A Curse of the Heart

By some miracle, she had found the one person who made the future appear brighter. She had fallen in love with Gabriel Stone, with the charismatic scholar of Egyptology whose intense passion often robbed her of her breath. When she thought of him, her heart soared and she would not run away from it. She would not let the fear of loss influence any future decisions.

What was Gabriel's story?

Higson had suggested a similarity to her own. If so, Rebecca would help him to look beyond his grief. If he came to her, which she hoped he would, she would do everything in her power to show him that a life and a future existed beyond the pain of the past.

Chapter 17

Gabriel milled about the house for hours, wandering from room to room, feigning interest in his books, in a piece of plum tart and a broken eyeglass, in anything that would stop him thinking about the events of the morning.

It was no good, he thought, throwing himself down on the sofa. He had to address his feelings at some point. He could not walk about in this comatose state for the rest of his life.

It was time to acknowledge the fact that he had stood like a dimwit, a man robbed of all sense and logic and watched Rebecca leave. A tiny part of him had breathed a sigh of relief. Her absence gave him time to reflect, time to repair and reinforce the wall. The largest part of him felt like a drunken sot who had lost his entire fortune in one idiotic turn of the dice. The lesson being, one should never play games with those things considered most precious.

You are not the man I hoped you would be.

She had used those words at their first meeting, and perhaps she was right.

He could be a

friend and a lover, but never anything more, never a husband.

He had been deliberately quiet at breakfast, rudely so, withdrawn even, lost in some fearful nightmare from the past. Rebecca had sat dressed in the cotton nightdress he’d so eagerly dragged over her head just a few hours before, eating toast and sipping tea. He half-expected the door to burst open and the room to explode with the bustling sound of hungry children. Their children, all sharing breakfast in their family home.

And it scared the hell out of him.

The comfortable scene reminded him of a time in his youth when he’d come down for breakfast with his father, his mother’s chair cold and empty. Perhaps his father thought that a mouthful of eggs somehow rendered the news of his upcoming nuptials less shocking. Like a startled deer, Gabriel’s gaze had shot to the empty chair. His mind busy counting the weeks since his mother’s passing. Yet he knew it was only seven.

A new mother soon followed and then a sibling. The irony being that he had never felt more alone in his entire life.

Loneliness consumed him, drove him to form an obsession with Egypt. He had mirrored himself on his mentor, Lord Wellford, believing him the epitome of everything a man should be: loyal, devoted and honest — everything his father proved not to be.

Even that turned out to be a lie.

He still felt a thread of vengeance running through his veins. His heart was torn between a genuine sadness for Rebecca’s plight and wishing he could slash and stab at a painting of his own stepmother. Wishing he could hurt his sister the way her mother and father had hurt him.

That’s why he stayed away: because of guilt, anger, and shame.

There were many similarities between his situation and Rebecca’s. So many, he could not help but feel that fate had conspired to throw them together, and these strange coincidences were not coincidental at all.

Perhaps in understanding his own disgraceful feelings, it would help him to discover who wanted to hurt Rebecca.

The answer was obvious. The only people with motive were the Wellfords.

He recalled the three brothers: George, Alexander, and Frederick. They all had a reason to hate her, more reason to hate than even he could comprehend. Their mother had lived to witness her husband’s indiscretion.

Rebecca’s safety was of paramount concern and despite her plea for secrecy, Gabriel decided he would begin by calling on George Wellford.

Gabriel rode halfway across town only to discover that Lord Wellford had gone to his club. In his current mood, he did not want to wait until Wellford returned home and so swallowed down the feeling of irritation, dismissed his anxiety at having to mingle amongst the elite of Society.

Indeed, the look of surprise on the faces of the gentlemen who acknowledged him with a respectful nod reflected his own shock at being there.

Thankfully, Wellford sat alone, next to the white marble fireplace, a copy of The Times in one hand and a glass of port in the other. A steward approached, and he put down his drink and newspaper, his inquisitive gaze drifting beyond the man’s shoulder, locking with Gabriel’s frustrated glare.

Wellford beckoned him over. “Won’t you join me, Stone?” he said waving to the empty chair. “I’m ordering luncheon if you’re hungry.”

Gabriel did not intend to stay long. The pale-green walls were supposed to be calming, but they would need to plunge him into a vat of it to achieve the desired effect. “No, thank you. But I will have a pot of coffee.”

Wellford relayed the order to the steward and waited for him to depart. “I didn’t know you were a member,” he said in a lofty tone. “I assume you’re looking for me.”