Page 32 of The Duke Decides

What happened was the invasion of Napoleon into Egypt made his mother a widow, and she was briefly, as a matter of survival for herself and her family, the consort of a French general. Then British forces landed, Thomas Declan saw her, and despite her social fall, despite the loss of her family’s wealth and status, he loved Aysha enough to offer his hand.

And that was the arrangement into which Gabriel was born: the small hut of a soldier’s wife, the wait for his father’s postings to be over, the bread and beans that were the staples of his diet, along with whatever vegetables his mother could grow or trade for.

The allowance for a duke’s son did not stretch as far as Egypt, and neither did regular salary payments for men in the British Army, especially when soldiers were discouraged to cultivate camp followers or hangers-on. They had survived somehow, Gabe and his mother, on spoils of war sent them by his father through his batman, Powlett. His mother stretched things as far as she could, every egg and onion, every tunic and shoe. Gabe earned what he could by scavenging—never stealing, because stealing could be punishable by death, and Gabe knew his mother would not survive without him.

Yet survive they did, until Powlett brought news that this soldier father was dead and then stayed to provide for them, taking his father’s place at table and in his mother’s bed. Gabe didn’t question his mother or fight the man, for Powlett was not the kind of a man a lad could resent, not when he brought meat to the table, baubles and gowns for his mother, new shoes and tunics for Gabe. He even provided Gabe with a tutor who taught him to read and write in Arabic, and, in due course of time, he provided sisters and brothers as well.

“How long did you live in Alexandria?”

“Till I was twelve, I think. Perhaps thirteen. We came to England before Waterloo.”

He remembered the long voyage via ship to Powlett’s home in England, then a ceremony in a strange, cold, stone church where Gabe had to wear a coat and trousers and stand for a while beside his mother and Powlett while a priest droned some words and Powlett gave Gabe’s mother a ring, and she cried, and there was a general fuss. This was followed by a feast full of strange though not altogether unpalatable foods at which he was obliged to continue wearing his uncomfortable clothes, and then there was a new house made of wood and thatch in a town called Wokingham, and a grand family in a place called Barkham House with which they had occasional dealings, and then there was the school at which Gabe was known as Barkham’s Bastard, and that was the beginning of his brawling career.

“They didn’t know you were Thomas’s true son?” Louisa walked with him through the Promenade Room, admiring the rococo carvings and the ceiling shaped like an unfolding fan.

“Oh, they knew,” Gabe said. “There was no denying my face, not if you put me next to a portrait of the man. What they never believed was that my father had married my mother in a proper church. My grandmother the Duchess paid for my schooling to put me in debt to the family, and they doled out funds now and again to aid Powlett with his smithing business and keep us out of penury. But there were no invitations to Barkham House for family dinners.

“Harry was well ahead of me at school, and he took his degree from university well before I got expelled, but we rubbed elbows now and again in London. He was never as condescending as the rest, in fact was a decent bloke altogether. If he’d come home from St. Petersburg as planned, I’d likely be dining in Cavendish Square with him now and again, when the lady of the house was out.”

“But your cousin died before he could marry and sire an heir,” Louisa said. “We heard the gossip, even at the Hospital. It caused a great deal of excitement when your mother came forward with her marriage lines. The pauper made into a prince.”

“I almost wasn’t,” Gabe said. “I hear the case set up more than one back in the House of Lords, and split the King’s Bench down the middle. Marriages outside of England aren’t always recognized. But the army chaplain who married them kept the record, and so did the missionaries who stood witness, and even though my mother was born Egyptian and a Muslim, it was her family connections back in Egypt that decided things. Her family still has enough clout, and so does the family of her first husband, that it was decided not to anger the local merchants and give them reason to block British ships.”

“So, to keep Muhammad Ali friendly to British trade and grant access to India, a son of Egypt is made a British duke.” Louisa held his arm as he gently tugged her along the colonnade. He would take her to the Druid’s Walk, perhaps to the Smuggler’s Cave, and then show her the Dark Walk with its notorious little wildernesses where lovers could get pleasantly and conveniently lost.

“And there are a great many, as I said, who do not think me worthy of the honor.”

She turned to face him. Her cheeks were rosy, pinched by the cool spring air, and in the glow of the lamps gently swinging from the trees, her beauty was nearly haunting. It was enough to bring a man to his knees.

“What do you think?” she asked.

He moved them along so he didn’t fall prey to his lecherous impulses and attempt to ravish her right here. Debauching a delectable woman in crimson at a masquerade ball was one thing; it was to be expected. Debauching a woman in Vauxhall Gardens might also be routine, if a man knew his business, but a woman a man wanted to make his duchess deserved gentler wooing.

“It is strange,” Gabe answered. “A fortnight ago, I would have handed everything over to Fenton more or less gladly. He is another cousin, the son of my father’s youngest brother, and so next in line. He was Harry’s heir presumptive until my mother’s conjuring trick.”

“And the family favored him?”

“The Dowager Duchess will do what the King and House of Lords and the King’s Bench rule. She’s a High Tory from the cradle and will be so to the grave. If she could run her demesne as a feudal lord, she would—in point of fact, she does. We are all terrified of her. Fenton is her pet, always doing his best to ingratiate himself, and all the aunts pamper him.”

They were a formidable set, his grandmother and her daughters, as intimidating in their way as the Duchess of Rutland. Gabe would have a devil of a time asserting himself as head of the family. Harry had bent to the Dowager’s every command, and Fenton was entirely her creature. The Dowager referred to Gabe, in icy tones and in all company, as the Egyptian street rat. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn, when it all came out, that she had advised Fenton to do him in.

But the Egyptian street rat, a soldier’s son and a smith’s foster, raised to fend for himself and survive on his wits, wasn’t easy to intimidate. Or to kill.

“You said a fortnight ago,” Louisa observed. “What changed?”

He turned to face her. She was tall enough that her nose was level with his neck; it would be a small matter to bend his head and capture her lips with his.

“I met a woman I want to impress,” he said. “A woman who makes me think that, if she were with me, I could find this life bearable. A woman who makes me think I would actually make something of my life, if I had her beside me.”

For a long moment, the world spun only for them as she stared into his eyes. All that existed were a man and a woman in a magical garden, with the notes of an orchestra riding the breeze and the scent of flowers pouring from the baskets suspended from the trees.

He took a step toward her. He had the sense that his life hung in a fragile balance, and if he could touch her, something would be decided that would secure his fortunes of the rest of his life.

Abruptly she turned and strode down the path, eyes focused straight ahead, avoiding the gazes of other walkers who regarded them furtively, jealously, or with outright curiosity.

“She sounds a paragon, this woman,” she said, her voice snapping with cold. “I am sure I would like to make her acquaintance.”

“Louisa.” He caught her arm to keep her from fleeing. Her forearm was warm beneath her glove, the flesh of her upper arm firm and soft at the same time. She was pliable muscle over a spine of steel.