"Lady Agatha doesn't look at me the way Gabriel does."
"No, she looks at you like she wants you to spontaneously combust, which is its own kind of intense."
"That's not reassuring, Mary."
"It wasn't meant to be, miss. But His Grace won't let anything happen to you. He would vigorously defend your good name.”
Clara made her way downstairs, trying to project more confidence than she felt. The sound of voices from the morning room suggested quite a gathering, and Edmund's presence in the hallway didn't bode well.
"Ah, the intended bride," Edmund said with a grin that suggested he knew exactly how she'd spent her night. "Looking remarkably well for someone who got very little sleep."
"Edmund, if you value our friendship—"
"I value it enormously, which is why I'm here to warn you that Lady Agatha has brought a bishop."
"A bishop?"
"Her second cousin once removed or some such connection. Apparently, she wants to discuss the theological implications of your betrothal.”
"The theological implications?"
“Whether it is fitting in the eyes of the Almighty for a man of his Grace's rank to wed beneath him.
Gabriel appeared in the morning room doorway, looking like thunder personified in perfectly tailored morning clothes that did nothing to hide his mood.
"Clara, there you are. Come meet the firing squad my aunt has assembled."
She entered the room to find not just Lady Agatha but indeed a bishop complete with elaborate vestments, a man who could only be a solicitor given his predatory expression and excessive documentation, and surprisingly, Lord Pemberton.
Clara's blood turned to ice at the sight of him. He was exactly as she remembered, florid, self-satisfied, and looking at her with the kind of interest that made her skin crawl.
"Miss Whitfield," Pemberton said with oily charm. "What a delightful surprise to find you here. And betrothed to His Grace, I hear? How remarkably... ambitious of you."
Gabriel moved immediately to Clara's side, his hand finding hers in clear possession. "Lord Pemberton. What an undelightful surprise to find you anywhere near my home. I wasn't aware my aunt's taste had deteriorated so thoroughly."
"Your aunt was kind enough to inform me of your... situation," Pemberton said, his eyes still on Clara in a way that made Gabriel's hand tighten dangerously. "I felt it my duty to share what I know of Miss Whitfield's character."
"Her character is unimpeachable," Gabriel said coldly.
"Is it? Because I have rather different memories of her time in my household."
"Your memories are likely colored by your wounded pride when she refused your advances," Gabriel said, his voice deadly quiet.
The room went silent. Even Lady Agatha looked shocked.
"That's a serious accusation, Your Grace," the bishop said carefully.
"It's a statement of fact, Your... Holiness? Eminence? I'm not entirely clear on the proper address for someone who's been dragged here to provide religious authority to a social ambush."
"Bishop Hartwell," the man supplied stiffly. "And I'm here at Lady Agatha's request to discuss the spiritual implications of this hasty betrothal."
"The only spiritual implication is that Clara and I have been blessed to find each other again after years of separation. Unless you're suggesting love is not approved?”
"I'm suggesting that matrimony is a sacred institution that shouldn't be entered into lightly or for the wrong reasons."
"The wrong reasons being love, mutual respect, and a physical compatibility that I'm happy to describe in detail if you'd like evidence of our commitment to the union?"
"Gabriel," Lady Agatha warned.
