Except she wasn’t a fool, and she knew her plan had every chance of failing.She had only ever kept going with it out of blind hope, and a desperate feeling that there was nothing else to be done, so she might as well do this.
What would it mean to admit that she wasn't at all sure she could land herself a rich, titled husband?
She look across the bar at Hal Deveril’s work-hardened hands and sun-kissed skin, his strong shoulders and the silky beard one would never find on a peer of the realm, and wondered…what would it mean to admit she might not even want that rich, titled husband after all?
An unexpected movement at the corner of her eye had Gemma sending a distracted glance over her shoulder—only to gape in astonishment at the sight of her mother, pale and thin but resplendent in a mourning gown of black velvet festooned in ebony lace, descending the stairs on Bess’s arm.Lucy followed behind, beaming.
At the bottom of the stairs, Henrietta cast a wary eye around the assembled company.Despite her leaning on Bess’s sturdy support, she appeared every inch the Dowager Duchess of Ashbourn.Gemma’s throat clogged with unshed tears to see her mother look almost as she used to when Father was alive.
At the edge of the room, a farmer who’d had perhaps a few too many slammed his tankard of ale down on the wooden table with a roar, his friends joining in with raucous laughter and jeers.
Gemma saw her mother blanch, what little color she’d had draining from her powdered cheeks, and she stopped in her tracks.
Despite Bess’s gentle encouragement, Gemma sensed her mother would have retreated back upstairs at once…were it not for the Duke of Thornecliff.
Known throughout the Ton as the wildest of hellions, Thorne regularly engaged in debauches and deviltry that made even Gemma blush to hear of it.His capacity for wickedness was exceeded only by his vanity; she had never seen him dressed in anything less than the first stare of fashion.The young dandies of the Ton studied him feverishly, emulating every aspect of his attire from the elaborate diamond stick pin that pierced his cravat to the embroidery adorning his rainbow-hued waistcoats to the languid wave of his bright, fallen-angel hair.
Many things could be said about Gabriel de Vere, Duke of Thornecliff—and, indeed, many things had.But one thing that would never be said of him was that his manners lacked refinement and polish.
In short, he must have caught sight of Gemma’s mother because he rose majestically from his sprawl at the bar table to make a very elegant leg in her direction.
The sweep of his arm as he bowed allowed everyone in the taproom to appreciate the perfect cut of his dark teal blue shawl-collared coat.The angle at which he inclined his head showed off the sharp peaks of his crisp, white shirt collar.The way he dipped at the waist drew the eye inescapably to the taut, narrow proportions of his hips, which only accentuated the breadth of his chest and back and the muscular strength of his thighs encased in tight buff trousers.
A sort of sigh went up around the room, and Gemma held back a hysterical giggle at the familiarity of the scene.
Thorne had been on the premises for about ten minutes, and already half the population of Little Kissington—of both sexes—was in love with him.
Henrietta, for her part, was no more immune than the rest of them.Her face lit up and she all but dragged poor Bess along in her haste to reach the table full of London society.
Gemma couldn’t hear what was being said; as the families and older folks finished supper and wended their way home, the taproom had steadily increased in volume until it was now getting a bit rowdy and really quite loud.But she didn’t need to hear the exact words to read the pleasure on her mother’s face.The contrast between the ghost lady who’d sat listlessly by her window for days could not be more stark.
Bess had gotten her to leave her room, but it was the mere presence of these people, these vestiges of her happy past, that had brought her back to life.
Nothing else had served to do it.
As she watched, Henrietta threw back her head and laughed at some witty remark Thorne had made, the old, full-bodied laugh that had scandalized the most stiff-necked society matrons and had endeared her to her many friends on the fringes of the Ton.
Gemma could not afford to weaken.Her mother’s very health depended upon Gemma getting them back to London, back where they belonged.Whether it was what Gemma still wanted or not.
She pulled in a breath, sharp and painful, but it steadied her.She turned back to Hal, who was waiting with every outward sign of patience.Only the clench of his strong, tanned fist under his crossed arms gave away the fact that her answer meant anything to him.
Wishing she hadn’t seen that, Gemma forced herself to draw back her shoulders and lift her chin.Without wavering, she held his gaze as she picked up the tray.
“My plan will succeed,” she told him.“It has to.No matter what it costs me.”
A muscle worked in his jaw, visible even under the beard.But he said nothing.
It was just as well.Gemma couldn’t waste her strength arguing with Hal.She would need all of it for the evening ahead.
Holding her head high, she carried the tray of drinks over to her oldest, dearest friends—the friends who hadn’t written a note or paid a call or acknowledged her existence in any way once word got out that her half-brother had cut them off without a penny—and went to serve them with a smile that felt brittle enough to crack her cheeks.
No one seemed to notice.So that was good.
Having seen the dowager duchess happily ensconced at the table beside the Duke of Thornecliff, Bess bobbed a perfunctory yet elegant curtsey and escaped back to her kitchen with all due haste.The exalted ladies and gentleman barely seemed aware of her at all, but Gemma managed to catch Bess’s eye and mouth a quick thank you.She didn’t know what form of persuasion she’d used on Henrietta, but whatever it was, Gemma could only be grateful for it.
All the same, Henrietta would have fled back upstairs after only five seconds if it hadn’t been for these people.Who also happened to be the key to the rest of her plan.
This is what you wanted, Gemma reminded herself firmly as she transferred the tray of drinks to her left hand and stepped up to the table.The London guests blinked back at her with varying degrees of astonishment, clearly taken by surprise to see her with a serving tray in hand.
