"Yes," Denis said. "She is a very pretty young woman, from what is reported to me."
I closed my eyes. I remembered Gabriella as a tiny mite with hair as golden as the Spanish sunshine. Carlotta had taken her away from me. I'd tried to go after them both, tried to find them, ready to drag my wife home so that I would not lose my daughter.
But I had not been able to find them. I'd heard no trace of them, though I'd tried, until Denis had presented me with his information last summer.
Now I learned that Denis knew where to find them both.
Gabriella would be seventeen now, a young lady, and she would not remember me.
Denis said something to one of the lackeys in the room. I could not hear the words. I opened my eyes to find the pugilist who'd told us about Middleton lifting me to my feet.
The man helped me down the stairs, more or less pressed me out of the front door, and closed it behind me. The interview was finished.
I found myself in greatcoat and hat with my walking stick in my hand, standing in the dark pouring rain in Curzon Street.
How long I stood there, I do not know, but at last, I blindly crossed the road and began trudging up South Audley Street in the direction of Grosvenor Square.
My hands were cold as ice, but my heart pounded. I could think nothing, feel nothing. I could only walk, and shiver, and be stone cold inside.
Gabriella was alive. She lived with her mother in France. I could barely register the fact.
Grenville's house lay on Grosvenor Street, beyond Grosvenor Square with its elegant garden in the center. I should have turned onto Grosvenor Street on the east side of the square, but I somehow walked past it and found myself on Brook Street. I continued straight to the doorstep of Colonel and Mrs. Brandon before I stopped.
I had come here instinctively, seeking comfort, but now I hesitated. I eyed the polished door knocker, which gave me a distorted view of my nose, but made no move to knock.
I knew that Louisa would readily lend me comfort, but I'd get none from her husband, were he in the house. In fact, Brandon would likely say something acerbic, and in my mood, I would strike him. Louisa was angry enough with me as it was; I could imagine what she'd say if I bloodied her husband's nose.
While I pondered what to do, the door opened, and the Brandons' footman peered out at me.
"Good evening, sir," he said. "Mrs. Brandon has requested that I admit you."
Chapter Thirteen
I was shown into the upstairs sitting room, which was homey, low-ceilinged, and warm, unlike the grand rooms in Grenville's house or the cold rooms in Denis'.
Louisa was there. She rose and came to greet me, her lemon-scented perfume soothing me as she kissed my cheek.
"Gabriel, how delightful to see you. I looked out of the window and spied you gazing at the door as though you'd bore a hole in it with your eyes. Why did you not knock?"
"I thought — " I had to stop. I had been clenching my jaw so tightly that I could barely speak.
She quickly gestured me to an armchair set an ottoman before it. I sat senselessly, letting my arms go limp.
"What is it, Gabriel? Let me send for some coffee, or would you prefer port?"
Coffee. Coffee at least was warm, and I was so cold inside.
I must have indicated such, because she rang for the footman and sent him off for some.
"You are very white," she said. "Please tell me what has happened."
I just looked at her. Emotions spun inside me so quickly that I could not put them into words.
Gabriella had been two years old when her mother had taken her away. She had been walking sturdily for some months, and she had learned to say my name. Her favorite game was to stand on my boot and hold fast to my leg while I strode about the camp. She would laugh and squeal while Carlotta fussed and worried. I had been a fond, proud papa, taking the teasing of my men with a smile and a shrug.
When I learned that Carlotta had left me, I had at some level not been very surprised. But when I discovered she had taken Gabriella with her, I had gone nearly mad with rage. Gabriella was my child. By law, she belonged to me, not her mother. I could have gone after Carlotta, wrested the little girl away and taken her back, and Carlotta could have done nothing to stop me.
I had tried to find them, but I believed in my heart that they were better off without me. I followed the drum, and life was harsh.
But I had not known, from that day to this, whether my daughter had lived or died.
The footman carried in the coffee, set it down, and quietly withdrew. Louisa made no move to serve it.
I managed to say, "Gabriella." My eyes burned and my throat ached.
Louisa's eyes widened. "Gabriella? What about Gabriella?"
I said nothing. Tears spilled silently to my cheeks.
Louisa sat on the ottoman in a rustle of silk. She took my hands. "Gabriel, please tell me."
I swallowed, wet my lips. "She is in France."
Then I broke down completely. I must have been a horrible sight, a large man, hunched into the chair, weeping. Louisa gathered me to her, stroked my hair, let me cry.
When my sobs wound down, she bade me tell her everything. I explained as coherently as I could what Denis had said.
"He knows where they are," I said, trying to clear my throat. "I could ask him. I could find them again." If I paid Denis' price for the information, he could send for them or send me to them. I could have it all back.
As though she knew my thoughts, Louisa took my hands again. "What will you do, Gabriel?" she asked.
"I do not know. How can I know what to do?"
She did not want me to sell myself to Denis. I saw that in her eyes, felt it in the pressure of her hands.
"What would you do, Louisa?" I countered. "Suppose it were your husband, what would you do?"
A grim light entered her eyes. "Mr. Denis has no right to do this to you. I will speak to him, tell him what I think of him."
I grew alarmed. "No, Louisa. He already knows how dear you are to me. I do not want him threatening you."
"I do not fear his threats."
"But you ought to. You-all of my friends-are right. I do not take him seriously enough. I have been a bloody fool concerning him."
She went silent. We watched each other; she troubled, me quiet, my face still wet. The coffee was growing cold, and neither of us moved to drink it.
Our vigil was broken by the noisy arrival of Colonel Brandon.
Louisa released my hands and rose as her husband entered the room. I got to my feet as well, mopping my face with my handkerchief.
Brandon had once been my greatest friend and my mentor. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a handsome face and chill blue eyes. He'd once had fire and drive, and I'd admired him more than any other man I'd ever met.
That admiration had soured along the way, and now we regarded one another with tight suspicion. As usual, Louisa tried to diffuse the tension.
"Gabriel has come to visit," she said.
Brandon gave me a cold once-over. "That is obvious. Did you lose your employment already, Gabriel?"
I held onto my temper. "I had business in London. It is nearly concluded."
He gave me a bellicose stare. "Good."
I briefly reflected that Brandon and Rutledge would get along famously. No, I thought the next moment. Brandon is a man of feeling who hides behind sharp words. Rutledge has no feeling at all.
"You will stay for supper of course, Gabriel." Louisa gave me one of her stern looks, willing me to obey.
The last thing I wanted was to sit through a supper with Colonel Brandon, listening to his barely veiled insults and questions that were intended to put my back up. He was annoyed to have found me in his private sitting room alone with his wife, and he did not bother to hide it.