Looking back, she knew that that had been a pivotal, life-altering moment for her. It was the foundation for all that had happened since. Adam had seen the promise of her and now, eight years later, they had a loving union beyond her wildest imaginings.
“If the terms are clear, then what is the problem?” she asked.
“The problem is that I’ve become aware of Mr. Isnard’s financial woes,” her father said grimly. “Financial problems that he has been hiding from me, problems that could make him vulnerable to corruption.”
Gabby suppressed a sigh; she knew where this was heading. Her father had never hidden his distrust of his son-in-law, and the feelings had been mutual. Normally, she tried to stay out of the men’s reciprocal animosity, letting them circle one another like suspicious wolves, but the time away had changed her. She felt a new strength and confidence to speak her mind.
“Are you saying that you think Adam would influence Mr. Isnard?” she asked point-blank.
“Precisely.” Her father gave a vigorous nod. “I’ve never trusted your husband. Who knows what he would do if he got his hands on my bank?”
“Adam does not need your money, Papa,” she said patiently. “He is an extremely wealthy man in his own right.”
“There is no such thing as too much wealth. I’m a banker; trust me, I know. All my life, I’ve worked with men like your husband, whose ruthless ambition knows no bounds.”
“In that respect, Adam is not unlike you.” She gave her father a wry look.
He grunted, crossing his arms over his nightshirt. “I came from nothing. I had to earn a living to survive.”
“And is Adam any different? He came from the stews and built an empire with his own two hands. And he is not just a businessman, but also a loving father and husband.”
“Ishe a loving husband?” her father asked gruffly.
Secure in Adam’s love for her, her suspicions about Jessabelle laid to rest, she could, for the first time, answer that question with confidence.
“He loves me, Papa,” she said with quiet conviction. “As much as I love him.”
After a moment, her father said grudgingly, “At least Garrity is not a total idiot. That fall in the river did him good.”
From her father, this was high praise. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done.
“But I still don’t trust him. And I won’t leave Billings Bank—my legacy and life’s work—at the mercy of a moneylender. I’m going to have Mr. Isnard investigated further, to make sure everything is on the up and up.”
At her patience’s end—and seeing the hand of the clock edge closer and closer to her appointment time—she decided not to argue any further. Her father had always been possessed of a distrustful nature. If he wanted to investigate his long-time, trusted friend, then she couldn’t stop him. She was certain nothing would come of it; after all, Mr. Isnard’s only wrong-doing was having some financial difficulties. If that was the barometer for guilt, then half the men in England would be culpable.
“Do what you must, Papa.” She kissed his cheek. “But I really must get going. I’m meeting Adam at the modiste’s.”
Her father gave her a confused look. “He’s back at work, isn’t he? Why the devil would he meet you at the dressmaker’s in the middle of the day?”
“Because he wants to help me pick a gown for an upcoming ball.” She smiled dreamily. “Because he thinks I’m as important as his work.”
“Well, that’s just daft.” Her father shook his head. “Imagine a man wasting working hours on some frivolous errand.”
Love isn’t frivolous, she wanted to say. But she didn’t because she knew her father would not understand. Instead, she kissed his cheek once more, promised to return on the morrow, and hurried to meet her husband.
28
Adam watchedhis wife in action in the dressing room of Mrs. Yarwood’s shop, a fashionable establishment on Bond Street. Anticipating their arrival, Mrs. Yarwood had set up dress forms to display a variety of styles that Gabby could use for inspiration for her own gown. At the other end of the room, a dais surrounded by cheval looking glasses would allow her to view herself from all angles if she wished to try on a garment.
Surveying the selection of gowns, Gabby pointed a decisive finger.
“I like this one,” she said.
Predictably, she’d chosen the fussiest, dowdiest frock of the lot. The insipid pink eyesore was trimmed with miles of ribbon and lace, the neckline suitable for a nun. The wide skirts had the most flounces Adam had ever seen on a single piece of clothing.
“May I suggest another gown that might suit you even better?” Mrs. Yarwood asked with the tact necessary for success in her profession. “This green velvet, for instance, has a most flattering shape…”
“I want the pink one,” Gabby said.
