Rebecca stole toward the forbidden area of the Theatre Royale. Over a month had passed since her husband Huntley’s return from his awful ordeal. Kidnapped. Remorse and guilt hit Gabby at the oddest times, though she still didn’t quite understand what had taken him from their wedding bed the morning after, and Huntley obviously hadn’t felt the need to confide in her. All she knew was that after a short visit with Gabby, Rebecca had left Huntley House and was absconded with as well. The villain was furious because Rebecca had thwarted his efforts to snatch a boy who’d witnessed Welton’s demise. The dastardly reprobate had tossed Rebecca in the same abandoned warehouse as Huntley.
Thank the heavens, or Huntley might never have been found. Not alive at any rate. The nightmares of what might have happened still kept her awake. The gauntness in Huntley’s ravaged face and body had diminished, and he was almost back to his solid self, to her greatest relief.
What baffled her most was that they hadn’t slept in the same bed since that night. Why? Clearly, she hadn’t been experienced, but surely that hadn’t come as a surprise to Huntley. It swamped her with uncertainty. A feeling she was not accustomed to suffering, and she didn’t like it, leaving her at a loss as to how to handle the situation. Going on in this manner was not conducive to forever.
She couldn’t decide if Huntley was giving her the time he felt she needed. Or if he believed the worst of her—that she’d trapped him into a marriage he hadn’t prepared to want. Errg… she shook off the unpleasant thoughts.
Currently, it was irritation with her elusive husband burning through her. He hadn’t arrived home in time to accompany her to the show, leaving her to entertain Claire and Rose and their husbands in Huntley’s box.
But as she crossed the threshold from the opulence outside the boxes to the darkened halls of the working class, she embraced a welcome anticipation that licked over her skin like a kitten with a fresh burst of catmint. She adored the theater from its brightly lit halls to the buzz of scandalous conversations to the commoners fighting on the floors below. Her fascination didn’t just stop with that before the curtains, but also with those behind. It would likely be her ruin, but as she had no escort, who was there to care?
Settling in her husband’s box with Rose, Claire, and their husbands already in attendance held very little appeal. It was dreadfully wicked of her to traipse down a hall for a peek where only players were allowed. Ha! And the men who went after the players. That was the tricky part—not being seen—that way spelt scandal. Of course, it added to the thrill.
Sometimes she dreamed she lived a different sort of life. One where she envisioned herself as the greatest actress of all time. Such thoughts riddled her with guilt. She had everything when so many did not. But she couldn’t quell the fantasies, as that was just what they were. It wasn’t as if she would do anything about them. Some of the guilt appeased when she considered hers and Rebecca’s philanthropic efforts. They’d already assisted several young women in dire situations, but Gabby was running out of Huntley’s properties to send them to. She and Rebecca were in the process of attempting to attain a house large enough to house the number of needy women they knew would require their help.
Gabby imagined herself as strong and ruthless and ambitious a Lady Macbeth. She didn’t aspire to really be like Shakespeare’s character—after all, the woman ended up mentally deranged, manipulative, and murderous. She hadn’t inclinations of murderous intentions. Most especially not towards her husband. He’d suffered greatly, and she had no idea how to help him. In that sense, she supposed she was in line with Lady Macbeth, wanting to taunt some sort of reaction from him.
What a horrid wife she was. Somewhere deep inside, if she were being completely honest with herself, she was jealous. Jealous! Because it had been Rebecca who’d saved him. Not Sebastian. Not Gabby. She’d heard his sudden starts in the night. They’d awakened her more than once. Frightened her.
Gabby knew she was the most adventurous of all her siblings, from her staid ducal brother to her three older sisters. As the Duke of Ryleigh’s youngest sibling, and now wife of the Earl of Huntley, Gabby’s role in life was limited to the narrow world of the beau monde. But she had objectives beyond those expected of her. Along with Rebecca whom Gabby considered much more cautious than her siblings had ever afforded her.
No one had been more surprised than Gabby with Ryleigh’s shocking and impulsive marriage to Rebecca, Gabby’s schoolfriend and adventurer-in-crime cohort. Her brother would never admit it, but Gabby took full credit for Sebastian’s and Rebecca’s happily ever after! After all, Gabby had been the one to steal Sebastian’s carriage and hurried back to London, leaving her brother and her friend to chase after her. The rebellious act had been instrumental in leading to Sebastian’s and Rebecca’s unexpected nuptials.
Gabby had been right all along, she thought smugly, her brother and her friend made a striking pair. Not only that, but her unadventurous sibling had mellowed considerably since.
Still, it marked the end of an era and left Gabby at odds with her own uncertain future. She let out a small wistful sigh. She would have much preferred seeing tonight’s show with Rebecca. No matter how tedious the event, the two of them always managed some entertaining escapade.
Wearing a dark burgundy dress had been a stroke of genius, practically blending in with the décor. She wasn’t daft enough to believe this little act of defiance had nothing to do with Huntley. She was angry. Her husband was developing an extremely bad habit of abandoning her at the most precarious moments.
Rose and Claire? Much too proper. Antonia was no longer casting up her accounts at every turn, but remained in confinement, meaning her belly was protruding too much for polite society. Which made no sense to Gabby. Who the devil decided a woman carrying a child was so unnatural she shouldn’t be seen?
She stole down the darkened hall, drawn by the pungent, and odoriferous smell of face paint. The farther she went, the stronger the scent of greasepaint grew. The muted roars of the crowd in the pit barely reached this area of the theater. She tilted her head to one side and caught the faint sound of sniffling. Someone was crying.
Her soft slippered feet made only the slightest shuffle on the aged hardwood. She followed the winding hallway and drew to a stop a few feet away from a young girl. Gabby’s heart went out to her. “Surely things aren’t that dire.”
The girl gave a violent start, her puffy eyes ran over Gabby’s elegant gown and widened. “Oh ma'am, you oughtn’t be back here. ’Tis quite dangerous.”
Yes, but not in the way this girl could imagine. “No one followed,” Gabby quickly assured her. “Are you hurt?”
The girl shook her head then dropped her face in the palm of her hands and sobbed harder.
Gabby went to her and lowered to one knee, not an easy feat with this blasted corset. “What is it, dear?”
“ ’Tis worse than you can imagine. I'm with child.”
“So, you'll just marry the man. See? Problem solved.”
“He is already wed, milady, to one like you.”
Like me? It was on the tip of Gabby’s tongue to deny the accusation, but she stopped. “You mean, he’s a gentleman?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Her tears came harder.
This wasn’t exactly what Gabby had planned on for tonight’s adventure but it didn’t quite come as a surprise. “Did you inform him of your unfortunate situation?”
“Aye,” she stammered. “He told me he could do nothing to help me. That ’twas my own fault.”
“The blackguard. Can you tell me the man’s name?”
