Gabriel frowned, reading it.
I once had a friend who could have benefited from such an idea. I think that what the Duke of Stonehelm is doing is beyond words, beyond value, yet I would like to offer my assistance. I do not wish to offend His Grace, for I do not offer this out of concern that it will be underfunded. I offer it because I like his vision. Because of a dear friend I lost cruelly to an opium addiction a couple of years ago, right here in Italy.
She would have lived a beautiful life had she been able to rehabilitate somewhere like this. I truly believe so.
Despite his initial displeasure, Gabriel suppressed a shiver, strange yet overwhelming for a moment. He blinked, picturing Letitia dying of her opium addiction. Although he had paid for the best help he could get in Italy—had even gone as far as to ship the best doctors in London to her—he knew he had had limited resources.
“You are considering it,” Lord Godfrey noted.
Gabriel schooled his features into neutrality, pushing all thoughts of his sister aside. “Mildly,” he answered. “I will reach out to this person. In the meantime, let me see the map.”
The map showed a plot of land that overlooked an expanse of fields. It would be the perfect place for what he had in mind: a proper rehabilitation center in the heart of the Italian countryside. He had been thinking about it ever since his desperate attempts to save Letitia had failed, and now he had everything laid out.
He looked over the rough sketch of the building. It would host three floors of apartments, including a medical wing, another for leisure, and expansive gardens that opened onto the fields via a guarded gate. His intention was to provide freedomandsecurity.
Running a finger over the sketch that depicted where all the suites would go—thirty in total until they needed expansion—he thought about Letitia finding recovery in a place like that. She had never gotten the chance. Gabriel had run out of time and answers when nothing else worked, for she had always been free to sneak out and acquire more opium.
In a rehabilitation center, there would be a lesser risk of that happening.
He had not been able to save his sister, but he could start saving other addicts.
His chest tightened as he nodded. “This all looks well,” he said, clearing his throat. He downed the remainder of his brandy. “How soon can construction begin?”
“I am waiting for approval from the local magistrates there,” Lord Godfrey said, “and then we can begin. Perhaps you can even bring your new wife out there to show her around.”
Gabriel stiffened. “Do not mention my wife during a business meeting, Godfrey. I do not mix personal and business matters.”
Even though this business proposal is personal, it is not the same as probing into my marriage.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. It was just a suggestion.”
Gabriel stood up, ready to leave now that the meeting had successfully concluded. “Next time, do not.”
He walked past a group of older lords who were playing a game of cards, and one called out to him with a raised hand. Gabriel nodded back, already making for the door.
“Your Grace!” someone else called out. “Do tell us when we will expect to hear news of the next Stonehelm heir. The ton is abuzz with your return to London, and I imagine you are already planning to attend many events. Might Her Grace have news to share by then?”
Slowly, Gabriel turned to the source of that voice. His face hardened, his stomach clenching at the suggestion of an heir, of not even considering it yet.
Another lord elbowed the culprit in the side, snickering as he downed his drink. “Do not expect such a thing, Johnathan. Remember, the Duchess gave birth to Kerrington’s daughter not long ago. She has already been used and did not bear a son; His Grace surely has no further use for her.”
“But he needs an heir, surely.” Lord Johnathan frowned. “Why take a ruined wife who cannot give him one? Or will not? Once a lady opens her legs for childbearing, she seems hesitant to do it again?—”
Gabriel was storming towards their table before he could think better of it, the vulgar words ringing over and over in his ears. But right as he wrenched his arm back to land a well-deserved punch, he felt fingers gripping the back of his jacket.
“All right, all right!” Nicholas’s voice shouted from behind him. “Gabriel, do not start this here.”
Gabriel snarled down at Lord Johnathan, his blood boiling as he lunged again, but Nicholas hauled him back. Gabriel shrugged him off, tugging his tailcoat back into place as he continued staring down the insolent lord.
“If you ever speak of my wife like that again, Iwillmake you regret it,” he spat.
“Come now,” Nicholas urged quietly at his shoulder as Lord Johnathan swallowed hard, nodding.
Reluctantly, Gabriel let himself be led away, shrugging Nicholas off again as soon as they stepped outside. He smoothed back his disheveled hair, shaking himself off.
“Do not start,” he warned when Nicholas opened his mouth.
He stormed away from White’s and slumped on a nearby bench that was mostly secluded by hedges. When Nicholas joined him, his anger had cooled to a simmer.
