Page 81 of His Forgotten Bride
The ring. The ring! He swallowed a groan of dismay, embarrassment rising until the whole of his face felt hot.
“I forgot the ring,” he mumbled at last. “I meant to buy one—I must have let it slip my mind.”
Claire tipped back her head and laughed, delighted. “I don’t need a ring,” she said, squeezing his fingers in comfort. “That is to say”—she redirected her attention to the vicar—“we don’t strictly require one, do we?”
“Of course you must have a ring,” the vicar replied.
Gabriel felt his heart sink toward his boots.
“Still,” the vicar continued, “it need not specifically be a wedding ring. The Duke of Hamilton, as the story goes, was wed with a bed curtain ring.” Sidling toward the set table, the vicar plucked a bronze ring from one of the napkins and offered it to Gabriel. He cleared his throat again and proceeded in a solemn voice, “I now pronounce you man and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” With a more severe tone, he addressed Gabriel alone, “Doobtain a suitable ring for your lady, my lord.”
“My lady.” Gabriel turned to Claire, certain he was wearing a silly grin that matched her own. “Claire Newsom, Lady Leighton.”
With a delighted giggle, Claire threw herself into his arms—and for once in his life, everything was perfect.
∞∞∞
“I don’t want you to go.”
Gabriel had been yanking on his boots, a process made more difficult without his valet, but he’d had little need for his boots in the past few days, since he and Claire had rarely set foot outside of their room. The ruckus he’d made had disturbed her slumber, which was a shame, since he’d hoped to be gone and back again before she had awoken.
“I won’t be long,” he said, consolingly. “It’s just a bit over two miles. But Father is likely to return to London soon, and I’d rather have it out with him so that I may take you”—he clasped her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles—“to Newsom Manor, where you belong.”
“What if—” She swallowed hard, drawing her knees up. “What if he won’t accept me? He surely had higher hopes than me for you.”
“It’s not his choice,” Gabriel said. “And when he comes to know you, I’m certain he will love you as I do.” He hoped, at least. “But we can survive anything together, Claire. Even if he should cut me off, I’ve got a bequest from my mother’s family that he cannot touch.”
“I’m not worried about money,” she said, “I’m worried about your relationship with your father. I should hate to be the cause of a rift between you.”
He snorted. “There’s been a rift between us for years,” he said. “You’re not the cause—you’re his opportunity to mend it. I can forgive all the years of enduring his condescension and disdain so long as he can unbend enough to acknowledge that I am my own man. And if he can’t, well…it’s no great loss.”
She heaved a great sigh, linking her arms around her knees, and her sleep-tousled hair drifted over her shoulders. “I hope it goes well,” she offered tentatively. “It’s just…I will miss you.”
“For a few hours at the most.” He reached for his coat, slinging it on. Outside, it had begun to rain, a light drizzle that pattered against the windows—but the murky grey sky promised a deluge that would, in all likelihood, continue for days. “Come and kiss your husband,” he said with a grin.
And, of course, like any good wife, she did, casting her arms about his neck with a fervor that surprised him. “Don’t worry,” he murmured against her cheek. “I’ll be back.”
But he was not. He had never come back. And everything he had held precious had been lost.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Claire. Gabriel snapped awake, sucking in a deep breath. His head spun, and he pressed his fingers to his temples, awaiting the swift onset of a migraine—but it did not come. Perhaps it had been the stress of trying to force the memories, the sudden shock of something that scratched at the surface of that locked door in his mind which had caused them. Now there were so many of them swimming through his brain that he felt dizzy with his recovered knowledge, a flood of emotions long forgotten coursing through him.
He shoved himself upright, blinking in the darkness. Beneath his hands, the soft fabric of his counterpane gathered in airy puffs.Hiscounterpane, and that meant—
Claire. He heard the soft rhythm of her breaths and realized he must have fallen asleep beside her at some point in the night. And then he’d dreamed it all—every memory she’d confided to him, and details she had not. Every precious lost thing about her, crammed into his brain while he slept. There was such a difference between knowing andremembering. Knowledge without experience was so empty in comparison. He had had to relive it all to truly understand.
“Claire,” he said, through a throat that felt like it had been rubbed with sand. “Claire.” His hands sought her in the darkness, prying through the counterpane, tunneling beneath the sheets.
She stirred as he caught her shoulder, turning toward him with a small, sleepy sound. His hand slid beneath her, cradling the nape of her neck as he had often done years ago, drawing her close to him.
His lips found the apple of her cheek, drifting toward her temple. “I forgot to buy you a ring,” he said. It was a detail she had left out—knowing Claire, it had been to spare him the embarrassment of it. “I remembered the license—but forgot the ring.”
She made a tiny sound in her throat, like a sob that had been cut short. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and she tucked her head beneath his chin. “I didn’t mind,” she said.
“I remember,” he said, sliding his fingers into her hair. “I remember.” It seemed like something out of a dream to have her in his arms again, to feel the thud of her heart against his chest, her hair slipping through his fingers like silk. Like returning home after a long absence—home. That was it. Newsom Manor had never beenhome, any more than his current residence was.Clairewas home. She always had been, even when he hadn’t known her. Something in him had recognized her, recognized the way she had made him feel, and reached out for her. Becauseshehad always been his idea of home.
“You said you would be back.” The words were mumbled into his throat, rife with a pain he could hardly comprehend. “But you weren’t. I waited three days.”
