by Jenna Jaxon
“It is not right, Celinda, for him to have lied to me.”
“Sauce for the goose, my dear.” She released her grip and sat back.
“Qu’est-ce que ça veut dire? What is this goose you speak of?”
Her companion laughed. “I mean, yes, he lied to you, but you did the same, did you not?” Celinda cocked her head, a devious smile on her lips. “You didn’t tell him the duke was your father until much later. Until he had already fallen in love with you.”
“He made me fall in love with someone who is not as he seems.” What if he changed his story again, after they married? How could she ever trust him?
“I think Hal is exactly as he has ever been, whether marquess or valet.” Celinda rose. “So let him come and speak for himself. You will see he is the very same man you fell in love with.” Celinda took her hand. “He will do anything within his power, Gabriella, to regain your affection and trust. But you must give him the chance.” She glanced at the tea tray. “Your tea is cold. I shall tell Ann to bring you another, with some warm scones and jam.” She smiled and patted Gabriella’s hand. “You must keep your strength up.” She paused at the door. “May I tell him you will receive him? He’s not going away until you tell him to go to his face.”
Gabrielle sighed and cursed to herself. Celinda was likely right. Her Horace—not hers anymore—would not have taken no for an answer either. Better to get this unpleasantness over with so she could look forward to the future, bleak though it might be. “Oui, I will see him this afternoon if it is convenient for you.”
Celinda’s face lit up like a blazing log, and she clapped her hands. “Thank goodness! I believe one more refusal would have seen him camped out on the stoop.” Laughing, she closed the door, leaving Gabriella to brood over how painful it would be to say goodbye to the love she had to lose.
* * * *
Gabriella sat in the Graham’s drawing room, smoothing her skirt, rubbing her arms, doing anything she could to keep from thinking about the impending interview with Horace…no, Lord Halford. Dressed in her white lutestring, she fingered the folds of the gown once more. Opening a modiste’s shop might not be a terrible idea. She hated sewing, but she also hated serving Lady Chalgrove, and she’d done that for months. Her own shop, however, might not be a bad idea. With Celinda’s patronage and that of her friends, she could make money against the day she could return to France and pour out the tale to her mother and grandfather.
The door opened, making Gabriella sit up straighter, every nerve on edge. Celinda entered, followed closely by Lord Halford, very elegantly attired in a dark brown jacket with white trousers and wearing a tall D’Orsay hat. Her heart pounded so hard her body shook.
“Gabriella.” Celinda motioned for her to rise. “Miss d’Aventure, may I present Lord Halford, a cousin of mine who has long desired to make your acquaintance.”
Lord Halford bowed, not taking his gaze off her. As though he’d never seen her before, he perused her head to toe, much as the duke had done. “Miss d’Aventure.” He smiled as he straightened.
The man would not charm her, no matter what. She set her jaw and steadied herself. He was just a man, and one she did not know. She rose and curtsied. “Lady Celinda, you should not indulge in such games,” she said, glaring at the marquess.
“I do not, Miss d’Aventure. You have never met the Marquess of Halford, am I correct?” Celinda’s face betrayed not a jot of levity. Rather, her mouth was pinched in annoyance.
“Non. We have not met officially.” She stared into his lordship’s smiling face. “Although he knows me much better than I know him.”
“Gabriella—” The marquess stepped forward, hands outstretched.
“Hal.” Celinda raised a warning finger at him. “I told you the rules for this meeting. She is Miss d’Aventure until she gives you leave to call her something else. You agreed.”
The anger in her tone made Gabriella’s ears perk up. Perhaps Celinda was still on her side.
“You may begin, Miss d’Aventure.” Celinda sat abruptly on the sofa, her lips in a thin, straight line.
Trying to buy time to think, Gabriella ambled toward the fireplace. What did she wish to say? Nothing. She wanted an accounting from the erstwhile Horace. “His Lordship requested this meeting. I will hear what he has to say.” Let him try to explain his behavior to her.
“Are you well, Miss d’Aventure?”
“I am standing before you, monsieur.” Would he always be so irritating? “You see I am well.”
“I am very glad to hear it, mademoiselle. It’s just that when you swooned yesterday, I didn’t know what to think.” He took a step toward her, his hand stealing out before he dropped it to his side. “I was frightened, Gabriella. I thought you might have died from the shock.”
“I might as well have.” She stared at him, anger and misery warring within her. “I have no employment, no family, nor any friends save one.” She moved to stand behind Celinda. “My father does not believe I am his daughter. The man I loved has disappeared, changed into a nobleman I do not know.”
“You do know me, Gabriella.” He stepped toward her. “I am the same man you met on the balcony, the same one who met you in the garden, the one who kissed you.” He slipped her hand into his. “The same man who wants to marry you.”
“Then why did you lie to me?” She pulled her hand away. The touch of his hand warmed her, sent a tingle up her arm. No, she would not be persuaded by that.
He shifted his gaze to the floor, rubbing his neck with his hand. “The night on the balcony, I was in my shirtsleeves because I didn’t want to be Lord Halford. I’ve done that before.” He looked up. “Celinda can tell you. I’d just told her that night that a formal coat, formal clothes,” he held his arms out, “did not fit me, or rather I didn’t fit them. When I saw you, I wanted you to meet the true man, not the title. Although I’m Hal, not Horace, I’m still more him than I will ever be Lord Halford. If you came to have affection for Horace then it was for me, not for his lordship, the marquess.”
Gabriella breathed carefully, schooling her face. It would be so easy to believe him. Still, he’d lied to her. Could she be sure he didn’t lie now?
“I love you, Gabriella. Do you doubt it?” He seized her hand again, kissing it with a warmth that made her whole body burn. “Do not deny me, love.” His eyes were liquid blue as he gently coaxed her toward him then slid his arms around her.
“I’m still in the room, Hal.” Celinda spoke up from the sofa. “A good thing too, I see.” Lady Celinda arose, plucked Gabriella’s hand from the marquess’s grasp and pulled her to the opposite side of the room.
“I will remember this, Celinda. Quid pro quo, my dear.” Lord Halford glared at her sternly.
She laughed and linked her arm with Gabriella’s. “I think you should tell Miss d’Aventure where you went this morning. It may help dispel the rest of her fears about your intentions.”
Gabriella shot a glance at him, wary once more.
“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “In light of what Celinda told me about your meeting with the duke yesterday, I called upon him myself this morning and presented myself as a suitor for your hand.”
“What?” Gabriella’s legs turned to water, and she sat down hard on the sofa. If he had done that, gone to her father to ask for her hand, surely that meant… “What did he say?” If a powerful man, a marquess, was willing to marry her, would that not argue that his lordship believed her story? Her heart beat frantically, impossible hope rising once more.
Lord Halford shot a look at Celinda then shifted from foot to foot. “Rother still does not believe you are his daughter. Until such time as he does, he will not acknowledge you.” He took her hands, his eyes shining bright as the sky. “I believe you, Gabriella. Together we will find a way to convince Rother. We must.” He buried his face in their linked hands. “I would marry you this instant, save for my father’s decree.”
“Your father?” His hands were soft and
warm, but the chill of his words settled on her heart.
“I swear never to lie to you again. My father knows of you, knows I wish to wed you, and that you are the duke’s daughter.” Lord Halford raised his head. “He will allow our marriage only if the duke acknowledges you.” He closed his eyes and squeezed her hands. “If I marry you without his blessing, he will cut off my living. I’ll have no income save a small inheritance from my mother, until I inherit the dukedom.”
“You will one day be a duke?” Gabriella stared at him, uncomprehending. Her valet was to be a duke?
At that, he laughed and rose, keeping hold of her hands. “And you will be my duchess, my love.” He kissed her hands, and her heart melted. “If I have to move heaven or go through hell, I will make sure we marry.”
“But how? The duke won’t acknowledge me without some sort of proof, and there is none.” Nothing had changed, save she was more inclined to forgive Lord Halford his transgressions. Each time he kissed her hands, a little more indignation dissolved away. But the Duke of Rother stood firm, an insurmountable wall. “What can we do?”
“Well, if the duke requires proof then proof he will get.” Lord Halford kissed her fingers once more than loosed her.
“There is no way to prove my story at all.” Gabriella shook her head. What on earth was the man smiling about?
“Leave that to me, my dear,” he said, and strode from the room, a jaunty lilt to his footsteps on the polished floor.
Chapter 10
“Here, try this one. I think the color is much better for you.” Gabriella held a delicate pink muslin with tiny white flowers next to Celinda’s face. The exact hue of her lips, the shell-like color made her skin seem to blush with health.
“I do believe you are correct.” Celinda turned her head this way and that, staring into the mirror the shopkeeper had provided. “My goodness, I could scarcely tell the difference between the two colors, but this one is much prettier.”
“It is lighter, which works best with the color of your skin. We will take six yards, s’il vous plaît.” Gabriella handed the material to the man. “Our next stop is the haberdasher to purchase a satin ribbon for trimming and for ties to match.” She grinned at her friend. “Lord Finley will not take his eyes from you if I have anything to say about it.”
Celinda turned a deeper shade of pink than their purchase. She nodded to the linen-draper’s assistant, who cut and packaged her purchase. “I can only hope you are correct about that, my dear.”
During the past two weeks, Gabriella had found unofficial employment as personal modiste to Celinda. She and Celinda had been shopping for dress goods almost every day. Once the outfits were all finished, Celinda’s dressing room would be overflowing with ensembles created by Gabriella and specifically intended to catch the eye of Lord Finley. Judging by the extravagant compliments of the ton ladies over the two gowns she’d finished, if she chose to open a dressmaker’s shop, she would have a stream of steady customers.
Gabriella’s plans had changed, however. Soon, she would have enough money saved for passage back to France. Once home, perhaps, she would open a shop with her mother’s help. As popular as she might have been in London, the city held only sadness for her.
After his declaration two weeks before, Lord Halford had called upon Gabriella once more, telling her enigmatically only that he was attempting to find proof of her birthright. One searing kiss, well-chaperoned by Celinda, and he’d gone. She’d had no word of him since. Bereft once more, with no one else to turn to, she began making plans to return to France, over Celinda’s vigorous protests.
“How will I ever find another modiste as skilled and creative as you to design a stunning trousseau for my wedding?” Celinda asked as they emerged from the linen-draper’s, the footman following with their purchases. She peered at the long afternoon shadows reaching to the edge of the sidewalk. “Shall we go home for tea and venture out tomorrow for the ribbons?”
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.