‘Yes, not long before. The night my father found me, after we agreed to marry. I don’t understand why he is so upset, I thought he wanted children.’
‘Don’t be a cloth-head,’ Tamsyn said inelegantly. ‘You blurted it out in the middle of that meeting, in front of his brothers and the magistrate and the coroner? My dear, that might not be the best time and place to tell a man he is going to be a father.’
‘I was becoming angry with him,’ Caroline confessed miserably. ‘And frustrated that he would not tell the simple truth. He is so protective of his brothers, he seems to feel that he has total responsibility for them, whatever they have done.’
‘He is protective of you, too. Look what he did for you,’ Tamsyn pointed out.
She didn’t need reminding. ‘But his oldest loyalty is to them. He actually worked it all out, how if they hanged him I would be looked after and how Ben would get the title. He is angry with me because I acted without telling him, exposed Louis’s part in their father’s death.’
Tamsyn shivered. ‘So cold blooded.’
‘He is a gambler. And I think that being like that helps him cope. He has pushed all his emotions right down so they can’t hurt hi
m.’
‘Are you going to leave him? You can come back with us.’
‘Would you have left Cris?’
‘Yes. I did.’ Tamsyn looked bleak. ‘I thought it was the best thing for him. It was horrible. But he didn’t agree with me and came and got me, thank heavens.’
‘You were not married then?’ The other woman shook her head. ‘Well, I am. For better, for worse. I promised.’
‘When he calms down he’ll want to do the right thing because of the baby,’ Tamsyn suggested.
‘I don’t want him doing the right thing because that is his duty. I want him to trust me and to love me. And, yes, I know I am wishing for the moon.’
‘Good luck.’ Tamsyn got up and pressed a kiss on Caroline’s cheek. ‘I would offer to stay, but I think you two need to work this one out for yourselves.’
Caroline clung for a moment. ‘Thank you. You have been such a good friend. And Cris and Alex and Tess. Give them my love.’
A carriage pulled up outside, then away again. Cris and Tamsyn. The sound of voices in the street ebbed to its normal level and when Caroline tilted the dressing-table mirror to reflect the view outside she saw the crowd beginning to disperse across the Steine. They had heard the news about Gabriel’s innocence and were off to discuss the whole intriguing scandal over the tea cups, she assumed. The house was quiet, the servants were tiptoeing about while their master brooded behind closed doors.
She could go down, insist that he listen to her and then he would accept that she was telling the truth about the baby, that it wasn’t simply a ploy to attract sympathy from the Coroner and that would be that. She could forgive him being angry to have that sprung on him in public, he’d had a lot on his mind, to put it mildly.
‘But I love him,’ Caroline said into the silence.
And I want him to love me. I want a real marriage, a love match, a family. I want him to be happy, not just content with an arrangement.
But how? If she marched in and explained and then announced she loved him Gabriel might very well be feeling guilty enough to pretend he loved her, too, and that would be...awful. She would have to think and hope her instincts would guide her, because just at the moment her brain was not helping in the slightest.
The front door slammed and she jumped to her feet and went to the window. Gabriel, hatless, gloveless, was striding across the grassy expanse of the Steine towards the sea, anger in every uncoordinated, jerky step. She had never seen him move like this, without elegant, careless grace. He was hurting.
Well, so am I, Gabriel Stone. So am I.
* * *
The wind had got up and the clouds, a ragged grey threat of rain, scudded across the sky. The sea was already showing white horses in a vicious chop of small waves and the last bathers were being towed up the beach towards warmth, dry clothes and their luncheons.
A few brave souls were promenading along Marine Parade, but the ladies were furling their pretty parasols and clutching the arms of their escorts who were hurrying towards their lodgings before the rain fell, free hands clamped to the top of their hats.
Gabriel went down the steps on to the beach, his feet sinking into the shingle, walked almost to the water’s edge and then began to follow it. The tide was on the ebb and he was walking in sodden pebbles, his boots already wet. He hunched his shoulders, thrust cold hands into his pockets, the wind whipping his hair into his eyes, stinging with the salt-laden air.
He walked on, the loose footing, making each step as much effort as ten on hard sand, walked until he lost track of time and found himself beyond even the newest developments that were spreading Brighton along the coast. There were dinghies pulled up clear of the high-water mark, like so many turtles, and he sat down on one with his back to the town and tried not to think.
Not that his mind would clear, that was the problem. His brothers, his parents, Caroline, his friends. A baby. Everything was churned up and nothing made sense.
The threatened rain came in a sudden, spiteful shower that whipped against him like handfuls of thrown grit. It was gone in moments, leaving him damp and cold, but at least it had shocked him into vaguely rational thought.