She tugged on the bell chord.
Diggs instantly appeared. “My lady?”
“I forgot to tell Huntley to bring in Lady Macbeth.” Her little dog was a master at calming those who needed it most.
“Right away, madam.”
On impulse, she added, “I’d like to see Mrs. Diggs as well.”
“Mrs. Diggs?” His surprise had her biting back a laugh.
“Immediately.” Truly, Gabby had some work to do regarding the standing of the women in her household. Starting with her own husband.
~~~
Dinner with the Liverpools was not so intolerable as James had expected. But then he always prepared for the worst. Gabriella, of course, handled the situation as skillfully as one would expect having been raised in a ducal household. Supper consisted of the most succulent beef, tortoise soup, pheasant, boiled potatoes, leeks and, finished off with a luscious baked custard topped with berries. The meal was stunning.
Liverpool picked up his wine, sipped, before letting out a satisfying sigh. “Delicious, Lady Huntley.”
Her cool smile may have fooled Liverpool and his wife, but James remained wary. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Have you been to the theater of late?” Liverpool’s question was directed to Gabriella.
“Not since earlier this week, when you summoned my husband,” she retorted. She turned to Lady Liverpool—wan and almost ghostlike in appearance, though James knew she was in her mid-fifties—and rose from the table. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port, Lady Liverpool?”
Her response was as good as a direct cut. Lady Liverpool frowned, and James masked a wince.
Lady Liverpool looked almost disappointed, but stood, following Gabriella’s lead. “Of course, my dear.”
James feared she would not make it to the drawing room, she seemed so frail. But his wife locked arms with her, and they made their way slowly out of the dining hall. James signaled Diggs for port. Once Diggs had poured and discreetly withdrew from the room, James took up his glass and rolled it between his palms. “My wife is not a stupid woman, sir. She is also not without power of her own.”
Liverpool stilled. “What are you getting at, Huntley?”
“That crack about the theater was as see-through as a windowpane. Which brings me to a question of my own. What has you so interested in a woman missing from the theater? Unless said woman is caught up in a plot similar to that of the Cato Street Conspiracy?”
Liverpool was a staunch conservative. It was believed the conspiracy rooted during, if not before, England’s defeat of Napoleon. England had been hit especially hard economically, and social unrest had risen steeply. Once the wars had ended in 1815, the economy plummeted with the return of veterans in need of employment. King George’s death two years ago had created more governmental crisis.
The speculation around the King having provided funds to help arm the conspirators had been rampant.
James’s return to home soil had turned out to be instrumental in assisting many cabinet members escape assassination. James shuddered recalling how close the nefarious plot had succeeded.
In essence, Liverpool owed James as he’d been one of those targeted. But deep down James believed Liverpool was a decent man and James had great respect for him. He was honest to a fault and knew the political system inside out. London—England—needed the man. Rumors abounded that he shared too much with his wife, but James could suddenly relate to that notion. Only his desire to keep Gabriella safe kept him from confiding his years in clandestine work for the Crown.
Gabriella was a force, and a force on the right side could take one far indeed. Too many men treated their wives and daughters as if they hadn’t a brain in their heads. James didn’t wish to make such mistakes.
But his reasons were sound. He wouldn’t be sharing his past at this point. Not yet. Protecting her life was his primary goal.
Liverpool finished his port and set his glass on the table, hard. “You’re right. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the missing woman,” he said brusquely. “The fool girl got herself tangled up with the wrong man.” Something about his expression raised the hair on James’s neck. As if he’d said more than he’d intended. He glanced toward the closed doors. “If your wife is caught up in this debacle, it could spell disaster. Not just for you, but for England.” He shoved away from the table and stood. “Thank you for dinner. I best get Louisa home. She doesn’t fare well in the damp night air.”
James followed him to the doors.
Liverpool paused and faced him. “I can’t make it to the Peachornsby gala tomorrow evening. I’ll expect a report from you the following morning.”
The good news, he thought, was that Gabriella had a new dress for the occasion.
Twenty-Nine
The next night at the Peachornsbys gala, it was clear no expense had been spared. Palladium posts and trees almost as tall, provided a Romanesque theme to the festivities. Gabby was a little surprised to find no one dressed in togas and golden head pieces. She strolled through the expansive ballroom on Huntley’s arm. It was warn beneath her gloved fingertips. There was a sense of camaraderie between them since she’d shared Hope Street with him. It boded well, she thought.
