“Over a month ago.” Birdie hung her head.
“Confound the man. This is no way to go about winning his true love’s heart.” Lucy frowned.
“But Lucy. This is precisely the point. Don’t you see? He doesn’t love me!” Birdie had no more tears left, but saying the words tugged at her heart. “It’s the opposite. He positively despises me. After all I’ve done to him.”
“After all you’ve done? Hm. Let me see.” Lucy ticked off her fingers. “Got his house in order. Hired retainers. Opened a modern village school. Uprooted a nest of smugglers.”
“That was Higgins, really, not me,” Birdie countered.
“I positively must meet this Higgins,” Lucy raved.
“You must not. He’s senile and quite deaf.”
“And he shoots like the devil. What a brilliant man.” Lucy would not be deterred from the notion that Higgins was the best butler who ever existed in the entire kingdom.
“Anyway, Lucy, what was your plan?” asked Arabella.
“My plan is this,” she replied. The three friends huddled closely together, exactly as they used to at the seminary, whenever Lucy concocted some particular pernicious prank. “When Mahomet does not come to the mountain, then the mountain must go to Mahomet.”
“Lucy.” Birdie took off her spectacles and rubbed her nose tiredly. “You’re not making any sense whatsoever.”
“Badger the man out of his tower. Storm his defences. Make him see reason. Speak the only language he understands, the military one. It is the only way.” Lucy set her chin stubbornly.
Birdie shook her head. “No Lucy. Out of the question. I will not return to him.”
“You need not fear. Arabella and I are coming with you.”
Arabella blinked. “Are we?”
Lucy nodded. “Between the three of us, he will relent.”
Birdie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
A footman came huffing across the lawn.
Lucy squinted at him. “Felix? Is anything the matter?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I mean, no, Your Grace.” He took a big breath. “You must forgive me, Your Graces. One tends to get somewhat confused. But Your Grace’s presence is required. It appears His Grace has arrived.”
“Felix. Whatever on earth are you talking about?”
He gestured helplessly. “His Grace.”
“Yes, we know.” Lucy sighed. “There are two of them, in fact. The Duke of Ashmore, and the Duke of Morley.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, I was meaning his Grace, the Duke of Dunross.”
Birdie nearly toppled into the pond. Lucy grabbed her in time to pull her back. “It can’t be,” Birdie whispered.
Lucy clapped her hands, delighted. “See, Birdie? The mountain need not move after all.”
They entered the drawing room the moment the butler announced the Duke of Dunross.
It was unmistakeably Gabriel.
He held his top hat in his hands, squashing it, and looked overwhelmed at the group of people that surrounded him. When he saw Birdie, he started, paled, took several steps forward, paused, a look of uneasiness crossing his face.
“This gentleman here insists he is your husband,” said Henry, the Duke of Ashmore in a languid tone. “I find this rather perplexing, as I was not aware that you were married, to begin with.”
