“Is it Evangeline?” the Stanton chit blurted out. “Are you interested in her?”
The chill in Lady Stanton’s voice frosted the stale air. “He’s not interested in her as awife,Susan. Didn’t you hear him? Gentlemen never marry common sluts. The best that girl can aspire to is a mistress, and I have my doubts she will find success even in that.”
Gavin halted his ascent, turned, stared down at her. He wished he was armed with Heatherbrook’s swordsticks instead of the twins’ dolls, so he could leap from the stairs and beat Lady Stanton with them.
“You would be wise,” he said, the words ricocheting like bullets against the bare walls, “not to disparage Miss Pemberton within my hearing if you wish to remain welcome in my home. I allow your presence as a courtesy to her, not she as a courtesy to you.”
Lady Stanton’s narrow mouth fell open, for the first time at a loss for words. Her daughter, equally speechless, was rapidly turning an even more frightening shade of pink than her gown.
Gavin inclined his head, turned, and resumed his trek upstairs. They made no effort to stop him.
Within a very few minutes, he reached the nursery door. Being ajar, he was able to nudge it open with one shoulder without dumping the packages to the floor.
Rose sat in the center of the small sofa reading a story aloud, one of the twins snuggled against either side. Jane stood just behind them, attempting to affect boredom and peer at the pages over her mother’s shoulders at the same time. Nancy was nowhere to be seen.
“Uncle Lioncroft!” Jane rounded the sofa and rushed up to him, her younger sisters scrambling behind her. “Are all those for me?”
“Jane,” Rose admonished from the sofa. “Show some restraint.”
“But it’s my birthday.” Jane grinned up at Gavin. “Who else would they be for?”
Who else, indeed. He swallowed. Replacement dolls for the twins now seemed to have been an exceptionally ill-timed purchase.
“Actually,” he began, and winced when her smile dimmed. “You are half-right. These two boxes are for Rachel and Rebecca, to substitute for the doll whose face I broke yesterday.”
“Oh.” Jane stepped aside as the twins squealed and tore at the paper. “Oh,” she said again. “Dolls.”
“Yes, dolls. Because they are children,” he told her gravely. “You are thirteen now—very nearly an adult.”
“That’s right,” she said, spine straightening. “I’m almost a woman.”
“Just so. And instead of commissioning toys for you, I thought you’d appreciate grown-up gifts more suited for a young lady.”
“Grown-up gifts? But you’ve only one package left, and it’s the smallest of the lot.”
“The other wouldn’t fit in a package. Her name is Madame Rousseau.”
Jane gaped at him. “The most famous modiste in London?”
He nodded hesitantly. “It will take her a few days to arrive, but if you will still be here, she will be glad to outfit you with new gowns.”
She squeezed his waist in a quick, breathless hug before dashing to her mother’s side. “Oh, will we, Mother? Do say yes. This is the best birthdayever.”
Gavin held his breath. As before with his letter to Mr. Pemberton, here he was again, manipulating the travel plans of others. He hoped if he could just convince her to stay another week, Rose might stop thinking of him as a villain long enough to think of him as her brother. He would have his sister again, he would have his nieces, he would have family—if only for a few more days.
Rose closed the book in her lap and sat very still.
Disappointment dampened his palms. She did not want to stay. She did not want to be in his company. But why? Was Madame Rousseau not enough of a lure? Perhaps Rose did suspect him of killing her husband. Or perhaps, as Miss Pemberton suggested, Rose had done so herself and wished to escape discovery. Gavin could hardly blame her, if she had. He would’ve killed the son of a bitch long ago. He wouldn’t have blamed the murder on asibling, however, and he prayed Rose would not either. Which meant—hopefully—some third party had been the villain, and now stood idly by as Rose’s children lost their father…and Gavin lost his sister all over again. He refused to let that happen.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly, her gaze not meeting his. “We’ll see what happens.”
Jane sighed and turned back to Gavin. “She’ll come around.”
He wasn’t so certain.
Jane cocked her head. “What is in the other package? The one that’s for me?”
Gavin’s fingers clenched around it, suddenly too embarrassed to hand it over graciously, and beginning to doubt he should hand it over at all.
