clean up.” She pointed to the door. “Mrs. Pickering and I will set things to rights here.”
Gareth could do nothing but nod as he took in the tableau before him. Golden lamps created a halo around Felicity’s corona of hair. The calming silver, ivory, and grey of the room contrasted with the violet of her dress, which somehow painted her eyes the same shade.
The child in her arms splayed a hand over her peach-tinted cheek, hooking a finger into her mouth, which caused her to laugh and nibble at the tiny fingers. “Look what you’ve done to poor Mr. Severand, Charlotte,” she cooed. “You certainly take after your aunt Mercy.”
Burbling nonsense, the baby rested her forehead against Felicity’s, who closed her eyes, apparently reveling in the sweet affection of the gesture.
Someone would make her a mother someday.
Some fucking lucky bastard would plant a baby inside of her. Would watch her form that child with her miraculous body. Would hold their progeny with pride.
The very thought made him ill.
“Pardon me then, ladies.” Before he could return Charlotte’s dubious favor and be sick all over, he spun on his heel and quit the room.
Gabriel took his time bathing and dressing, castigating himself for his ludicrous sentiments.
The urge to kill any man who touched her, integrating with all the reasons he refused to do so became a tumultuous vortex of frustration directed only at himself.
He wanted nothing so much as her happiness.
He wanted nothing so much as her… which would very probably destroy her chances at happiness.
Life had defeated him, even before he’d been born.
By the time he’d bathed, dressed, groomed, and ventured back to the main floor, Cresthaven Place was silent and almost dark as Mrs. Pickering bustled about dousing the lamps.
She greeted him with a smile and a wink. “Sir and Lady Morley came to collect their little ’uns not a half hour ago.”
“I see.” He looked at the closed parlor door, wondering if Felicity read behind it.
“She’s gone up to bed,” the observant woman informed him. “But there’s some smoked meats, cheeses, and fresh bread in the kitchens. Me husband, Gordon, was a man your size. Before he died of the cholera, he was always wanting an extra meal before turning in. Near ate me into the poorhouse, God rest his soul.” She adjusted her cap and winked up at him. “You remind me a bit of him, if you’d believe it. Rough hands. Hard jaw. Soft heart.”
Gareth wanted to correct her, but couldn’t bring himself to naysay a kind widow.
His heart had been hard for as long as he could remember. Hard and cold and withered.
“Thank you.” He lingered at the banister at the bottom of the stairs, studying Mrs. Pickering for a moment. If she had anything to do with the nefarious goings on in this house, he’d never trust his instincts again. “If you had to guess how poison could have made it to the kitchens, who would you say was the likely culprit?”
The woman’s dark eyes misted with remorse. “Can’t imagine a one of us doing such a thing. Especially to poor Miss Felicity. Ask any of us and you’ll get the same answer; whoever hurts that angel of a girl deserves to go to the devil.”
“In that we agree.” He turned to climb the stairs.
“Mr. Severand?” Mrs. Pickering called after him.
“Yes?”
“Thank you… for keeping her safe. I wish she could find a man like you rather than those dandies her father would have her stuck with. The two of you would be a right blessing of a master and mistress.”
Gabriel snorted. “You and I both know I’m not worthy enough to lick her boots, Mrs. Pickering.”
“That’s part of why you’re ideal.” She made a caustic gesture. “Most men think they’re God’s gift to women, when it’s actually the other way around. Someone should be so lucky to catch her heart, and that heart was in her eyes when she looked at you tonight.”
He wished she wouldn’t have said that. “You know that if she took up with a man like me, she’d lose everything. You, this house, her security.” Her innocence, what fragile peace of mind she possessed, her reputation and good name. Possibly even her soul. “Good night, Mrs. Pickering.”
“Goodnight, lad.” She sighed, before her words followed him up the stairs. “These Goode girls have all learned that some things are worth giving up…”
He didn’t reply, merely climbed the endless stairs to the third floor with heavy steps.