by Jenna Jaxon
“Tomorrow. Lady Celinda is arranging a meeting for Miss d’Aventure with him.” He shrugged. “We will see what the duke has to say then.”
“Do you think he will acknowledge her?”
Again Hal shrugged. “I suppose it depends on whether or not he believes she is his.”
His father rose and stretched, tossing his monocle onto the papers on the desk. “Then we shall all wait and see what Rother has to say. If he acknowledges her, I will give my consent to your marriage. If he does not, I do not. As simple as that.”
Hal nodded. He’d expected nothing less. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will inform you in either case tomorrow.” He bowed and grabbed his hat.
“Very good.” The duke reseated himself and picked up the papers.
With a sigh, Hal turned to the door.
“Halford.”
Hal stopped at the threshold.
“Should Rother deny Miss d’Aventure, I will still require you to marry and produce your heir in the next year.”
Hal gritted his teeth and raised his chin. “I suspected as much, Father.” He rounded on the old man, shooting him a piercing look. “I suppose then you’d better pray to God that Rother accepts her. I should hate like hell to disappoint you, but if Gabriella cannot be my bride, I’ll have none. Cut me off, disinherit me if you like. I won’t live without her.” He strode from the room, the image of the duke’s bulging eye and slack jaw following him down the corridor and out to his waiting carriage.
* * * *
Gabriella sighed for the hundredth time as she smoothed down the lace she was using to trim Lady Chalgrove’s new blue lutestring gown. The delicate material kept sliding out of her unsteady grasp. Her meeting with the Duke of Rother was now less than an hour away.
She put the garment aside and paced to the window. Horace’s note yesterday had given her instructions to wait for Lady Celinda to call on Lady Hamilton. She would then take Gabriella to her house where the duke would meet them.
He made it sound so simple. Horace had been true to his word and secured her an interview with the duke, despite their spat two days ago. She had tried to remain angry at him, but had found it impossible even before he’d made good on his promise. Her thoughts had constantly wandered to him, and she’d relived each moment they’d shared, each kiss. She touched her lips, wanting to feel his there once more. Was this love? If so, it was an unsettling feeling.
The clock over the mantle chimed one.
Gabriella trembled, her gaze glued to the door. She could not stand still. Back and forth she strode. If Lady Celinda did not appear soon, she would wear a pathway in the carpet. Mon Dieu, what if Lady Celinda did not come? She could not bear to go through this waiting again.
Back to the window, and she stopped. A huge open black carriage, pulled by a set of matched black horses, had drawn up in front of Lady Hamilton’s townhouse. A gentleman jumped out then assisted a lady to the ground. Callers for Lady Hamilton’s at home day. Which meant her waiting was over. She must be ready to leave as soon as Lady Celinda arrived.
Her bonnet lay on the chair there, her reticule beside it. She had dressed in her best gown, not silk, of course, but a very good quality muslin with fine lace medallions of tambour work she had sewn on it herself.
If only the lady would arrive.
A faint knock at the door sent Gabriella flying across the room, her heart choking her. “Yes?” she called, her breath ragged.
“Miss d’Aventure? It is Lady Celinda.”
Gabriella dragged the door open. A slim girl stood before her. Her blond hair glinted from beneath a pale bonnet, while her white gown, with a very small print and three rows of ruffles, seemed to glow in the streaming sunlight. Gabriella curtsied and opened the door wide.
The lovely young woman sped inside, and Gabriella carefully closed the door with a quiet click. She stared at the woman, too overcome to make a sound. Her long-cherished dream was about to come true.
“How do you do, Miss d’Aventure? I am Lady Celinda Graham, come to fetch you to the duke.” Lady Celinda paused then giggled. “Rather the duke is to come to us at my father’s house in St. James square. Ha—Horace and I thought it best for you to receive him there, as we cannot go to his home. My father will be in residence as chaperone to us while the duke is present. Even though Papa will know nothing about it.” She laughed once more and took Gabriella’s hand. “That should preserve the proprieties and still allow you a more private conversation with the duke when you meet for the first time.”
“I cannot thank you enough, Lady Celinda. Or Monsieur Carpenter.” Heat blazed in her cheeks every time she even whispered his name. “He is not here today?”
“No, his master, the marquess, has need of him this afternoon, but he asked me to tell you that he is very proud of you for attempting such a feat. Most young women of your circumstances would not. He wishes you bon chance.”
Gabriella dashed a tear from her eye. No matter how this afternoon ended, she would not allow Horace Carpenter to leave her life. She nodded and gathered her shawl, hat, and reticule and raised her chin. “Shall we go, my lady?”
The lady peered out the window, a frown puckering her brow. “We must wait for our carriage to arrive. Horace said he ordered it for one o’clock.”
And the clock’s hands stood at quarter past the hour.
“It should be any moment now, my dear,” Lady Celinda said, leaning out the window to stare down the street. “Any minute.”
* * * *
Hal perched on Lady Hamilton’s sofa, sipping tea, acutely aware that as Lady Chalgrove chatted to Lady Carmichael about ball gowns, on the next floor her maid was in the process of fleeing the house to keep an assignation with the Duke of Rother. He gulped his tea and stared at the lady, attempting to feign interest in the merits of gold muslin over silver.
Their plan had gone well so far. He and Celinda had arrived on time. To divert attention, he’d engaged Lady Hamilton with a bit of a scandalous on-dit he’d prepared on the way over. Not a lie, exactly, but an exaggeration of a conversation he’d heard at his club last evening. Still, the subject of the gossip was a gentleman whose reputation could use a bit more tarnish to make him truly interesting to the ladies, so no harm done. Meanwhile, Celinda had sped up the stairs after Hal distracted the butler by dropping his walking stick not once but twice while trying to hand it to him.
“I have not had the pleasure, Lady Chalgrove, of being your partner at whist.” Hal changed the subject from fashions and fabrics as soon as he deemed it polite. Fashion interested him not at all, and as a result he knew not one thing about it. Devilishly hard to maintain a conversation when you could say nothing intelligent.
“Then I insist we be partners at dear Lady Hamilton’s upcoming card party, my lord.” Lady Chalgrove arched her neck and smiled at him from beneath lowered lashes.
“I would be delighted, my lady.” Best watch out for this one. Her claws were poised to sink themselves into whatever unsuspecting prey crossed her path. “I suspect your hostess and the rest of her guests will be disappointed when they find we are not to be beaten the entire night.” Hal flashed his brightest grin, while surreptitiously listening for movement in the foyer.
“You may be correct, Lord Halford.” She tapped him gaily on the arm. “I have yet to find a partner who understands the strategy of the game as well as I. But from what I have gathered about you and cards,” she simpered and sipped her tea, “we will make brilliant partners. We will play to win at any cost. Am I correct, my lord?”
“Absolutely correct, my lady.” Hal raised his teacup, and caught movement past the door to the drawing room. He sighed and savored his tea. His ladies had made their escape. So far, so good. Twenty minutes past one o’clock. They were a trifle late, but still should arrive at Graham House within five minutes. He’d give Lady Chalgrove another few minutes then make his adieux, his part in the operation almost complete.
“I fear I must beg to take my leave of you,
Lady Chalgrove, Lady Hamilton. I am promised to Lord Haversham for dinner and am on my way now to Fribourg & Treyer’s for a special brand of snuff he particularly prefers.” Hal rose, smiling warmly at his hostess. He bowed to Lady Chalgrove, who beamed at him. Thank goodness he could shortly announce his betrothal and put an end to the lady’s maneuverings regarding him.
“Lady Ivor, Miss Euphemia Graham, Miss Uriana Graham.”
Hal turned to greet them, snagging the edge of his coat on something. He tugged, and it came free. A crash and clatter arose behind him.
“Oh, no!”
The shriek spun him around. Lady Chalgrove sat almost as he’d left her thirty seconds before, except now the front of her pink and silver gown had turned a ditch-water brown. The lady’s teacup lay on its side in the saucer, the contents still dripping onto her lap.
“Do not be alarmed, my dear.” Lady Hamilton rose, her legendary calm in full operation. “James,” she called to the nearest footman, “run and fetch Gabriella to assist Lady Chalgrove. Thomas,” she turned to the other hovering footman, “napkins, please.”
The footmen both nodded and fled, one heading upstairs, one down.
Hal closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He prayed all would go well with Gabriella and the duke. If it did not, the situation she would return to did not bear thinking about.
“Lady Chalgrove, I do beg your pardon. That was insufferably clumsy of me.” Damn it to hell. “Please allow me to retire, ladies.” Having done as much damage as possible, he bowed and backed toward the doorway. “Thank you, Lady Hamilton. I will see you next for cards on the sixteenth.” Head spinning like a top, he headed for the door, waiting impatiently for the return of his stick and hat as upraised voices in the drawing room spilled into the foyer. He headed down the stairs, slowing with each step.
The space where his carriage should have been waiting loomed vast and empty on the busy street. What the devil was going on? He peered up and down the street, around the corner. The landau was nowhere to be found. Robbins would get the sack for this. Should he hail a hack or walk back to his house? He could inquire if the butler knew where the carriage had gone, but he’d be damned if he’d go back into that house where all hell was erupting because of him.
“My lord.” Tate, the butler, had appeared on the steps.
Damn. Too late. “Yes?”
“Lady Hamilton would like a moment of your time, if you will.”
With a sigh and a nod, Hal dragged his feet up the staircase.
Chapter 8
“Are you certain, Lady Celinda, that the marquess will not mind us taking his carriage?” Gabriella had been astounded when the lady had urged her down the front steps and into the sleek landau with a large crest emblazoned on the side. “I would not wish to get Horace…Monsieur Carpenter, rather, in any trouble with his master. He did instigate this outing.”
“Do not worry yourself, Miss d’Aventure,” Lady Celinda said with a strangled laugh and an odd twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “The marquess would insist upon it if he know our need. And he would certainly curse the hack that did not appear as promised.” She screwed her mouth into a pout then shook her head and relaxed into the luxurious, black leather seat. “We can send a footman with a note when we reach the house. It is quite near Lady Hamilton’s. Just there.” She nodded as they turned a corner onto a fashionable square of streets, with a magnificent garden in bloom at their center. A large statue of a man on a horse graced the middle of the square.
Gabriella nodded and leaned back, trying to relax despite the nerves that had been singing in her veins since dawn. Her breath quickened, and her mind raced ahead to the meeting she’d imagined a thousand times. How would the duke look up close? Would he remember her mother? And more important, would he believe her story? With answers so temptingly close at hand, Gabriella could fix her mind on nothing for more than a few seconds. She squeezed her hands together as the clop, clop of the horses’ hooves on the stone pavement slowed to a stop.
“See?” Celinda smiled at her and patted her arm. “We are here already,” she said, as the footman handed them down. “And in good time, it seems. Has the Duke of Rother arrived, Albert?”
“No, my lady.” The footman kept his eyes on Gabriella as he helped her from the carriage. The servant’s solicitude pleased her very much. She must be careful not to tear or dirty her dress now.
“Very good.” Lady Celinda paused in the foyer to scribble a note. “Albert, run this to the Marquess of Halford. He is at Lady Hamilton’s. You know the direction?”
“Yes, my lady.” The tall footman bowed, took the note Lady Celinda thrust at him, and left at a trot.
“Come.” Lady Celinda beckoned her up the stairs. “Ha…I mean, Mr. Carpenter asked if I would supply you with a suitable gown in which to meet the duke.” They had reached the landing of the first floor, and the lady cast a critical eye over her appearance.
Gabriella stopped then raised her chin. Perhaps Horace did not realize she had the means and talent to fashion a gown worthy of the ballrooms of London. She’d secretly been working on this ensemble ever since she’d landed in England, for this very moment. She met Lady Celinda’s admiring gaze.
“I think Mr. Carpenter worried for nothing.” Lady Celinda nodded her approval. “May I ask who created such a beautiful gown, Miss d’Aventure? It is quite the loveliest creation I’ve seen this Season.”
Relief mixed with pride made Gabriella smile and smooth her skirts. “I made the gown myself, my lady. I knew this day would come and so have worked toward making it perfect. I want my appearance to be a credit to the duke.”
“I think you succeeded admirably, Miss d’Aventure. Should you ever decide to open a modiste’s shop, I promise to be your first and best customer.” Lady Celinda laughed, and they continued down the corridor. “Just here on the right.” She indicated a stout door slightly ajar. “I suspect if all goes well today, your days of sewing will be quite at an end.” The lady led Gabriella into a spacious room, furnished with delicate white and gilt chairs and sofa, with walls covered in pale paper striped pink and green.
“Lady Celinda, will you now tell me what this clandestine meeting is all about?”
Gabriella jumped and almost ran into Lady Celinda’s back. The deep, masculine voice boomed from the far end of the room. She peeped around the lady, trembling in earnest now.
“I…I… Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Lady Celinda curtsied and started forward, leaving Gabriella exposed like a fish out of water.
The Duke of Rother stood before the cold fireplace, tall as a giant in Gabriella’s mind. Dressed impeccably, in elegant blue jacket and buff leather breeches that fit his lean form excellently, the man she had dreamed of all her life finally stood before her, like a fairy story come true. Dark hair curled at his neck, and brilliant blue eyes—eyes she saw every day when she looked in a mirror—now watched Lady Celinda from beneath vexed brows.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. The footman told me you had not arrived, else our entrance would not have been so informal.” Lady Celinda motioned to Gabriella, but her feet seemed stuck to the plush carpet. The lady reached back and hauled her forward.
Gabriella plodded toward the duke, her heart pounding unevenly, her hands icy at her sides.
“It was such a brilliant day, I elected to ride rather than take the carriage. Never pass up the opportunity to—” He glanced past Lady Celinda to Gabriella. His mouth opened, slack-jawed, and his eyes grew wide. His face paled as though he’d seen a ghost. “Veronique?”
The utterance of her mother’s name broke the spell.
Gabriella sailed forward and swept a low curtsy before him. “Non, Your Grace.” She rose and stared straight into the shocked face. “Gabriella Veronique Marie d’Aventure. I am Veronique’s daughter.” Summoning all her courage, she swallowed and said, “I am your daughter, Your Grace.”
The duke stared at her, taking in her form from top to toe as the color slowly seeped
back into his face. “Veronique’s daughter.” The amazement in his voice calmed her.
“Oui, Your Grace. My mother has told me much about you…about your journey to Angouleme, where you met her twenty years ago.”
“Veronique.” He closed his eyes, a smile touching his lips. “My God. Has it been twenty years?” His face changed, alarm furrowing his brow and his eyes flew open. “Is your mother…?”
“She is well, Your Grace.” How wonderful that he remembered her, seemed concerned about her welfare after so long. A thrill of hope shot down her spine. “She has returned to her father’s home in Angouleme after the death of her husband last year.”
“Husband? She married?” As if a veil dropped across his face, the soft light extinguished from his intense gaze.
Alarmed by this drastic and unaccountable change in his demeanor, Gabriella rushed to explain. “Oui, Your Grace. After…after you left, when she knew I would be born, she married a wine merchant of Paris, a friend of my grand-père, a Monsieur d’Aventure.”
“I thank you for giving me this news of her after so many years.” He gazed over Gabriella’s head, unseeing. “I had not heard her name in a very long time.” With a sigh, he recalled himself and looked at Gabriella once more, the planes of his face hardened. “Please give her my regards when next you see her.” Then to Lady Celinda, “Thank you, my dear. It was kind of you to think I would be interested in news of an old acquaintance.” He retrieved his hat from the sofa and picked up his walking stick. “If you father is home, I shall call on him while I am here.”
The dismissal stung like a slap to Gabriella’s face. How dare he reject her with less interest than he would have for a dish that displeased him at dinner?
“Your Grace,” she spoke loudly enough that he could not ignore her. “You remember my mother well, and I hope with a fondness equal to what she has always felt for you.”
The duke turned wary eyes on her, the rim of his hat crushed in his hand. “Indeed, I do remember her well, Miss d’Aventure.”
