Clara considered. "I can try. But Gabriel, forgiveness isn't a single act. It's a process. And right now, I'm still too angry and hurt and... confused to just absolve you because you finally explained."
"That's fair."
"But I can try."
"That's more than I deserve."
"Yes, it is."
He actually smiled at that, a real smile that transformed his face, scar and all. “Your candour is yet too great for your own preservation.”
“Are you still convinced you deserve punishment for your father's sins?"
"They're my sins too."
"Yes. But not only yours."
Edmund's voice echoed from somewhere in the house: "Gabriel! Where are you hiding? Margaret has sent more food, and I'm not leaving until I watch Miss Whitfield eat it!"
Gabriel sighed. “He is as relentlessly tenacious as a game dog.”
"He cares about you."
“He is excessively meddlesome.”
“They are by no means incompatible.”
"In here, Edmund!" Gabriel called. "And cease your shouting! This is a duke's residence, not a fish market!"
“I beg to differ.” He responded as he took in the scene before him.
Edmund unpacked his basket with the efficiency of someone used to managing Gabriel. "Margaret's worried you're both going to starve. She's probably right."
"We're fine," Gabriel protested.
"You had salt tea."
"It was an experiment in flavor."
“It was an act entirely repugnant to all virtuous conscience.”
Clara laughed, then quickly covered it with a cough when Gabriel glared at her.
“Please refrain from giving him encouragement,” Gabriel said.
"Someone has to. You've discouraged him enough for three lifetimes."
“Pray, observe that I am presently situated here.” Edmund protested.
“We are well aware. You are a figure quite impossible to overlook.” Gabriel said.
"I'm exactly the right amount of noticeable."
"You're wearing a purple waistcoat."
"It's aubergine."
"It's attention-seeking."
