Love, yes.
That was what she felt for him. Her sisters had not been wrong. Her heart beat for one man, and one man alone. Christabella knew it now, and the realization was one part welcoming acceptance, one part blistering confusion. For he had not spoken of love to her. He had used a different “L” word entirely.
Like.
How tepid. How irritating. Also, how wrong.
Because Gill was in love with her, just as she was in love with him. Both against their wills, perhaps. It had simply happened, however. Naturally. Instinctively. Beautifully.
Oh, yes. No question of it: she was going to marry that man.
She reached her decision sometime between her initial flight from his chamber—in humiliated tears—and her second crash into Lady Adele Saltisford somewhere in the vast maze of the eastern wing of Abingdon House.
One moment, she was hurrying down the corridor, her vision blurred, hot tracks of outrage and sadness burning down her cheeks, attempting to find a means by which she could make Gill see reason, and the next, she was rounding a bend and hurtling herself into poor Lady Adele.
This time, Lady Adele bore the brunt of their collision. She went flying to her rump whilst Christabella hovered over her, immobile. She had not fallen. Nor had she lost her balance or equilibrium. And strangely, the tears had stopped.
Because she had a path now. Even if it involved potentially boxing the Duke of Coventry’s ears to make him see reason. He would see it. She would force him to. She had an untold arsenal, after all, filled with snowballs, tickling, laughter, and kisses. All of which he had already proven himself most susceptible to indeed.
He was going to make her victory appallingly easy.
But there was no time to dwell upon her impending triumph, for Lady Adele was still sprawled upon the floor.
Christabella lowered to her knees and grasped Lady Adele’s hands in hers, leveraging her to a sitting position. “Have I caused you injury?” she asked, hating the thought of having hurt Lady Adele in some fashion, all because of her confused feelings and her haste.
“Forgive me, Miss Winter,” Lady Adele said, seeming to collect herself after her initial stunned response. “I am once again in err, not watching where I am traveling, and moving with far too great a haste.”
It did not escape her notice that Lady Adele was pale indeed.
“Are you feeling well, my lady?” she ventured.
Lady Adele’s expression was pinched. Closed in upon itself. “Perfectly well, thank you, Miss Winter. I must insist you call me Adele. No formality between us, if you please.”
“Then you shall call me Christabella,” she countered, offering her unlikely new friend a hand. “May I help you to stand?”
She felt guilty for having repeatedly run into Lady Adele, who had only been gracious and lovely. And entirely forgiving of the sights she had witnessed—not to mention perhaps overheard—between Christabella and Gill, loyally remaining silent. Nary a hint of gossip had been spread.
Lady Adele took her hand, allowing Christabella to help her to her feet. They stood opposite each other in the hall, taking each other’s measures.
“Christabella,” Lady Adele said at length with a nod of her head, as if she had reached a conclusion.
“Adele,” she returned, equally hesitant. “Are you certain nothing is amiss? You look frightfully pale, almost as if you are ill.”
“And you look the same,” said the other lady, quite shrewdly. “Unless I am mistaken, there are the trails of tears on your cheeks. Your nose is quite red. And I do believe you have come from the direction of the Duke of Coventry’s chamber.”
Here was a worthy opponent.
Lady Adele was sharp-witted. Kind, and yet she clearly possessed a calculating side. Christabella approved.
“We are all allowed our secrets, are we not?” she asked softly. “You have more than enough of your own, I would wager.”
“I do, and speaking of them…” Lady Adele paused, then inclined her head. “I have been meaning to speak with you concerning the favor I asked.”
Christabella could not help but to take note of her pallor once again. “Are you certain nothing is amiss?”
Lady Adele swallowed, looking as if she were ill. “Everything is amiss, I am afraid, and it is all my fault, but that matters not. What does matter is the favor. If you cannot do it, I understand. Please know that regardless of your decision, your secret is safe with me.”
Her secret involving Gill.
