Page 27 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke (Duke Wars #2)

CHAPTER 27

T halia’s fourth morning at Stonewell Manor began with a gloomy overcast. Breakfast was brief and void of conversation, save Gabriel’s invitation to accompany him at the art gallery.

“I have no choice but to attend, as is expected from a duke,” he explained over a cup of tea—the only thing he’d touched from the table’s grand spread. “But both you and Charlotte are welcome to stay at home, or attend to other matters of interest.”

Thalia glanced across from her, Charlotte slumped in her chair and lifelessly stirring a bowl full of porridge. “I had some time last night to write a few invitations for my party,” she said. “I’ll pass them out at the gallery.”

“I agreed to attend with you last night,” Thalia added. “Charlotte, would you help me pick a dress from my new collection?”

Charlotte immediately stood, relieved to have an excuse. She quickly rounded the table and looped her arm through Thalia’s, giving her brother a dirty stare before leading them out the dining room.

“Still cross with him?” Thalia asked.

“Aren’t you?” Charlotte inquired.

Thalia offered a tired shrug. “I only have today and tomorrow left. Why waste it being angry when I can spend it making nice memories with you, instead?”

Charlotte's frown softened, a note of compassion tinging her tone. “You’re far too good, Thalia Sutton.”

Thalia hardly felt so herself. “Just, promise me you won’t remain cross with your brother for long.”

“All right. But only because you asked.” Charlotte paused, a thought visibly crossing her face. “Speaking of brothers, I’ve hardly seen Robin as of late. I wonder what mischief he’s been getting up to?”

“He’s quite talented in that regard,” Thalia chuckled, doing her best to ignore the anxious pang in her chest.

Robin had gotten on just fine without her; there was no use in worrying just yet. Not that she had anything else to occupy her mind, now; she’d been very clear and firm last night, and Gabriel seemed more than receptive. There would be nothing further between them, and she would ensure it stayed that way.

To the best of her ability.

* * *

The gallery was slightly delayed, as many of the art pieces had been put on display outdoors. Servants worked quickly to erect standing tents, as the sky only grew darker with each passing minute. Thalia glued herself firmly to Gabriel’s side, matching his slate-gray suit with a silvery-blue, open-robe style dress.

The interior layer had been decorated with petite, lacy flowers, gathering in greater quantities at the hem of her skirt for a fuller, more eye-catching design. And truly, she held the attention of many as they wove through the crowd, yesterday’s incident in the Ton far from their minds.

“Gracious me, my Lady! That dress is positively ethereal!” Lady Worsley approached with a gasp, a far smaller entourage trailing behind. “I had no idea your suitor had such wonderful taste.”

“Miss Sutton chose this dress of her own accord,” Gabriel corrected.

Lady Worsley’s smile strained, and Thalia did her best to hide a smile. Even now, she was taken aback at how upfront he was with his support for her. Even after their conversation last night, Gabriel played the part of suitor beautifully.

“Your Ladyship, are those invitations I spot in your hand?” Lady Worsely asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.

“They are, indeed,” Charlotte hid her grimace far better than Thalia expected, lifting her hands so the ladies could get a better look. “I have one here for you, in fact. For my upcoming Seasonal event—do let me know if you can attend.”

“Oh, but of course!” Lady Worsley looked practically giddy, barely able to keep her composure as she accepted the invitation wholeheartedly. “I’ll ensure my schedule is cleared—perhaps I can entice you to join me on a stroll while we await the exhibit? There’s a fascinating display of watercolors just around the corner, and I’d be most honored to ensure your invitations reach the right hands.” She paused, eyeing Thalia with a nervous smile. “You are most welcome to join as well, Miss—ah, Lady Thalia.”

Charlotte looked ready to scoff and admonish the woman, but Thalia simply shook her head. “I’m afraid my place is by the duke’s side today, Lady Worsley. But thank you for the invitation regardless; we’ll have to try and get together soon.”

With a curt nod, Lady Worsley soon slipped back into the crowd with Charlotte in tow, her entourage following close behind. A small snort came from Gabriel, and Thalia glanced up to give him a slight scowl.

“Be nice.”

“She took my sister hostage,” Gabriel commented lightly. “I shall be as unpleasant as I’d like. Besides, I have not yet forgotten her insulting behavior at the park’s opening.”

“She hardly had a choice, treating me as she did,” Thalia insisted. “Society is quite cruel to women who act outside the norm.”

Her comment gave him pause, and instead of an audible response, Gabriel simply indicated his head forward. Thalia allowed him to direct her across the lawn, the pair quietly observing a number of art pieces slowly being covered by elegant white tents.

It really would have been enjoyable, taking in the artwork beneath a nice, sunny sky. Still, the day was pleasant enough to tolerate, and Thalia found herself keenly interested in a number of oil-based portraits.

“Do you think you’d ever put your work on display?” Gabriel asked.

“Hardly,” Thalia replied, lingering at a particular piece depicting a mother and her newborn child amidst a garden of wildflowers and tangling vines.

“You’re certainly talented enough,” Gabriel insisted.

Thalia sighed lightly, glancing up to face Gabriel once more. “Talent means very little without connections, I’m afraid. I have very few left as is, unless Giles has ruined those as well.” She knew what he wanted to say—that she had him as a connection, that he could and would do anything to ensure she was happy—but Gabriel Harding remained silent, observing the piece for himself.

“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

Thalia blinked, realizing the question had been directed her way. She turned to a rather eccentric-looking gentleman beside her, far beyond her in years and sporting impressively thick facial hair that he kept combed and neatly waxed.

Curls of sandy-gray hair looked considerably lighter in what little sunlight poked through the clouds, and his large spectacles enhanced the golden-brown flecks amongst olive-tinged eyes.

“The painting, you mean?”

He nodded, stroking a curling part of his moustache with a grin. “Reminds me of the day my child was born. Her mother—bless her soul—was always the type to indulge in nature. I do my best to allow my daughter the freedom to explore her interests, though some may call me quite foolish for doing so.”

Thalia blinked again, a sense of familiarity gripping her completely. “I don’t mean to sound intrusive, but your daughter wouldn’t happen to be named Madeline, would she?”

The older man smiled brightly. “Why, yes, she is! You know her?”

“My—ah, suitor’s sister—knows her quite well,” Thalia explained. “Charlotte Harding, of Stonewell Manor.”

He adjusted his spectacles, eyes widening as he stared at Gabriel. “Oh, gracious me—that is you, isn’t it, Gabriel?”

“Hello, Mr. Beaumont,” Gabriel replied, a touch of warmth added to his tone. “I was hoping we’d cross each other’s paths today.”

“Where there is art, a Beaumont is never far behind!” Mr. Beaumont’s laughter wheezed, and Thalia wondered if she should perhaps offer him a drink. “So, who is this lovely lady who so eagerly stands beside you, Your Grace?”

“Thalia Sutton, once of the Oslay Hall,” Gabriel introduced.

Thalia offered a polite curtsy, watching as Mr. Beaumont’s face fell into something more somber. “Ah, yes…I heard about that business not long after arriving in London. Terribly sorry about your father, Miss Sutton, and for that cousin of yours.”

“Th-That’s quite alright,” Thalia said hastily. “Giles…is doing his best as the new marquess. He hardly had the time to train for the position.”

“Well, one hardly needs training to be a decent person,” Mr. Beaumont scoffed. “There’s plenty of rumors swirling around him to convince me of his lack of moral compass. But, I hardly wish to take up too much time with such dour conversation; Gabriel, send me a letter and we’ll have dinner! Of course, you are invited as well, Miss Sutton,” he added with a smile. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine.”

Thalia offered another curtsy as Gabriel bowed, the pair watching Mr. Beaumont slowly make his way back towards the front. After a moment, she gave Gabriel a hard glare, scrutinizing his face for any tell he may give away.

“You hoped to cross paths with him, hmm?”

“You sound as if you’re insinuating otherwise,” Gabriel replied coolly, once more taking the lead as they continued their walk around the gallery.

“It seemed simply a rather fortuitous coincidence,” Thalia remarked lightly. “Meeting a man not only interested in the arts, but whose career is one I’m interested in pursuing as well.”

“I never told him you painted,” Gabriel said defensively.

A small smirk crossed Thalia’s face. “I know that, I was here for the conversation, Gabriel. Or, do you perhaps mean some other time you two communicated?”

It was the first time she’d seen Gabriel look so flustered, so lacking in terms of what to say next. A thrilling rush filled Thalia to the brim, and she suddenly understood why the duke so thoroughly enjoyed the concept of a hunt. To be in such control, to catch your prey off-guard; there really was no feeling like it.

“I only tease, Gabriel,” Thalia chuckled. “Thank you for introducing him to me.”

Gabriel remained silent, staring ahead through the crowd with a hard scowl on his face.

“Gabriel, I hadn’t meant to upset you,”

He suddenly released his hold, practically tearing through the crowd like a hunter’s dog catching the scent at last. Thalia stumbled, nearly losing her balance completely as she tried her best to spot what had put the duke on such an edge.

A number of socialites were minding their own business, enjoying paintings and statues beneath the now-erected tents, now coated with a light layer of drizzling rain that filled the air with a sticky humidity. She caught a brief flash of a familiar dress—of Charlotte’s—and made her own way delicately through the crowd beginning to form where she'd last seen both Hardings.

Thalia finally reached the front, immediately frozen at the sight before her. Charlotte practically hid behind her brother’s massive frame, who appeared tense and ready to pounce if anyone made one false move.

Across from them stood an older lady of society, her own gown reminiscent of the color of yellowing paper. Her hair was as dark as the Harding siblings’, partially undone and falling past her shoulders rather like dead seaweed. She hardly looked her best, the wrinkles across her face heavy and deep, with a sort of desperate look in her eyes akin to that of an animal trapped in the corner.

“You can’t have an invitation.” Charlotte practically spat the words from her mouth, an uncharacteristic venom seeping into her tone. “I didn’t write one for you.”

“Charlie, angel, that hurts me to hear.” The woman tried to take a step towards them, only for Gabriel to wrap his arms protectively around Charlotte’s frame and push her farther behind him. She stood in place, as if struggling to find her next words. “I… I only wish to celebrate with you, sweetheart. You’ve grown into such a fine young woman; how could you not want your own mother at your Seasonal event?”

Thalia’s heart skipped a beat entirely, her mouth going completely dry. Mother; this woman called herself mother. Charlotte and Gabriel’s–she was still alive? Thalia had simply assumed–the way Charlotte spoke of her, it sounded as if both parents had long-since passed on. But, no; the Hardings’ mother stood before them in her disheveled state, pleading with them as a beggar might on the streets.

“Charlotte has no mother,” Gabriel snarled, holding Charlotte even closer than before.

“Gabriel, darling, please.”

“You forfeited that title long ago, Lady Fletcher.” He spat her surname like it was poison in his mouth. “Now, leave us. Or do I need to involve the constable once more?”

Again, Lady Fletcher—Gabriel’s mother—moved to close the distance between them.

“Children, darlings… I’m so sorry for what happened all those years ago. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t regret my actions fully.”

A soft sobbing came from Charlotte, whipping Gabriel into further frenzy. “Feeling remorseful, now that Oliver has lost interest in you? A punishment well-deserved, after what he did to his best friend.”

Best friend? Thalia’s eyes widened, realization settling into a sour lump at the back of her throat; Oliver must have been the duke’s second during the duel.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Lady Fletcher cried out. “I-I didn’t truly think your Father would go through with it.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Gabriel snarled. “You knew from the start how Father would react, how he’d stand up for you! You used his honor against him, and for what? For a marriage that lasted barely a year?”

The crowd visibly trembled at Gabriel’s outrage, and Thalia found herself cowering alongside them.

“I-it’s not my fault, Gabriel!” his mother sobbed, hands covering her face as she trembled horribly. “It’s not my fault. It isn’t!”

“Your hands are just as bloodied as Oliver’s,” Gabriel hissed. “He may have shot my father, but you orchestrated his death. And now, you dare come to us, begging to be allowed the privilege of my sister’s hospitality?” He spat defiantly in her direction, gathering Charlotte in his arms before turning to leave. “Crawl back beneath the stone you emerged from, miserable wretch.”

“No—no!” His mother tore at her hair, it coming completely undone as it partially draped across her face. “You’re not allowed to do that—you’re not allowed to paint me as the evil one! You’re still young, still foolish; when you love someone—truly, and deeply, as I did with Oliver—you’ll find yourself willing to commit any act to be with them!”

Gabriel turned sharply on his heel, his back arched and visibly ready to attack the very woman who gave birth to him. But just before he could, Thalia suddenly found herself standing between them.

She had no idea when she’d moved, nor was she entirely sure what she was meant to accomplish. But instinct had taken over her body, taken over her mouth; she was surprised entirely by what she said next. “Your perception of love leaves much to be desired, ma’am.”

The older women froze, eyes wild and fingers curled. She eyed Thalia like one might dinner on a plate, but Thalia remained stoic, her posture straight and tone dangerously calm.

“Y-You—you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gabriel’s mother babbled, still pulling at fine strands of hair. “I—I loved Alexander; I did! I loved him so much, but with Oliver… Oliver was…”

“I don’t know you, Lady Fletcher,” Thalia began, tone level and far more even-keel than she expected. “But I cannot sit back and watch while you’re hurting people I… I care for.” She was uncertain where her anger welled from, but one look at Charlotte’s tear-stricken face, at Gabriel’s stunned silence, cemented it completely.

“They’re not your kindling, Lady. Fletcher. Your happiness should have sprung from theirs as well.” She paused, suddenly feeling the all-too familiar sense of eyes weighing against her shoulder. “That… th-that is what I’ve observed, Lady Fletcher. You have no right to pursue that love at the cost of another’s peace. They have moved on—thrived without your presence. I think it best you keep it that way.”

The elderly woman before Thalia mumbled something incoherent under her breath, beginning to rock in place while her fingers dug into her scalp. A few men from the audience stepped forward to take control of the situation, gently grasping Lady Fletcher’s arms before leading her through the crowd and into the streets. Those left behind stood amidst a deafening silence, filled only by the pitter-patter of rain falling against the tent.

“Thalia.”

Thalia turned, Gabriel standing alone as Charlotte quickly rushed to her own group of friends. His expression was unreadable, his stance too stiff for her liking.

“Come with me.”

Thalia obeyed.