The longcase clock chimed, alerting Adam to the time.
“Bloody hell, is it three already? I’m going to be late.” He rose, striding to the door, grabbing his hat and walking stick from the mahogany and brass stand along the way.
“Late for what?” Murray’s forehead furrowed. “You usually don’t leave the office until six. At the earliest.”
He was damned if he was going to admit that he was headed to a dress shop to choose a gown for his wife.
“It’s an urgent matter,” he said curtly.
No lie there. Gabby was delectable no matter what she wore, but when it came to fashion, shewasa bloody emergency. She needed his help…whether she knew it or not.
“In that case, I’ll hold down the fort,” Murray said. “By the by, Cornish sent a note. Said he would have some report to you soon.”
“Excellent. Have the secretary schedule him in the calendar.”
With that, Adam strode out.
“Papa, I have to go,” Gabby said regretfully.
“You just got here,” her father grumbled.
Which wasn’t true. She’d spent the day at his bedside. In the short time that she’d been in Hertfordshire, his condition had taken a turn for the worse. Today, she’d kept a fretful vigil as he drifted in and out of sleep; even when he was awake, his mind was foggy from the laudanum the physician had prescribed for his growing pain.
Seeing her father’s pallid skin stretch over his increasingly skeletal features wedged a lump in her throat. She could hardly believe that this was the robust, larger-than-life man of her childhood. While his presence might have been limited in her life, she’d always known that he’d held affection for her, in his own way.
She loved him so…and wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
She brushed the sparse grey strands off his forehead, placed a kiss on his speckled brow.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said. “And I’ll bring the children. Fiona and Max miss their grandpapa.”
“They’re welcome to visit as long as they don’t perform a play. I might not live long enough to get through another one.”
The unexpected flash of her father’s dry wit made her smile.
“No play, Papa,” she said tenderly. “Just a nice chat.”
“Speaking of chat, there is something we must discuss. Help me sit up, Gabriella.”
Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Gabby gnawed on her lip. She would be late meeting Adam at the dressmaker’s, and it was too late to send a note. Seeing her father struggle to sit up, however, she assisted him so that he was propped up comfortably against the pillows.
“Now that the damned laudanum is finally wearing off,” he said though huffing breaths, “I have something to say.”
“Do you need more medicine?” she asked anxiously. “Are you in pain?”
“What I need is a clear head for a blasted second. Stop hovering, girl, and sit.”
She returned to the chair, perching warily. “What is it, Papa?”
“For some time now, I’ve had a gut feeling that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. And by Denmark, I’m referring to your trust.”
“My trust?” Gabby blinked. “You set that up years ago, with Mr. Isnard as my trustee. I thought the terms were laid out to your specifications.”
“The terms are clear. Upon my death, all my wealth, including property and controlling interest in Billings Bank will go into the trust. Mr. Isnard is directed to oversee the trust for your benefit and that of my grandchildren.”
Years ago, before she’d even met Adam, her father had devised the trust as a means to protect her and her inheritance from fortune hunters. Other than her dowry, her husband would have no access to her wealth. All financial decisions would be made by the trustee, whom her father had chosen to act in her best interests.
What had made Adam’s proposal magical was that he’d known about the trust…and hadn’t cared. He hadn’t wanted her for her money but forwho she was. For the first time in her life, she’d had a taste of what it could be like to be valued and wanted, just for being herself.
