Louella was the name of Stanton’s bride. Gabriel had been dancing in the dark, alone, with the bride’s spinster sister.
Only she hadn’t seemed like any of the spinsters he was acquainted with. Up until they’d been interrupted, she’d simply been a soft bundle of femininity who seemed a little lost.
“Just tired, from what your mother says. Now stop dawdling and meet me in the front.”
She turned and gestured toward Gabriel, who until that moment, had been keeping much to himself in a dark corner.
“One moment. Papa. Lord Kingsley, this is my father, Lord Hallowell. Papa, Lord Kingsley.”
Hallowell stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Kingsley, yes, we met earlier. You’re overseeing operations of the mine in Stanton’s absence.”
Why wasn’t the man calling him out for compromising his daughter? Gabriel had spent several minutes alone with her, in a dark and secluded area quite far away from proper company. Good God, he’d been holding her in a manner that wasn’t altogether appropriate.
And the man wished to discuss the mine?
Gabriel supposed that yes, the mine was located on Hallowell’s property. The rights were tied up in the betrothal between Miss Louella Redfield and Lord Stanton. Stanton’s father had wanted to open it up for years and the viscount had finally relented. Hell, the entire community was mad over the damn thing.
“Only temporarily,” Gabriel answered cautiously, flicking his gaze toward Miss Redfield. “And only in so far as the operations manager needs assistance.”
“Excellent. Excellent. Good to know it’s all in good hands. Wash myself of the whole business if I could.”
“Indeed.”
Just then the clouds drifted enough that the moonlight illuminated the spot where Miss Redfield stood anxiously looking on. Delightful curves, pale blond hair and the sweetest countenance he’d ever seen.
And then she tipped her head up to stare at him boldly.
He’d not forgotten those violet eyes of hers. His gaze lazily roved down the length of her and then back up to her face. Ah, yes, and she had the other eye that seemed to drift on its own. She’d been a lovely girl back then but was even lovelier now.
Lazy-eyed Livvy was all grown up now.
Chapter 2
Second Impressions
“If you would cease tuggingat the damn thing, it will stop tightening around your neck.” Gabriel adjusted the cravat of his longtime friend, and today’s bridegroom, the Marquess of Stanton. The priest had ordered them to wait in the church vestibule and said he would signal to them when it was time to enter and then stand waiting at the altar.
Stanton made a choking sound, lifted his hand to the cloth, and jerked it to the right with a wince.
“You’re a fine one to talk, betrothed for how many years now? And yet you remain unmarried.” Stanton shot him a derisive sideways glance. “I look forward to the day you face the parson’s noose.”
Ah, yes, his own never-ending betrothal. Truth be told, the delay troubled him. He’d like nothing more than to fulfill the promise he’d made. Each year the ceremony was put off slighted his father. “If Miss Shipley’s relatives keep themselves alive long enough, I’ll fulfill my obligation. I cannot be blamed for my fiancée’s perpetual state of mourning.” Poor Victoria. And yet she’d not seemed overset by the delay.
First, her older sister had succumbed to a long illness. A year later, her grandmother, and then her father and her mother after that. Tentative plans were in place for a July ceremony, but he’d heard no news from her for months now.
Stanton and his new bride would return to Ashton Acres by then and Gabriel could join his fiancée in London. And perhaps they’d actually marry this time.
Assuming her relatives kept themselves alive.
Stanton crossed the carpet and peered out the door where the congregation waited. “What time is it? Is she late?” Without awaiting an answer, he paced back across the room and ran one hand through his hair. “What if she doesn’t show?”
He’d not seen his friend this way before. “Do you want her to?”
Stanton pulled out a flask and tipped it back for a long swallow. “I do. I mean, of course, I do. I think.” And then more pacing.
“You needn’t follow through with it.” Society would deem Stanton to be the worst of rakes for crying off, but if his friend truly opposed the union…
“I want to. It’s just…” A wry grimace. “What if I let her down? She’s so utterly perfect and I’m… not.”
