Chapter 11

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.…because all her belongings had likely been tossed into the street. In a rush the events of yesterday came back to her with a suddenness that made her queasy.

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?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” Panic sat at the edge of her mind, ready to run rampant through her.

“I’m Ann, miss, the upstairs maid. This is Holly House.” Ann poured tea into a cup.

That’s right . Lady Celinda had brought her to her own home after the horrible scene at Lady Hamilton’s house.

“Sugar or milk?”

“What?” Confusion and fear made her voice sharper than it should have been. She was sorry for that, but she was scarcely able to concentrate on where she was, much less have to answer so many questions.

“For your tea, miss. Shall I tell Lady Celinda you’re awake? They’ve all been in a state since yesterday.” The maid handed her the teacup, and Gabriella drank it automatically, scarcely noting the lack of sweetness.

Yesterday.

The disastrous interview with the duke, her public dismissal, the discovery that Horace was not Horace at all but a marquess came rushing back to her. She shuddered, chills running up and down her arms. She thrust the tea back at the maid, afraid she’d cast up her accounts should she drink more. Life was a bête noire , and that beast had seized her in its teeth to carry her away from everything she’d known. She flung herself back onto the pillows, tears springing from her eyes. Her life, once so perfect in France, was now un enfer .

Even through her tears, the scurry of the maid leaving the room penetrated the fog of despair. She must control herself. She was at the mercy of strangers, although Lady Celinda, at least, was her friend. Still, she must cease this pity and make plans. She must think only of the future. Not of Horace.

Pain ripped through her heart. Who was he? Why had he lied to her? What did he want from her? Fresh grief at the loss of her love brought on more tears, so hot in her throat they scalded her inside and out. If she could die right here and now, it would be a great kindness from le Bon Dieu .

“Gabriella?”

She sat up, rubbing at the tears.

Lady Celinda stood at the side of the bed. “My dear, I’m so glad to see you’re— But what is wrong?”

Gabriella burst into renewed tears. Oh, the kindness of this lady hurt as badly as the scorn of Lady Chalgrove.

“Shhh.” Lady Celinda gathered her into her arms, and Gabriella wailed like a child who had lost its mother. “It will be all right, Gabriella.” The sweet sympathy and warm embrace only made her cry harder, grief for everything she’d lost billowing out against Lady Celinda’s small shoulder.

“It cannot be all…all right. Nothing is right now. I have nothing and no one to help me.” She hitched in a breath then another, trying to calm herself.

“You do have someone. You have my friendship and the friendship and protection of my family.” Lady Celinda patted her arm and drew back, looking into her face.

Her sweetly concerned blue eyes made Gabriella take a deep breath and shake off the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The tears receded.

“Do not fret about anything for the moment. You’re here as my particular friend and will remain so until we’ve sorted everything out.” She smiled so brightly that for a fleeting moment Gabriella believed her, believed that the shattered fragments of her life could be made right again.

Then the horror of yesterday settled on her again. “That will never happen.”

She fell back onto the bed, suddenly bereft of spirit. What did it matter? She no longer had a mission in her life. Both the men who’d had so much promise had deserted her. Nothing remained save to return to France and live out her life without her love or her dream.

“Come, you have more spirit than that, Gabriella.” A warm touch on her shoulder only made her feel worse. “I witnessed it yesterday before the duke. We can make this right if you have faith in me, and in Lord Halford.”

“Lord Halford! Oh, do not speak to me of that wretch.” Gabriella bounced up in the bed. “Who is he? And why did he lie?”

“He is Jonathan George…and several more names I can’t even remember. His title is Marquess of Halford, though I mostly call him Hal. We are distant cousins.” Lady Celinda stood over her, lips firm. “And he is very much in love with you.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Anger was better than tears. “He has lied to me from the moment we met, saying he is a valet. His own valet.” She peered at her ladyship. “Does he even have a valet?”

Lady Celinda smiled and straightened the covers. “Yes, Horace Carpenter does exist. He is Hal’s manservant.” She laughed. “But not nearly as tall or handsome as Hal and quite a bit older.” Lady Celinda gazed at Gabriella and moistened her lips. “Hal would like to speak to you, Gabriella.”

“Oh, so he can tell me more lies?” Gabriella gathered the covers over her and shook her head. “ Non . Please tell him I will not see him, my lady. I have no words for him.”

“Please call me Celinda. You are my guest here, so it’s only right.” She looked longingly at Gabriella. “I beg you to reconsider. Hal’s been sending notes every hour, it seems, asking if you’ve awakened, how you slept, if he may call upon you. He truly loves you, Gabriella.”

“He cannot love me if all his words are lies.” Her memories of him were tainted now—how could she distinguish the lies from the truth?

“Not everything has been a lie, you know.” Celinda sat on the bed at her feet. “He only said he was a valet because he wanted to talk to you without all the trappings of his title. He hates society parties, society ladies. He thought if you knew he was a marquess you might run away, or worse, see him only as a marquess.” Celinda shook her head. “Hal does odd or outrageous things sometimes. It’s in his nature, as much as being stubborn is in yours.”

“I am not—”

“I beg to differ, mademoiselle .” Her new friend held out her hand to stop her comment. “You are almost as stubborn as Hal, although not nearly as much as the Duke of Rother.” Celinda smiled and took her friend’s hands. “I wasn’t shocked that Hal pretended to be someone else. It’s part of Hal, who he is. He’s never liked the life of a society dandy and has done some rather eccentric things to keep from being part of it. Saying that he was his valet is quite tame in comparison to some of his antics.”

“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 ca 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.”

Gabriella 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 was going to lose.

* * * *

Gabriella sat in the Grantham’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 blue 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’d also hated serving Lady Chalgrove, and she’d done that for months. Her own shop, however, might not be so bad. 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?” Lord Halford ducked his head, though she could see the eagerness in his face.

“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, Gab—Miss d’Aventure. 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, Miss d’Aventure.” 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?” The touch of his hand warmed her, sent a tingle up her arm. No, she would not be persuaded by that. She pulled her hand away.

He shifted his gaze to the floor, rubbing his neck. “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. 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, grabbed Gabriella’s hand, and pulled her to the opposite side of the room.

“I will remember this, Celinda. Quid pro quo , and all that.” 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 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’d 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. “But 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.

“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. “And you will be my duchess.” 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.