"What did I tell you the last time?" Nathaniel demanded furiously, towering over the child.
Jake looked in anguished appeal toward Gabrielle, who could tell that he was about to run to her. She realized that this was one occasion when no one would benefit from her intervention; any such action would only exacerbate his father's anger. Deliberately, she turned aside, picking up the discarded newspaper.
"Well?" Nathaniel demanded when Jake stood, tongue-tied.
Two large tears trickled down Jake's cheeks, and he snuffled miserably. "I was waitin' for Primmy to take me to the square garden to play," he offered with a gulp. "It was only one throw."
"I will not tolerate disobedience," his father stated. "You may spend the rest of the day in the schoolroom, and there will be no visits to the garden for the rest of the week."
Jake's eyes widened in horrified dismay. "But, Papa-"
"Did you hear what I said?" Nathaniel thundered.
Jake turned and fled upstairs.
"Oh, Nathaniel," Gabrielle said in soft protest. "He was to go to Astley's this afternoon with the Bedford children. He's talked of nothing else for days."
It was clear from Nathaniel's expression that he'd forgotten this. But he only said curtly, "Then it's to be hoped he'll learn the lesson well." He returned to his unfinished breakfast.
Gabrielle sat in frowning silence for a minute. If it weren't for the trip to Astley's, it didn't qualify as a particularly severe sentence, but Jake was such a sensitive child that a mild rebuke was usually enough to ensure penitence.
After a minute she said, "Couldn't you reconsider, Nathaniel? If he believes he's going to be denied the treat for the next three hours, it'll be sufficient punishment. You know how tractable he usually is."
Nathaniel raised his eyes from his plate, and a chill ran down her spine. He was looking at her as if he didn't know her.
"Jake's my son," he said coldly. "This isn't your business."
Gabrielle felt winded, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. How could he say such a thing? In all essentials Jake was as much her child as Nathaniel's. It was one of their greatest shared joys, one of the inextricable ties that joined them.
It felt as if he was cutting those ties.
Without a word she pushed back her chair and left the room.
Nathaniel dropped his head into his hands under a wash of misery. He couldn't go on like this. Either he confronted her with his suspicions, or he put them from him. But he seemed to be in the grip of some satanic influence that forced him to cut and wound with every breath as if such inflictions could lessen his own pain. Instead, they increased it.
Perhaps if he went away, took some time, put some distance between them, then things would fall into place. He wouldgo to Lisbon. There was a job to be done there, one he could do better than anyone. It would distract him. And when he came back, perhaps he'd have an answer to this horrendous dilemma.
He spent the morning making the necessary arrangements and returned to the house at noon, after a meeting with the prime minister. The house seemed very quiet, unpleasantly quiet.
"Is her ladyship in?"
"I believe so, my lord." Bartram took his hat and cane. "I understand she's having nuncheon with Master Jake in the schoolroom."
"I see. Has the glazier fixed the breakfast room window yet?"
"Yes, my lord." Bartram coughed. "It was a capital throw, my lord. Very good form. I saw it from the landing window. He'll make a first class bowler one of these days, if you don't mind me sayin' so."
Bartram's expression was wooden, except that he had a twinkle in his eye.
"He's going to have to learn to aim better first," Nathaniel observed, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. The prospect of action had gone some way toward restoring his equilibrium.
He mounted the stairs to the third floor, pausing outside the schoolroom door. Gabrielle's cheerful voice reached him through the oak, but there was no sound from his son.
He opened the door. Gabrielle and Jake were sitting at the table in the firelit room. They turned and regarded him in wary silence. Nathaniel felt like an ogre. It was as bad as the days before Gabrielle.
Jake's eyes were red and swollen, Gabrielle's gaze was unreadable, but he knew that she was both hurt and angry.
"Jake, you may go with the Bedfords," he said.
The child leaped to his feet with a delighted cry, his wan countenance transformed. He ran to Nathaniel and flung his arms around his waist, hugging him.
"Hey." Nathaniel caught the small, round chin, tilting it up. "It had better not happen again, do you hear?"
"Oh, yes." Jake nodded solemnly, but he couldn't help the grin that immediately split his face. "Thank you… you're… you're the best papa in the whole wide world!"
Nathaniel shook his head in amused denial. "You'd better hurry and get ready. Cut along now."
Jake scampered off to the nursery, calling for Primmy to help him find his coat.
Gabrielle rested her elbows on the table. "What brought on the change of heart?"
"You," he said. "As usual. I need to talk to you." He closed the door.
Her heart went cold. Was he going to confront her?
"I'm going away for a few months," Nathaniel said, his shoulders resting against the door at his back.
"Away?" She couldn't hide her dismayed surprise. "Where to?"
"To Lisbon," he said, watching her closely, but her expression didn't change.
"Why?"
"There's work to be done," he said noncommittally.
"Why don't I come with you?" She stood up, her eyes suddenly alight. For the moment she'd forgotten about her pregnancy, and could think only of the thrill of being together again through the excitements and dangers of such a journey… of how such an adventure would cure the present grimness, would put paid to all suspicion and doubt.
"Don't be absurd!" Nathaniel said. "If Fouche got his hands on you, your life wouldn't be worth a day's purchase." Unless she was still in his pay.
"The same applies to you," she pointed out. "Oh, come on, Nathaniel, remember the last time, that journey from Tilsit. Wouldn't it be wonderful to do it again?"
Nathaniel pushed himself away from the door, and his face was black, his eyes as hard as stone. "Now, you listen to me," he said with soft but deadly menace. "If you so much as think of following me, Gabrielle, I will make your life a living hell. I swear it on my mother's grave."
Gabrielle took an involuntary step back from the ferocious figure. "All right," she said, lifting her hands palm up in a gesture of acceptance. "It was a bad idea… all right." It was, of course. Reality reasserted itself. Racketing around the Continent in the early months of pregnancy was asking for trouble.
Nathaniel's eyes bored into her during a brief, tense silence, as if he were reading her mind, then he exhaled through his mouth, apparently satisfied.
"I'm going to Burley Manor in the morning," he said in more level tones. "I've some estate matters to deal with before I leave. I expect to sail for France toward the end of the week."
"Shall I come to Burley Manor?" she asked very tentatively.
"No. There would be no point. I'll be far too busy."
"Oh… right." She shrugged with an assumption of carelessness. "I don't suppose you know how long you'll be away."
"A few months, as I said."
"Two… three… four?"
"I've no idea. You know how hard it is to be precise." He sounded impatient.
It'sa question of how pregnant I'll be when you get home. "Yes, I know," she said with another shrug. Damn the man! How could she possibly tell him, when he was being so hostile and distant?