Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
December 16, 1818
London
" B ut Gabe, you must come!" His oldest friend grinned at him. "Third time is a charm!"
Gabriel Shaw did not put any stock in superstitions. He had the successes of hard work to his credit and little in this world had come to him by serendipity. So when his second cousin died in September and the family solicitor sailed to him in Venice to announce that Gabe was the tenth earl of Darby, he laughed first, drank excessively second, and wrote to his Assistant in the City of London third.
Life did not come at him in threes. Usually only in ones. One directive by his grandfather, the eighth earl, to improve the old family import business alone. One bequest by his dying father of one hundred pounds sterling to save the business that had been decimated by the wars of the little Frenchman. Followed two months later by one order from his uncle, the newly minted ninth earl, to leave England and never show his face there again.
Frowning at his friend whom he'd loved since they were at Eton, Gabe shook his head at the man's invitation to attend his and his wife's Christmas festivities. He chose his words carefully, despite their camaraderie since age six. Barrington's Christmas ball five years ago had seen Gabe in his first pickle with a charming girl. Barr's ball the following year had been the second with the same irresistible lady. It had also been the very event he had attended that precipitated Gabe's quick banishment from good society. "I have not danced in years."
Lord Barrington, the sixth earl of his family, lifted his brandy and wiggled his long pale brows in jest. It was ten in the morning in their London club, but Barr was toasting Gabe's change of fortune. "I do not expect you to waltz, old man."
"I gather Dora is short on single men for the holiday?" he teased. Gabe liked Barr's wife. Always had. A second cousin of his own on his mother's side, Dora possessed a gaiety that was not only natural but enduring.
"We need you. Besides, you must go north to inspect your estate sometime. Sooner would be best and you know it. Come. We will make your days pleasant. You will not be drawn down by old memories."
Gabe savored another taste of his brandy. The best memories he had of Barrington Priory were two Christmases long ago. The first, five years ago, found him in a broom closet with a giggling girl. The second, one year later, found him in a butler's pantry with that same lovely creature. It was also the event when both of them were discovered by her fiancé that had inspired his uncle to exile him. "Ironic, isn't it, how life can play tricks on you?"
"In your case, Gabe, yes. You've had more than most. But your luck is turning. Come to Yorkshire for Christmas. Dora wants you. I do. So do the boys."
"And does Dora's best friend attend?" He locked his gaze on Barr's, fearing his answer and wanting it in the affirmative all at the same time.
"She does."
She was the very reason he should not go. Exile to all the marvels of Cadiz and Casablanca, Florence, Venice and Athens had not dashed her from his memory.
"She has been with us for four months now," Barrington said. "After her father and her brother Malcolm died in July, she lived in a small tiny cottage in Bradford on one of their unentailed properties. Dora invited her with us because we need help with the boys."
Both of the lady's relatives had been severely injured in the same carriage accident. Upon reading the news in the London Times , Gabe ordered his man of business in the City to get all the details from the family solicitor.
"Malcolm lingered longer than his father," Barrington said and drained his glass. "But he could not overcome the pain of his injuries."
Gabe had never gained anything without observance of logic. "She is in mourning still, Barr. She won't agree to celebrate with you." Or me. Definitely not with me. I was the cause of so much of her suffering.
"Dora insists on it. Says she needs a happy Christmas. As do you."
"Oh, Barr. Please. I am the new earl of Darby, tenth of my less than noble lineage. Rich beyond my expectations or my station. In trade, for God's sake. What right have I of happiness?"
"Every right. You'll make a damn sight better earl than ever the last three of your family. Trade, be damned, or in your case, applauded. You've earned your right to claim the land, the houses, and title. Justice that you have it all, I say, it is. But you will have your hands full. If rumor is true, your predecessors were thieves of the profits for gaming hells and actresses. Now no arguments. Write them at Darby Park to open the doors and windows to a new day in your house. Then come to Christmas at Barrington Priory." His friend winked at him. "Third Christmas is the charm!"