"So everyone keeps saying. I fear he will cultivate a most disagreeable temper.”
Gabriel took another sip of brandy. "She can do it, you know. Have me declared incompetent. She has the connections, the will, and I've certainly given her enough ammunition."
"Then we take away the ammunition."
He looked at her sharply. "We?"
“I shall not allow that odious woman have the upper hand.”
She moved closer, perching on the arm of the sofa nearest his chair. "Gabriel, we can do this."
"Do what?"
"Make you look functional for a month."
"I have no desire to appear functional. I want to be left alone."
"Well, you can't have that. So we go with the next best option…fake it."
"Fake being a proper duke?"
"You are a proper duke. We just need to remind people of that."
"How?"
"First, we hire staff."
"No."
"Temporary staff. For appearances."
"They'll stare."
"I'll hire people who won't stare."
"Those people don't exist."
"They do. Mrs. Potter doesn't stare."
"Mrs. Potter has known me since birth."
"Then we'll find more Mrs. Potters."
"There is only one Mrs. Potter, thank God."
"Gabriel." Clara slid off the arm of the sofa to kneel beside his chair, looking up at him. Another violation of their rules, but desperate times. "Let me help you."
"Why?"
"Because your aunt is awful and I don't want her to win."
"That's not a reason."
"Because you saved my life."
"That's obligation, not reason."
"Because..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Because somewhere under all this bristle and brandy is still the boy who taught me about grafting roses. And I believe he deserves a chance to not lose everything."
