. She was very easy to read. Every emotion was clearly written on her face. Although, he would have to conclude, only the emotions she was willing to share. She seemed to conceal quite a lot.
“It’s several things. First, there’s the taste. All fish have this aftertaste… I cannot explain it, like eating ink or something.”
“Ink?” He made a thoughtful expression as if he were actually contemplating the ridiculous statement.
“I know, I know, it’s ridiculous. But I can’t help it.” She grimaced.
“And second?” he prompted.
“The texture, I suppose,” she answered thoughtfully. “I don’t like the way it feels in my mouth.”
Gabriel almost choked on air. He swallowed about a dozen lewd comments about whatwouldfeel good in her mouth, but he supposed she wouldn’t understand them, anyway.
“You are very picky, aren’t you?”
“I am not spoiled if that’s what you mean.” She immediately took offense.
“Oh, you are definitely spoiled, love. But no, that was not what I meant. I mean, you are picky about everything. Your gowns are not only well-tailored and the height of fashion, but they are also only the ones that flatter your figure, your coloring, bring out the best in you.”
“Why would anyone want clothing that doesn’t do that?” she asked defensively.
“Most people don’t know what does. But then, there are some people who do not care.” She took a breath to say something, but he interrupted her once again. “You’re picky about food, which side of the carriage you sit, hell, even the side of the bed you sleep on.”
“That’s not picky!” she argued. “I cannot face the back of the carriage, or I get sick. And I need to see the sun while I travel, to see the passing of time. Regarding the bed….” She paused as she saw his smug, smiling face. “All right, maybe I am picky,” she grumbled in defeat. “Is it so bad?”
“I suppose not,” he said thoughtfully and scratched his chin. “Not in most cases anyway, yet here you are, walking with me down a shabby village path, waiting for the roads to dry so we can elope and get married in Scotland because you couldn’t pick one suitor out of a hundred while you had the chance.”
She took a deep breath. “You didn’t have to agree, you know,” she said quietly.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he soothed. “I just want to know why.”
“I’ve already told you.” Her tone turned self-mocking. “I was waiting for love.”
“And there wasn’t at least one suitor worthy of your love out of all who courted you?”
“It’s not about being worthy,” she said. “Many would say that my grandmother wasn’t worthy of my grandfather. But they loved each other dearly. They were happy. I think it has to do with the possibility of being happy together. And I think I can be very happy being married to you,” she said with a coquettish smile.
