I had grown used to the fact that Carlotta had left me. The insane rage that had visited me the day I discovered her gone had long since worn down. But seeing Gabriella again brought home the pain that all the years between then and now could never be recovered.
"You are not called Gabrielle, in the French way," I said.
"My mother is English," Gabriella said, as though she'd grown used to explaining this. "But you know that, sir. You know her. You spoke to her familiarly in the square this morning."
I realized, with a jolt, that while I was standing here watching Gabriella and trying to discover everything about her, she was trying to discover everything about me. The pain twisted tighter.
"I was a captain in the English army. Cavalry, Thirty-Fifth Light Dragoons. I was posted to India at the end of the nineties, and then Paris during the Peace of Amiens. That was fifteen years ago." I stopped.
"Did you know my mother and father there? I was born in France."
"No," I answered. "You were born in India."
Gabriella looked perplexed. "No, sir, in France. My mother has never been to India."
I stilled my tongue. Carlotta must have constructed a world in which I did not exist, cutting out the years she had been married to me. In spite of my hurt and anger, I knew why Carlotta had done so-simple lies were easier than the complicated truth, and Carlotta ever sought the easier path.
"She was there," I said. "And so were you. Your cries used to annoy my colonel. I was not very contrite about that."
I remembered how in the middle of the night, I would walk up and down with Gabriella on my shoulder. Carlotta had hysterics when Gabriella cried too much, certain retribution would come upon her. She had not known what to do with a healthy and robust baby like Gabriella.
I had not known what to do with a baby either, but I had carried her about the tents and the campfires of the men and told her about all the beautiful things I would buy her when she grew up. I remembered her nonsense words and her laughter, and how she'd stared in wonder at everything on the ship as we'd made the long journey back to Europe.
Louisa Brandon, my colonel's wife, had loved Gabriella. Louisa had no children of her own, and by the time we reached France, she'd realized it was unlikely she ever would. She had doted on Gabriella, happily playing with her on the voyage while Carlotta had been laid low with seasickness. Louisa had been as upset as I when Carlotta had taken Gabriella away, though Louisa had had her hands full bringing me back from madness.
"You were there," I almost whispered.
A step on the landing above kept Gabriella from answering. I looked up and beheld a man with graying hair descending toward us. He was not tall, but he was squarely built, with a small head on broad shoulders. Bulky, rather than fat. He wore a plain suit cut in the French style and shoes that would make fashionable Grenville wince. His stance said that he wore his clothes for convenience, not for fashion.
A pale scar creased his face from ear to cheekbone, probably earned while serving under Napoleon during the first part of the war. He had a military bearing, and I knew at once that I looked upon the man for whom Carlotta had deserted me.
"Captain Lacey?" he said, stopping behind Gabriella.
I bowed, but made no reply.
"I am Major Auberge. I must ask why you have come."
I answered in French, knowing that language and not wanting any faulty understanding to slow what I wanted to say to him. "There has been an appointment fixed with Mr. Denis for tomorrow."
"Yes, I received his note. Therefore, we will meet tomorrow. There was no need for you to come today."
"I suppose I wanted to satisfy myself that you were truly here."
Auberge gave me a nod, eyes guarded. "Now you have seen."
"Why did you bring her?" I looked pointedly at Gabriella. "Carlotta could have come alone."
"My wife could not have made such a journey on her own. I had to accompany her."
"But you have other children, do you not? Did you bring the entire family?"
Gabriella broke in. "They stay with my uncle," she said in perfect French. "He has his lands adjacent to ours. We often stay with Uncle."
"Gabriella." His voice held a father's warning tone.
"Who is he, Papa?" Gabriella asked. "Why do you speak to him so? And why does he say I was in India?"
"Gabriella, please return upstairs and attend your mother."
She certainly was my daughter. A rebellious look came over Gabriella's young face, and she drew a breath to argue. Then she seemed to think better of it, made a polite curtsy to me and one to her father, and rushed up the stairs. Her swirling skirts revealed slim ankles and slender calves, the legs of a girl who liked to run, probably more than was ladylike.
Gabriella trained her gaze on me again, then turned the corner of the staircase and ascended to the dim recesses above. Not until we'd heard a door slam in the distance did Major Auberge speak again.
"You will have what you want," he said, still in French. "This Mr. Denis says he can make things satisfactory for all parties."
"No doubt he can." James Denis had resources, both people and finances, far beyond what I and a small landholder from Lyon could manage. "Why did you bring her? Gabriella, I mean? Why is she not at home with her uncle and the rest of your brood?"
Red crept into the major's face. "There was a young man. I do not approve of him."
I immediately did not approve of him either. Gabriella was seventeen, too young, in my opinion, for any kind of liaison or engagement. "So you brought her here to keep her out of harm's way? Is that what you told her?"
"We told her we would visit her mother's brother. Which we will."
"Gabriella will discover the true reason you are here, no matter how you try to hide it. She is a Lacey-she will ferret it out."
"She will learn the truth, in time." Auberge frowned at me. "But from me, please."
"And what truth will you tell her? That I am her rightful father, denied her all this time?"
His expression hardened. "Carlotta was unhappy with you. She told me."
"She was. That is true." After all these years I could admit that I'd expected Carlotta to live a life she'd been in no way suited for. We'd both been very young and foolish, and I ought to have been more patient. "But Gabriella was not miserable. And she belongs to me."
Auberge lost his veneer of politeness. "Do I not know that? Do I not know that every time I have looked at her for these fifteen years, I have been seeing another man's child? And now with this telling, that I will no doubt lose her? Gabriella is very dear to me."
I scarcely cared. I was jealous and angry and craving to be with Gabriella, and having this Frenchman tell me that he would be heartbroken when she learned the truth was more than I could bear.
I planted my walking stick, which encased a stout sword, in front of me. "Then you will have a taste of what you have done to me. Pinching a man's wife and daughter is not the thing, Major."
He only looked at me, anger in his eyes. He knew that I was the wronged party, and yet, he blamed me. My fault that I'd lost them in the first place, my fault that now he'd have to face Gabriella with the truth.
I knew I could not stay here and converse with him without rage taking over, without demanding that he hand Gabriella to me then and there. I sent him a hard stare, then turned on my heel and marched out the door. He did not try to stop me.
I was so enraged that I was halfway through Covent Garden, the sun shining heavily on my head, before I realized I'd forgotten my hat.