Gabriella nodded. “We have, perhaps, done enough for one day.” She climbed in after Celinda, and the carriage started them home. “How many clothes could you possibly need for your trousseau? We have chosen fabrics enough for ten gowns.”
“Don’t forget the wedding gown itself, and all the undergarments, and accessories. Lady Mary Burford, now Lady Carstairs, had sixteen trunks of clothes sent to her new establishment when she married. Of course, she wed an earl from the north country, so I suppose she had to lay in a large supply of clothing in case they didn’t return to London for a year or two.”
She would miss her friend sorely once she left. “I believe what we have planned so far will almost be sufficient save for your wedding dress itself.” Gabriella smiled ruefully at Celinda. “However, I believe it is bad luck to make the wedding gown before the gentleman has even proposed to you.”
“Well, I suppose there is something in that.” Celinda made a moue but then the carriage hit a bump and both ladies squealed.
“You will see Lord Finley tonight?”
“I hope he will be at Almack’s, although he was not last week.” Celinda’s brow knit into an unbecoming knot. “I have not seen him for nearly a week.”
“It is très difficile, the waiting, n’est-ce pas?” Gabriella patted her arm. She wished Celinda’s dreams of the handsome viscount would come true. She’d all but given up on her own.
“Terrible,” Celinda agreed. “I did see him at Mrs. Beaton’s rout, but only managed a brief conversation before he was quite carried away by his friends.” She scowled. “Some gentlemen do not know when to desist in their revelry.”
“Some men do not know how to communicate at all.” Gabriella had ceased asking about the post each morning. The perpetual “No, miss,” almost brought her to tears. She had been steeling herself for the possibility that she would never see Hal again. “I despair of hearing from him.” She prayed nothing bad had befallen him.
Of all her dreams, he had been the hardest to give up. At last, she had decided that when the time came, she would leave a note for him, thanking him for everything he had done for her and forgiving him for jilting her.
“I don’t think you should give up on Hal quite yet, Gabriella. He is eccentric in the way he thinks. He will focus on a problem and ignore the whole world until he solves it.”
“Unless you have knowledge I do not, I fear he has simply grown tired of me and my problems. His father refuses to allow us to wed, so he has moved on to another woman who is not objectionable to the Duke of Brixham.” Gabriella clamped her teeth together. The thought of Lord Halford—she could not quite bring herself to call him Hal—courting another woman set her whole body on edge. Should she see him with another lady, she feared the ton would have much to talk about the next morning.
Celinda shook her head, a serene smile on her face. “You have too little faith, my dear. Hal hasn’t been seen anywhere in public for these two weeks. He is off hunting down proof you are the Duke of Rother’s daughter. If anyone can find it, he’s the one. Just you wait and see.”
The carriage pulled to a stop, and they disembarked slowly. “Please put the packages in my room, Thomas,” Celinda said, stripping off her gloves as they entered the foyer.
“This came while you were out, my lady.” The butler held out a note on a silver tray.
“Thank you, Tillby.” Celinda picked it up and turned it over. “Oh, gracious, Gabriella. It’s from Hal.”
The strength went out of Gabriella’s legs with the suddenness of a lightning strike. She dropped the reticule she’d been setting on the table. The coins fell out, hitting the floor with a clatter she barely heard. She clutched Celinda’s arm. “What does it say?”
Her friend had already broken the seal and unfolded the note, which contained a brief two lines, scrawled in a hurried hand. “Please bring Gabriella to the Duke of Rother’s house at four o’clock today. Hal.”
Gabriella read the words over and over, seized with happiness that he had resurfaced, but filled with foreboding at the message. What did it portend? Had he actually found some sort of proof of her birth? She looked around for the clock. “What time is it?”
Celinda tugged on her gloves again. “Time to leave. George,” she called to a passing footman. “Tell Connors to bring the carriage back around front.” She arched her eyebrows at Gabriella before they hurried down the steps. “See what I mean?”
* * *
The Duke of Rother’s house reminded Gabriella of an island, set off from the other houses on the square by wide expanses of manicured lawn all around it—almost like a moat, seeking to isolate the duke from the rest of the world. Still, it was the largest and most beautiful house in Mayfair. They swept up the front steps and were admitted by a stern, gray-haired butler. Gabriella held her breath, trying not to stare at the foyer that was larger than her grandfather’s entire wine shop. Stone-tiled floors, gleaming walnut molding, and exquisite paintings on the walls spoke of the opulence afforded by the duke.
Gabriella hurried behind Celinda as the butler led them deeper into the labyrinth of corridors and rooms. They walked forever, it seemed, her hands trembling even when she clutched them together or held the folds of her pelisse. What would the duke say to her this time?
At last, the wizened little butler showed them into a rather small room lined with books, a library with a gleaming table at one end, behind which sat the duke, frowning.
“Lady Celinda, Miss d’Aventure.” He rose, although his scowling countenance didn’t change. “Do you know the meaning of this?” He thrust a note, on the exact notepaper Celinda had received, out to them.
“No, Your Grace.” Celinda curtsied.
Gabriella, following her lead, curtsied a little late. She could not think past the duke’s forbidding presence.
“I received a similar note from Lord Halford not a quarter of an hour ago,” Celinda continued, “requesting me to bring Miss d’Aventure to your house. Is he not here?” She managed a smile, but Gabriella could tell she was rattled by Halford’s absence as well.
Gabriella couldn’t summon the courage to look the duke in the eyes. She stared instead at the polished table before him, a starred pattern inlaid in the wood. Why had Halford brought them here? And where was he?”
“No, Halford has not put in an appearance, and I demand to know what this is about.” Rother banged his fist on the table, making Gabriella jump.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked so slowly, she wished it would stop. Time crawled by, and any second, she expected another explosion from the duke. If something didn’t happen soon, she’d turn and run as fast as she could back to the carriage, assuming she could find her way out of the house. Anything to escape the duke’s ominous expression.
At last, the duke came from behind the table, his tall form seeming to tower over them as he stalked closer. “Ladies, I am a busy man. I do not know what Halford is playing at, but I beg you to excuse me—”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Hal’s voice boomed as he entered the duke’s study.
Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Neither could she take her eyes off the dashing figure he made, like a fashion plate come to life in a blue jacket, buff pantaloons, shiny Hessians, and, of course, his tall D’Orsay hat. And coming to her rescue at the most necessary moment.
“I apologize for my tardiness, but the traffic was slower coming from the docks than I’d expected when I sent the notes.” Hal didn’t slow until he stood directly before the duke.
“The docks?” Rother gave him a puzzled frown.
“Yes, we arrived only this afternoon.” He glanced back at the open door.
Gabriella craned her neck and froze, a gasp trapped in her throat.
A small woman walked forward, dark hair piled under a stylish hat. Dressed in a gray silk gown and spencer, she carried her head regally until she stood before the duke. Her gaze never wavered from his face.
“Veronique.” The duke’s face drained of
color, his lips alone keeping a pink tinge.
“Maman,” Gabrielle whispered.
“Your Grace.” Veronique d’Aventure curtsied and returned her gaze to him. “Lord Halford informs me you have a question to ask me.”
Gabriella caught her breath. Would her mother dare to provoke the duke? She started forward. Somehow she must help.
Hal grabbed her arm. “Let them work this out between them, my dear.”
She nodded, and he released her. Very well, she would see this scene played out to the end.
“Veronique, my God.” The duke came toward her, stealing out his hand, as though afraid to try to touch her. “Is it really you? You are still so beautiful.” He touched her cheek. “Just as I remember you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her mother’s tone was gentle; her eyes were not. “The years have been kind to me.” She seemed to see him for the first time, and her face softened. “To us both.” She straightened and raised her chin. “You have a question for me concerning Gabriella?”
Color flooded back into his cheeks. “Because you did not contact me.” He glared at her, piercing her with his intense blue eyes. “You promised me, swore upon the cross, if you found yourself increasing, you would tell me.”
“You were betrothed.” She laughed mirthlessly, as cold as his eyes. “We knew you could do nothing. Consequences of a broken betrothal are not light in English society. I did not wish to burden you with the knowledge of a child you would never know.”
“But I would have—”
“Would have what? Thrown away your reputation and married a French woman?” Her mother’s eyes flashed. “Our countries were at war. How could you have explained your marriage to the enemy?”
“I would have sent for you. I postponed the wedding for months, praying for word from you that you were carrying my child. I could have made the argument that I must do the honorable thing and marry you.” The sadness in Rother’s face sent a shiver of sympathy through Gabriella. “Especially when it was the thing I desired most.”
“And I would not have let you make such a sacrifice of yourself. The scandal would have ruined us both. One of us needed to be strong, Gabriel.” She cupped his cheek. “Even if you were the one I desired most as well.”
“Gabriel?” Gabriella stared hard at Hal and Celinda. “Why did you not tell me his Christian name? I was named for him.”
“I have only ever known him as Rother.” Hal shrugged apologetically.
“I may have known it at some time growing up, but I certainly forgot it, my dear.” Celinda patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you swear to me that Gabriella is my daughter and not Monsieur d’Aventure’s?” The duke clutched her hands, squeezing them until they turned white.
Veronique eased his grip and gave a little laugh. “I do not need to swear, mon chéri.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Gabriella. Venez ici.”
Gabriella inched forward, as if she were young once more and found with the pastries in her hand. “Oui, maman.”
“Stand still, ma chérie.” Her mother pulled her right sleeve down, baring her shoulder.
“Maman!” What was she doing?
“Fais ce que je dis.” Veronique turned her, so the duke could see her back.
“Ahh.” Rother sucked in a breath and his eyes widened.
“You know that star-shaped mark quite well, I believe, although yours is in a somewhat more interesting place.” She pulled Gabriella’s sleeve back up. “If you needed proof, there it is.” She glanced from Rother to Gabriella. “However, anyone with an eye can see it.” She took his hand. “Believe me, Gabriel. She is your daughter.”
Stunned, the duke looked from one woman to the other then nodded slowly. “Yes, she is.” He stared at Gabriella so long, she suddenly wished herself back across the room beside Hal. At last, he put his arms around her and drew her close. “Gabriella. Oh, my child.”
She slid her arms around him in return, a careful embrace that eased into a true one as tears started from her eyes.
He released her, only to grasp her mother around the shoulders, hugging her, then grabbed her head and kissed her. Lips firmly pressed to hers, he cradled her to him.
“Uhh, Your Grace?” Hal appeared by her side. “If you remember the question I put to you two weeks ago? May I please have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”
The duke released Veronique, though he kept hold of her arm. His face was flushed, his eyes dark as night. He stared at Hal then Gabriella.
Best make sure he knew her choice. She gazed up at Hal, anchoring herself to his arm. Just try to part them now.
“I have just this minute found her, Halford. I should make you wait at least as long as it takes to read the banns.”
“I will agree to that, Your Grace, if you will write to my father with your acknowledgement of Gabriella today.” Hal lay his hand on top of hers. “We will need the time to plan the wedding and introduce her to society as your daughter and my future wife.”
“I have one other condition.” The duke’s stern countenance dropped back into place in less than the tick of the clock. “Promise me you will remain in England.” He ran his thumb down her jaw, a soft warmth that penetrated to her heart. “I need to get to know my daughter.”
“Why must they remain in England?” Veronique cocked her head at the duke, one delicate eyebrow raised. “What if they wish to come visit me and my father in Angouleme?”
“Because you will be here, in England, my dear. There is one more proposal I wish to discuss with you.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her again.
“I will take that as permission as well.” Hal pulled Gabriella to him. “To the bride and groom.” He pressed his lips to hers, sweet and wonderful beyond belief.
“Well, Hal,” Celinda said, sounding very far away, “now I’m surely holding you to your promise about Lord Finley. I need to have my happy ending as well!”
* * *
The bell of St. Georges’s had been pealing for a solid hour, its music calling all the guests to witness the somewhat sensational wedding of the Marquess of Halford to Gabriella d’Aventure, recently acknowledged daughter of the Duke of Rother.
Walking sedately down the aisle on her father’s arm, seeing Hal standing at the end of the aisle, Gabriella thought her heart would burst from happiness.
Her father slipped her hand into Hal’s, kissed her cheek and whispered, “I love you, Gabriella.” His duty done, he made his way to the second pew, where Veronique, the new Duchess of Rother, waited for him, eyes shiny with tears.
The ceremony that made them man and wife sped by too quickly for her to savor it. Luckily, she would have plenty of time to savor her marriage, which would be long and happy if Gabriella had anything to say about it. As she and Hal returned down the aisle, she nodded to the few friends she’d made, searching for the one face she longed to see.
Lady Celinda sat toward the middle, her escort a handsome, dark-haired man in an elegant morning coat. Beaming at her, Celinda mouthed something as they passed that Gabriella didn’t catch.
As she and Hal left the church for the wedding breakfast at Rother house, she turned to Hal, kissed him long and lovingly then asked, “What did Celinda say to you?”
“Quid pro quo.” He laughed, and kissed her again.
—The End—
About the Author
Jenna Jaxon
Jenna Jaxon–is a multi-published author of historical in periods from medieval to Victorian. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and two rambunctious cats, Marmalade and Suger. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage. Jenna is a PAN membe
r of Romance Writers of America and is very active in Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate because once she starts she just can’t stop. To connect with Jenna or learn more about her books, visit:
Website: https://jennajaxon.wordpress.com/
Twitter: @Jenna_Jaxon
Facebook: www.facebook.com/pages/Jenna-Jaxon
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STEALING MINERVA
Louisa Cornell
Stealing Minerva: Chapter One
May, 1817
Kent, England
Colonel Sebastian Brightworth had done a great many things in pursuit of his fortune. The second son of a dead spendthrift earl had scarcely any privileges and even fewer choices, save for the ones he carved out for himself. In the last twelve or so years, the list of things Sebastian had done for money had grown longer, whilst the list of things he’d vowed never to do had grown… well, nearly nonexistent. This latest venture had the virtue of being completely and utterly—
“Mad. Bedlam bound mad, I tell you.” Trust Fitzhugh to bring his hysterical pragmatism to the situation at the very last damned minute.
Sebastian reined in his mount at the crest of the drive and kneed the fractious mare a few steps to the left to avoid Fitzhugh’s implacable bay. “A fortnight’s journey in the mud and you wait until we are nearly in sight of the house to cry craven?” He studied the trees on either side of the spacious lane they’d followed since turning in the crested gates onto the Creighton estate. Nearly the end of May and the ancient yews raised their twisted limbs up and over them as if to block all heat and light from ever touching the mere mortals who dared to encroach on these long-held lands. Massive trunks, funereal monuments in wood, they sprouted a greatcoat of greenery that weighted their limbs like Scottish wool. The scent invaded his nose and wrapped his tongue in an evergreen bitterness.
Her Perfect Gentleman: A Regency Romance Anthology Page 61
