“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.”
“I have waited many years to come to England, to find you, to tell you that you have a daughter.”
His gaze narrowed, his frigid manner now complete. “I sincerely doubt that, Miss d’Aventure. Despite what your mother may have told you, I suggest you are indeed Miss d’Aventure, the daughter of a wine merchant.”
Icy fingers of rage touched the back of Gabriella’s neck. “You would accuse my mother of lying to me?”
The duke shrugged. “She would not be the first woman to do so. I will admit that I knew your mother when she was a young girl, and we spent a week together in her home. But after I left her, I heard nothing whatsoever from her.”
Gabriella’s anger rose to a white hot flame. He had offered no hope, had told her mother they could not marry. What had he expected from her then?
“In twenty years, I have not heard one word.” His face had darkened, his thick brows almost touching his nose. “I made her swear to me that if she discovered she was with child, she would tell me. I was betrothed to another woman, but I would have broken with her if Veronique had told me there was a child. I waited…” He threw up his hand. “It makes no difference now. The past is past. I am sorry, mademoiselle, but you are not my daughter.” The duke strode past her, muttering, “I cannot think why she would have told you such a thing and sent you to find me.” He whirled toward Gabriella, sneering. “Does she need money now her husband is dead?”
Stunned by the cruelty of his words, Gabriella drew herself up as tall as possible, stared him in the face, and narrowed her eyes. “Non. My mother wants for nothing. She does not know I am here. I did not tell her because I did not think she would allow me to come.”
“You are likely correct.” Rother bowed, chilly as a winter’s night. “Good day, Miss d’Aventure. Lady Celinda.” With a fierce scowl, he marched out of the room.
Gabriella swayed. The room turned black at the edges. Then she was seated on one of the dainty gilt chairs, Lady Celinda pres
sing a cool glass into her hand.
“Drink this. It tastes nasty, but it will help.”
Gabriella raised the glass to her nose, inhaling the sweet aroma of French cognac, like a breath of home. She tilted the glass, allowing the rich liquor to burn all the way into her stomach. It would take many tumblers of this excellent vintage to erase the humiliation the Duke of Rother had heaped upon her and her family today.
“Oh, Miss d’Aventure.” Lady Celinda plucked the almost-empty glass from her fingers. “I am attempting to keep you from fainting, not trying to make you foxed.”
Gabriella continued to hold her hand out. “Apparently, I am the daughter of a wine merchant. Perhaps that explains my affinity.” She nodded toward the glass.
With a sigh, Lady Celinda poured another dollop of the amber spirit into Gabriella’s glass and handed it to her. “Do you believe the duke?”
Gabriella stared into the swirling liquid. “My mother has never told me anything other than that the duke is my father. But she never told me he made her swear to contact him if she found herself with child. Why would she not write to him? Unless…” Unless she were in truth not the duke’s daughter. It did not bear thinking about. She took another comforting sip, the burn now melting into a glow. “I must remember to apologize to Horace. He asked me for proof as well. No wonder there is none.”
“But there is proof, Miss d’Adventure, if only anyone would look to see it.” Lady Celinda set the decanter back on the sideboard and pressed the stopper in with a vengeance.
“Please call me Gabriella, my lady.” She sipped again, and her tension ebbed. “What proof can there be?”
Lady Celinda seated herself across from Gabriella. “The proof I saw with my own eyes. Anyone could see it just by looking at you and His Grace together.”
“What do you mean? Other than the color of our eyes, we do not resemble one another at all.”
“Au contraire,” Lady Celinda said, a secretive smile on her lips. “Just now, when you were both talking,” she motioned to the empty carpet, “it was as though I watched a person arguing with their self. It is true you do not resemble the duke in either features or coloring, other than your eyes. However, the way you stand, the set of your shoulders, the determination in your jaw.” She shook her head. “If you appeared in public together, the gossip would spread so quickly you couldn’t poke your head out of the house the next day.”
“He will never see it, my lady. And even if it is true, why did my mother not write to him?” Mon Dieu, what a mess she’d made of her life coming to England. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
Lady Celinda shrugged. “You will have to ask her, but I assume she had good reasons.” She cocked her head. “What will you do now?”
“Return to Lady Chalgrove. I have no other choice at the moment. But,” she wiped her face with the back of her hand, “I still have Horace.” She smiled, imagining his happiness when she told him there would be no impediment to their marriage now. “We wish to marry, you see. I suppose I could open a modiste’s shop here in London. If he could continue to work as a valet for the marquess, we could build a life of our own. I had worried the duke would insist on my marrying a man of the nobility, but that is no longer a concern.”
Lady Celinda opened her mouth then abruptly shut it and smiled. “Love will always find a way, won’t it? Come, we must get you back to Lady Hamilton’s before you are missed. That would truly be the topping on the cake.”
The quiet carriage ride back to Lady Hamilton’s gave Gabriella time to plan. Without the duke’s acknowledgment of her and the hope of him being a part of her life, the possible pathways to a happy life were few. The overwhelming choice would be marriage to Horace. In time, she’d write her mother and ask about the duke’s claim that she swore to write him if she were with child. Meanwhile, she would look to Horace for her happiness.
The carriage rolled to a stop in front of Lady Hamilton’s. Now to steal back up to Lady Chalgrove’s chamber as if none of this had occurred. “I should go up the servant’s stairs, my lady.”
Lady Celinda nodded. “Allow me to go in first. I will get rid of the butler and give you a chance to steal down to the servant’s hall.” She marched up the steps to the front door, hand raised to the knocker, when the door jerked open.
Tate looked past Lady Celinda to Gabriella. His eyes narrowed, making her catch her breath. He pursed his lips in disapproval. “At last.”
Lady Celinda sent her a stricken look, but plastered a smile on her face and stepped over the threshold.
Dread descended on Gabriella like a suffocating cloak. She swallowed hard, her mouth drying under Tate’s unfriendly glare. Something must have happened and her absence discovered. Her luck was certainly out today. Nothing to do but go forward, however. Resolutely, she followed Lady Celinda into the house.
“She is here, my lady.” The butler’s disapproving tone sounded like a nail in her coffin.
Unsure whether the man meant her or Lady Celinda, Gabriella sped past the butler, praying she could reach the stairs.
Tate immediately blocked her way. “Lady Hamilton and Lady Chalgrove require your presence, Miss d’Aventure.”
The sinking feeling she’d ignored earlier returned, and her stomach rolled. Better to have drunk herself into oblivion at Lady Celinda’s home than fall victim to what would certainly be a very public disgrace here at Lady Hamilton’s. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded and turned toward the crowded drawing room.
At first glance, the room appeared to contain every lady in London. When her vision cleared, however, she could tell there were only five. Lady Ivor and her two younger daughters seated on the sofa, all three pairs of eyes wide and staring at her. Then the two women in companion wing-backed chairs, Lady Hamilton, gracefully calm, and Lady Chalgrove, glowering directly at her. A gentleman stood at the sideboard, his back to her, thank goodness.
“Where have you been, Gabriella?” Lady Chalgrove’s shrill voice shattered the hushed silence.
“I asked her to accompany me, my lady.” Lady Celinda spoke up quickly.
God bless the lady. Speech seemed beyond Gabriella at the moment.
“There was an emergency with one of my gowns, the one I am to wear tonight.” Lady Celinda spoke with such conviction that Gabriella would have believed her had she not known the truth. “I knew of Miss d’Aventure’s excellent sewing skills from a conversation with Lady Chalgrove, so I thought she would be able to help me.”
“What kind of emergency, Lady Celinda?”
“Uh, there was a rip in my gown that would have ruined it, had not Miss d’Adventure used all her talents to mend it.” Lady Celinda cut her gaze to Gabriella, but she could think of nothing to help bolster the story.
“Then why did you not ask me for the loan of my maid?” Lady Chalgrove’s voice stabbed like icicles in the too-quiet room.
“I…I…” Lady Celinda cast her gaze at her mother, but that lady simply shrugged.
“Why did you change your gown, madame?” Gabriella spoke as much to create a distraction as from a wish to know what on earth had happened while she was gone. Her Ladyship had been wearing a cream and pink checked gown when she went down to receive callers. Now she sat in her blue taffeta, the sleeves mashed slightly and her coiffure straggling from beneath her cap.
“So kind of you to ask, Gabriella. Especially when I needed you to help me with a true emergency. Lord Halford spilled tea on my gown, and you were nowhere to be found.
“Forgive me, madame. I did not think I would be needed.” Gabriella kept her gaze firmly on the floor. If she prayed very hard, perhaps all would be forgiven.
“In that you are correct. I require the services of a maid I can depend upon. Not a lazy girl who gallivants about the town willy-nilly. Therefore,” Lady Chalgrove lifted her chin, triumph in her flaring nose, “I no longer require your services, Miss d’Aventure.” The woman’s smile would have curdled cream. “Without reference and without pay.”
> Gabriella couldn’t breathe. Little as she liked working for the comtesse, the position had kept her employed for months. She’d been housed, clothed, and fed more or less comfortably, but her quarterly salary had not yet come due, and she’d spent the last of her money on the materials to make this lutestring gown. Now she would have nothing.
“Hal,” Lady Celinda called to the gentleman standing at the sideboard.
His back stiffened, but he did not turn around.
“Hal, you must do something.” The lady went to him, plucked at his arm. “You must explain.”
“I do not see that this is any of Lord Halford’s business, Lady Celinda,” Lady Chalgrove snapped.
“Actually it is my business, Lady Chalgrove.” The man turned toward her.
Gabriella shook her head and blinked. The man looked just like… “Horace?” Was this some mad waking dream brought on by too much cognac? But there he stood, Horace, resplendent in the elegant dress of a nobleman. And they were calling him Lord Halford.
He opened his mouth then darted toward her as the edges of her vision became gray and then inexplicably black.
Heart of Delight: Chapter Nine
Gabriella opened her eyes, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming through the window of a room she couldn’t place. She sat up, thoroughly confused. The tall bed, expensive oak with four posters and a canopy of white ruffled material, was softer than any she’d lain on in her life. Darker furniture stood out against delicate pink walls, all totally unfamiliar. Even the white gown she wore—long sleeves edged in expensive Cluny lace—was not her own. Perhaps she could tell where she was if she looked out the window. Some landmark might reveal her whereabouts. She threw back the covers and prepared to slide the long way to the ground.
The door opened, admitting a petite dark-haired maid bearing a tray. “Good morning, miss.” She set the tray on the dressing table and bobbed a curtsy. “Shall I pour your tea?”
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 59
