Chapter 9

Gabriella sighed for the hundredth time as she smoothed down the lace she was using to trim Lady Chalgrove’s new 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, looking for a specific carriage to arrive. Horace’s note yesterday had given her detailed instructions about what was to occur today. She was to wait for Lady Celinda to call on Lady Hamilton during her at home on Thursday. Lady Celinda would then arrange to take Gabriella to her house where the duke would meet them.

He made it sound so simple, although it must be anything but. Apparently, the duke could only meet with her on Thursday afternoon, a day when Gabriella had little hope of being free. But the note had assured her that Horace and Lady Celinda would get her to the meeting without fail.

Gabriella ducked her head, now very ashamed of how she’d treated Horace on Sunday. Her handsome valet had been true to his word and secured her an interview with the duke, despite their spat and her stinging slap. She had tried to remain angry at him but 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 mantel 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 the lady did not come? She could not bear to go through this waiting again.

Back to the window, and she stopped. A huge open 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, the blue muslin with fine lace medallions of tambour work she’d worn on Sunday. For Horace.

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 glinting 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 Grantham, 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 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 Grantham 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 Grantham, Miss Uriana Grantham.”

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’ve 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 Lady Hamilton’s 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 sense of dire foreboding, Hal dragged his feet up the stairs.