The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel by Jamie Carie Read Free Book Online Page B

and asked, "Can you hear me, Gabriel? Can you hear anything at all?"
    It was too much. With gentle but firm hands, Gabriel pushed them back from him. "Please, ladies, sit down and let us discuss this without all the hysterics. I assure you I feel perfectly well."
    Mary nodded and took hold of Jane's hand, dragging her back toward the gold-and-blue-striped settee. His mother collapsed back into her chair, dabbing her cheeks with an elegant handkerchief. Charlotte appeared unable to move, so Gabriel strode forward, held out his own handkerchief to her, led her to a Louis XIV gilded chair, and pressed her back into it. She seemed on the verge of needing smelling salts, an alarming fact as Charlotte was the stalwart one of the sisters.
    Gabriel turned away from them to collect himself, walked to the sideboard, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher. He hoped no one was talking. He hoped they were patiently waiting for him to explain. Turning toward them, his gaze roved over each anxious face. His mother, a tall willowy woman who still bore the mark of her earlier beauty, was rarely prone to tears. She had collected herself, her back with the usual ramrod in it, her long neck displayed, chin up, and intelligent eyes studying him. Charlotte was still dabbing at her eyes but was doing her best to be the elder sister and a good example of how to behave even in extraordinary circumstances. Mary, the shy one of the group, who had such a soft heart that she could hardly bear to see an insect smashed, much less her brother in pain, looked at him with sad, frightened eyes. And Jane, the cheery one whom everyone loved . . . Gabriel looked away from Jane's quivering lips and cleared his throat.
    Good heavens, they were wrecks, the lot of them.
    "I presume you have heard of my, um, 'condition.'"
    His mother said something but he held up his hand. "Let me explain what has happened and then you may ask your questions." His mother clamped her lips together.
    "I was attending the opera as usual, about three weeks ago. Mr. Meade, you remember my secretary, came to my box with a letter from the prince regent. Something about a guardianship that I have inherited." He waved that away with one hand, not wanting to go into those details. "As I was reading the letter, I was struck with a great pain and dizziness, here." He tapped the upper part of his forehead. "Over the course of the next several moments, I realized that I couldn't hear any longer. It was a buzzing sound at first and then nothing."
    He paced across the thick carpet in front of them. "Since that time I have, of course, seen the best doctors and tried several treatments. Nothing has yet worked." He swung toward them and locked gazes with each one by turns. "But know I am convinced that my hearing will return. This is a temporary condition that we need to keep amongst ourselves. In the meantime I am becoming better at reading lips if you speak slowly, not too slowly, just slowly enough and enunciate your words. Also, I have employed the use of speaking books. Rather, you write down what you want to say or ask me. Seeing that there are four of you, I suggest we use the book." He smiled at them, trying to lighten the mood. "I know how much you like to talk all at once."
    Jane burst into fresh tears.
    Mary clung to the arm of the settee.
    Charlotte pulled forth his handkerchief again and threw it over her face.
    His mother looked up and mouthed, "The ball? You have to attend. You are the host!" She motioned around the room.
    The ball. Excellent . He'd forgotten that he had agreed to host one of the season's most sought-after events, hoping that in doing so his mother would stop the constant reminders that he must marry and produce an heir. A ball here, in his home, might convince her that he was at least thinking about it, even though he had yet to meet a woman of the ton who inspired much of anything in him.
    His mind went blank as panic rushed over him in a wave of prickling