That was true. “Yes.” Gabby strolled about the room, stopping at the windows, and seeing Mr. Herold’s carriage in the distance. For once, she took comfort in the fact of safety nearby.
Her fury with Stanford was a living breathing entity, and she hadn’t the slightest care if Stanford realized it or not. “I understand you are in the process of growing your family.”
He frowned. She’d caught him off guard. “Rose is with child?”
“I’m not speaking of Rose, my lord,” Gabby said grimly. “Frankly, I’m quite disheartened to learn that, one”—She tapped an index finger— “you would step out on my sister.” She tapped a second finger. “And, you refuse to accept responsibility for your egregious actions.”
His head shot up, his expression shocked and florid. “Beg your pardon?”
“I believe the girl’s name is Florence,” Gabby went on blithely. “I understand the girl is in dire need.”
His face drained of color. His beady eyes darted about the drawing room, landing back on her, yet now carefully composed. “Perhaps you should speak plainly, Lady Huntley.” he bit out.
“I have it from a reliable source that you have impregnated a young woman. I also have it from said source that you’ve abandoned the girl who is all but seventeen, leaving her without means to take care of herself and her unborn child.”
The calm he’d been thus projecting fell away. Shifted to astonishment, then outrage. Gabby took a small step back, flinching from the sudden and exposed hatred exuding from him. “You overstep yourself, my lady,” he said softly, menacingly.
She was sick of supposed gentlemen treating women as playthings with no consequences for their abhorrent actions. The thought turned her spine to steel forged in fire. For a blinding second, she was in whole-hearted sync with the Rebecca her brother referred to as the Amazonian woman, defender of those who had no defender. “No,” she returned softly, “it is you who oversteps. My sister is unhappy, and I begin to understand the underlying cause.”
“My wife, my marriage, is none of your concern, Lady Huntley. It would be wise of you to stay out of such matters. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I do have an appointment at my club.” He stormed from the room. Seconds later, the front door slamming reverberated through the house.
Gabby flinched, just as Rose entered.
“Goodness, what has Stanford so cross?” Rose didn’t wait for answer. “Did Winston offer tea? Of course, he didn’t. The man is an incompetent fool,” she went on as she rang a bell.
Gabby grew uncomfortable and stood. “No tea for me, Rose. I just stopped by to see how you were faring. I have an appointment with the modiste, so I can’t stay. Have you seen Antonia?”
“No, but I received a note. She is quite ill, as if carrying a child were not an everyday occurrence.”
“That’s unfair. From what I understand, the effects on one’s body can be quite diverse. And you’ve never carried a child.”
Pain fleeted across her sister’s features, leaving Gabby guilt ridden. “I’m sorry, Rose. That was insensitive of me to say.”
Rose offered only a stiff nod.
Gabby was bereft of words. How did one extend an olive branch when the gap was sealed with an adhesive no human was strong enough to break? She searched her mind for words feeling helpless. “I know we’ve never been close, Rose. I was a spoiled child.”
Her sister’s head shot up, and the longing in her eyes touched Gabby deeply.
“Not all my fault,” she added. Just to keep things honest. “But perhaps we can start anew?”
Rose was quiet for so long, Gabby was tempted to dash out the door and pretend she’d never broached the subject. But the thought of Stanford rooted her in place. The man was a blackguard. If Gabby was able to help those in need, surely there was something she could do for her own sister.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Gabriella. My life is perfectly fine.” She glided to the door. “I’m sure you have other calls I’m keeping you from.”
As if it were the visiting hour! But Gabby followed her lead. “Of course, Lady Stanford.” Sarcasm notwithstanding. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Dejected, she took her leave. What if Antonia treated her the same, or worse? Gabby wasn’t certain she was up for the disappointment.
She accepted the footman’s hand into her carriage. “To Soho, Connor. Madame Bovine’s.”
Twenty-Seven
“Lars, I do believe I shall have to raise your salary.” James watched his wife exit Stanford house. “Surveillance is typically boring work.” Witnessing Stanford’s obvious fury, which he was sure had everything to do with Gabriella, he found he could watch his wife infinitely. There was a sadness about her that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived not twenty minutes prior. His insides tightened, recognizing the temptation to fly from Lars’s plain conveyance and leap into his own to take her in his arms.
He resisted and they plodded after her to Soho Square. “God’s saints, another gown?” he muttered. “Don’t pull so close.” James drummed his fingers against his thigh and, finally, when he could stand it no longer, he opened the door and stepped down. “The tobacco shop is the next shop over. I’ll wait there. In fact, I’ll see her home from here.”
James strolled down the walk toward the tobacco shop, desperately searching his mind for an excuse to enter the modiste’s. There was always the possibility she would believe him if he told her he was curious what an oxen modiste looked like. He reached the tobacco store and strolled right on by. It was as if he’d lost control of his own feet. His hand landed on the latch of the modiste’s shop, and still he couldn’t stop himself, curiosity overwhelming him, and entered a room full of fripperies: bolts of fabrics, streaming ribbons, a chest with a hundred tiny drawers. To his left, was a table of fashion plates. He recognized Lady Kimpton, sitting with Lady Harlowe, thumbing through pages. Matching stunned expressions met his, then turned to subtle amusement as they quickly dropped their gazes.
Heat crawled up his neck, but before he could make an escape, a tall willowy woman rushed forward and inclined her head. “My lord, I am Madame Bovine,” she said in heavily accented French. “Is there something I may assist you with?”
