It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal

His brother laughed. “The business of gift hunting for Mother, Annabelle, and Verity. Father was quite determined to procure a necklace set from London’s finest jeweler at the last minute for Mother. Somehow, I got the notion to follow him and select something for Verity as well. I might add the whole business had us almost stranded in town.”

The sun peeked through the clouds, splashing a warm golden glow onto the pristine whiteness of the lawn. Most of the household still slept, but the servants had already been stirred awake by Mrs. Lumsden, the housekeeper, to prepare for the Christmas celebration.

“Mother would not have forgiven that for years to come,” said Gabriel with a smile. The Christmas feast had always been a lively and extravagant affair for their family.

"You've accomplished much, and your bravery has not gone unnoticed," his brother murmured. “For weeks society spoke about Captain Northcote and your bravery at Balaclava. You carried twelve men to safety on your shoulders at the risk of your own life. If not for that bullet you would not have stopped. It was a fine thing you did, Gabriel.”

“I was just doing my duty,” he replied, hating to remember the chaos that had rained as British and French soldiers had worked together to halt the ruthless march of the Russian General Liprandi.

George clapped him on the shoulders. “It was more than that, do not underscore your bravery. Lady Beatrice will be quite pleased with your accomplishments.”

A figure emerged from the western gardens, and he faltered, recognizing Primrose. A fierce rush of pleasure filled him. She'd always been an early riser, and it was her appreciation of nature as the flowers and insects woke with the dawn which had inspired his enjoyment of early morning walks. He’d slipped from her bed in the wee hours of the morning and had not roused her while leaving. Gabriel was mildly surprised she’d been able to wake still, given their excesses.

“You’ve nothing to say of Lady Beatrice’s expectations? As mother tells it, she and her mother are due to arrive by noon today, and they are quite eager to greet your return.”

Gabriel was unable to tear his gaze from the willowy figure strolling ahead, clasping her dark green fur hat as the wind tried to rip it from her head. He almost wished the wind would take it and tumble her dark auburn hair to her back. Her tresses were a glorious curl of waves, and she had the most incredibly lovely smoky gray eyes. How they had lit with relief and joy at seeing him yesterday. How they had burned with wickedness through the night. How he had missed her with every emotion in his heart. “I’ve no wish to court Lady Beatrice,” he finally answered, aware of his brother’s expectant silence.

"Say it isn't so! I am happily married, but only a fool would not see what a charming beauty Lady Beatrice is. Her dowry is also fifty thousand pounds.”

Gabriel grunted softly. “I cannot recall her beauty, and it is insignificant to me. I plan to marry another lady.”

“Another lady?”

“Yes. One whom I love and admire with every part of me.”

George faltered and shot him a surprised glance. “Who? You’ve been on and off to this dratted war for the last two years, when did you find time to meet a lady?”

No, it had been only when he returned home from furlough, even though Miss Markham had captivated his regard and admiration before he’d bought his commission. “It’s Miss Markman,” he said into the waiting silence.

“Annabelle’s governess?” George couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if a snake had darted from the mound of snow and attacked. “Have you gone daft? She is lovely to be certain, I would even dare say beautiful, but she has no connections or fortune to align with this family. Mother and father will not stand for it.”

“I do not need their approval.” And there it was, that heavy press of doubt in the pit of his gut. While he did not need it, for he was certain of the tendre he’d formed with Miss Markham, he would like his family’s support. They’d always been a loving family, quite open in their affections and support of each other’s dreams and desires. It would sever something inside of him to not be a part of that love, watching from the outside if their disapproval of the union would see them cutting him from their lives. He dearly wished it would never come to that. “But I would appreciate it. I am quite determined to marry Miss Markham.”

“By God, I do not believe you. Father will cut you off for this. Do you have the means to live without his support? I bloody well think not!”

They stared at each other, a sinking sensation forming in the p

it of Gabriel’s stomach. “I’m not without my own money.”

“From selling your commission?”

“I’m also on half pay as a retired captain.”

“Come, man, that would not even allow you to live for a month in any style."

“I do not need style, just Primrose,” Gabriel said softly.

George raked his fingers through his hair. “You are entirely serious. And when that money runs out?”

“You forget I will come into Grandmother’s legacy in a few years’ time?” On his thirtieth birthday, a sum of thirty thousand pounds would be bequeathed to him, as per his grandmother's will.

“Good God man, that is three years from now!” George said, shaking his head in disapproval.

It seemed at one point in their father's young life, he'd been somewhat of a wastrel, until he'd met his wife. Still, he'd been reckless with his legacy and had been forced to marry an heiress. The earl had merely been lucky it had turned into a love match. His grandmother had been very careful in the inheritance she left her grandchildren, thinking with maturity they would be more responsible. George had already received his, but Gabriel and Annabelle had years to wait. Until they were both of thirty years, their inheritance would sit in a trust. “I am quite aware of how long before I claim the monies Grandmother left. I believe I am ambitious and inventive enough that I can provide for my wife ably until that time.”

"If father desires it, he can find a way to ruin that," George snapped. “He is the Earl of Fairclough, and his influence is far-reaching. Our father can be ruthless when he is of a mind to be, and I do not think he would care for you marrying Miss Markham even though she is a pleasant girl. Use your head. Take her as your mistress, do not make the mistake of arguing for her to be your wife!”

Anger snapped through Gabriel. “You insult Miss Markham, and I will not stand for it,” he warned low and hard. "She does not deserve to be anyone’s soiled dove, and you dishonor her for even suggesting it."