The Girl in the Gatehouse (35 page)

“Hello, Dix – Miss Dixon.”

Dixon looked from the kitchen window to Mariah’s no-doubt-guilty expression. She slanted her a knowing look. “I don’t mind when
you
call me Dixon, Mariah. But Martin asked, and from a man, I would prefer Miss or my given name.”

“I understand.” Mariah winked.
“Susan
.
”

But Susan Dixon did not smile. Instead she sighed, not looking at all happy.

“I have never had one suitor, Mariah, and now, it seems, I have two. I thought it would be pleasant. But it is not. I do not wish to hurt either of them.”

“Of course you don’t,” Mariah soothed. “But neither can you make them both happy.”

Dixon stared off at nothing. “I know. But I don’t like it. Perhaps I had better stay clear of them both.”

Mariah shook her head. “You needn’t sacrifice your own happiness, Dixon. I must admit it warmed my heart to see you and Martin working together in the garden, discussing Maggie. Like a little family you were, and I the interloper.”

“You? Never say so. It is your house, after all.”

“It is
our
house, Dixon, and shall be for as long as I can keep you.” She added thoughtfully, “Though I fear that shall not be for long.”

Finally, the much-anticipated day arrived. Matthew awoke in a sweat of nerves and ordered a bath for himself, though he’d had one the night before. He spent extra time on his ablutions and patiently endured the fussy valet’s interminable shaving, combing, and cravattying without complaint. He walked through the house, his polished top boots echoing through the grand entry hall, and noted with approval how bright and tidy all appeared. Yes, he could get used to being the master of such a place.

The thought gave him pause. Could he really? A man like him, who’d spent his life in a humble cottage and cramped ship’s quarters?

Horse hooves clattered up the drive, and Matthew stepped out onto the portico.
Yes,
he decided.
With the right woman at my side
.

And there she was – her fair face, wide at the brow and pointy at the chin, framed in the traveling coach window. Her hair still was as golden as he remembered, curled at her temples beneath a high-perched hat.

Matthew’s heart began to drum in hard, slow thuds as regular as a death knell.
What have I done?

What had he been thinking to bring her here, to invite her to reject him all over again? To reopen the deep and still-painful wound?

He recalled the last time he had seen her, her wide eyes gleaming with unshed tears. How his chest had ached to see it. . . .

Isabella had smiled bravely up at him, the expression pushing a tear from each blue eye. The tears trailed down her fair cheeks; and his heart, his hopes, plummeted with them. “I know you will be a great success,
Captain
Bryant,” she said, emphasizing the new title to which he was still growing accustomed. He had achieved the rank, but not the wealth required by a man like Stanley Forsythe.

He took her hand. “I will talk to your father. Make him see reason.”

“No, please don’t.” She shook her head, blond ringlets bouncing. “It will only anger him. And I know him too well to hope he will ever change his mind.”

His whole body ached to hold her, to make her his. “I will not insult you by suggesting we elope. . . .” He let the notion hang in the air between them, praying she would insist but knowing how desperate and foolish and scandalous the idea was.

She shivered and pulled her hand from his.

He knew then. It wasn’t merely her father rejecting him. She was rejecting him as well.

“Is there someone else?” he asked, hating the edge in his voice.

“No!” she cried, adamant, nearly offended.

Relieved, he grasped her shoulders. “Isabella, listen to me – ”

“I am sorry, Captain.” She stepped back, shaking her head once more. “We have always known Father opposed the match, and I . . . I am at last persuaded he is right. I am not fit to be a naval officer’s wife. I would detest living alone in some port town far from London while you were gone to sea. I would die of boredom.”

She gave a lame little laugh, and he was reminded of how young she was. Why did he have to fall for a girl barely eighteen? He was nearly eight years her senior. But age was the least of what divided them.

Realizing he had lost her, anger and grief battled within him.

And battled still.

Matthew stood there on the portico, dumb, frozen, as the groom opened the coach door and let down the step. Matthew should be there. It should be his hand reaching up to her, offering to help her down.
Idiot!

From behind, he felt a push. Hart, no doubt. He could always be counted upon to deliver a well-timed shove. Matthew’s legs came to life beneath him, catching up quickly with the rest of his body.

What would he see in her expression? Revulsion? Forced politeness? Admiration? Regret?

He would not act the fool. He would not. He would remain cool. Friendly, but detached. Past it. Over her. Had not four years passed, after all?

She looked up as he approached. “Captain Bryant!” Her voice rang out, her blue eyes brightened, and her smile was instant and apparently sincere.

His every nerve tingled to attention. “Miss Forsythe.” He bowed, then straightened, his gaze lingering over the planes of her face, as beautiful as he remembered.

“How good to see you again.” She looked from him to the house behind. “My, my, this house suits you. I always knew you would be a great success one day.”

He felt a surge of pleasure akin to the thrill of victory. “Thank you. You are very welcome. I am glad you could come.”

“I was delighted to receive your invitation.”

She was all warmth. All admiration and approval. If only she were not engaged, this might all be quite easy.

But little in life, Matthew knew, ever was.

Miss Forsythe turned to her companion, who was smoothing her skirts beside her. “Miss Ann Hutchins. You remember Captain Bryant, I trust?”

The rather officious-looking young woman had dark auburn hair and a polite smile. “I do. Though I believe it was Commander Bryant at the time.”

He managed to breathe. “Miss Hutchins, you are most welcome. And may I present my friend, Lieutenant William Hart.”

He turned. But when William stepped forward, though making every effort to minimize his limp, Ann Hutchins’s smile dimmed. Pretending not to notice, William bowed and the ladies curtsied.

Miss Forsythe clucked sympathetically. “Such noble men we have, Ann, serving our country.” She offered William her gloved hand. “Allow me to thank you, Mr. Hart, as one grateful subject of His Majesty.”

William smiled and bent over her hand. What a pretty speech from a very pretty lady. It seemed even defensive William could not help but be charmed.

As much as it galled Matthew to mention Isabella’s intended, he knew he ought to do so, to demonstrate that he held no jealousy, no ill will toward the man. Matthew had never met James Crawford, but Parker said he was rumored to be a rake. Matthew knew he should hope it wasn’t true, but the flaw somehow fanned his hope. “I am afraid Mr. Crawford has yet to arrive, Miss Forsythe, but we expect him very soon.”

She gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, I am not surprised. Mr. Crawford will make a late but fashionable entrance as usual, I don’t doubt. Who else is to join us?”

“Captain Parker and his mother, who has kindly undertaken the role of hostess. We also have Bartholomew Browne with us.”

“Bartholomew Browne!” she echoed. “Wonderful notion. He shall prove diverting, I don’t doubt.”

Matthew noticed she did not ask about the females, but said nonetheless, “I have left Mrs. Parker in charge of the guest list for the female ranks, as a naval man hasn’t the privilege of making the acquaintance of a great number of ladies whilst at sea.”

Miss Forsythe raised one fair brow. “Debutantes to make Ann and me feel ancient, I suppose?”

Since she was no more than two and twenty herself, he knew he ought to compliment her, to reassure her that she had nothing to fear from any debutante, but he bit his tongue. “She did invite the Mabry girls, now you mention it.”

“Pleasant, accomplished girls,” Miss Forsythe allowed.

Beside her, Ann Hutchins nodded her approval. Clearly the Mabry girls posed no threat to their superior feminine charms.

So far, so good.

Matthew directed a pair of footmen to unload the ladies’ things and carry them to two of the best rooms in the house.

“Perhaps, ladies, after you are settled, we might go riding together? The grounds here are lovely.”

Isabella smiled at him, and Matthew’s chest expanded with pleasure. William Hart had apparently disappeared. Ann Hutchins was invisible. Matthew had eyes only for her.

“Ann doesn’t care to ride, Captain,” Isabella said. “But I do. I would be happy to join you. Assuming I might borrow a horse?”

“Of course.” He would request the dapple-grey mare and quilted sidesaddle Miss Aubrey had used, since she had praised both. “Shall we say, in an hour’s time?”

Perhaps it was selfish, reckless, to maneuver a private rendezvous even before Crawford arrived. But Matthew had not risen to his position in the Royal Navy by hanging back and being cautious.

After the ladies were led inside by the servants, Matthew took himself into the house to change into riding coat and breeches. Mounting the stairs, he glimpsed Mrs. Parker standing at a rear window.

Hearing his tread, she crooked a finger at him. “Captain Bryant. Who is that girl?”

Matthew strode to the window and peered down at the back lawn, groomed for ninepins and bordered by fruit trees. He glimpsed a woman disappearing around the corner of the house and into the wood.

He frowned. “I am not certain, but I think that was Miss Aubrey.”

“Aubrey? I don’t recall inviting any Aubreys here.”

“This Miss Aubrey lives . . . nearby.”

The woman’s face creased in concentration. “I believe we had a Miss Aubrey to our own house party last year. Such a disappointment.”

“Oh?”

“Of course, I had hoped Ned might form an attachment with Miss Hutchins, but he would pursue other girls to spite me. May you never so torment your own mamma, Captain.”

“I shall endeavor not to.”

“Aubrey,” she repeated. “What was it about a Miss Aubrey? Something not quite right there, but I cannot recall what it was.”

Mariah was falling. She was in one of those disturbing dreams when one is falling from a height, a tower, a turret, the weightless panic in her stomach, the bloodless limbs, the disorientation, thoughts spiraling as the ground rushed to meet her.

He is here.

How had he found her? It did not matter. He had come. Come for her at last. To right the wrong. To show the world he loved her. Her mind whirled again. Her stomach collapsed.
Foolish girl.
For a rash second she had forgotten. He was married. Gone forever.

He was standing with two other men beside the new archery range, talking and laughing. He turned as if hearing her approach, smiled, and lifted a hand. Her own hand tingled to attention and began to rise in response, but in slow motion, again like a dream. Then a cold bucket of reality splashed her face and iced her veins. The sound of trotting hooves broke through her fog. Captain Bryant had ridden into view astride Storm. A woman rode beside him on the dapple grey. But Mariah barely saw her as realization struck.