“He’s crocked. Connor and Diggs…” her voice trailed away.
Gabby’s lips tightened. “Of all the irresponsible, half-witted, exasperating—” Other adjectives evaded her in her fury. She turn back to her maid. “You’re excused, Brita. Thank you. I shall handle matters from here. Go to bed.”
The door closed on her silent departure and Gabby moved to the adjoining one, put her hand on the handle, and paused. Unintelligible murmurings reached her. After a moment, they faded, and the outer door latched. Gabby entered her husband’s chamber. His valet was settling in a chair near the hearth. “Good evening, Potts.”
The dapper man, in his middle years with a slightly balding head and reading spectacles perched on his nose, jumped to his feet. “Lady Huntley.”
She angled her head to the bed. “Will he live?”
A wry smile curved his lips. “I daresay he will wish otherwise when he awakens.”
“Take your leave, Potts. I’ll sit with his lordship tonight.”
“Oh, but—”
She stopped him with a palm faced out. “Goodnight, Potts. We shall send for you in the morning.”
He bowed his way from the chamber.
Lady Macbeth had minded her manners brilliantly. Now she danced at Gabby’s feet. Gabby swooped her up, kissed her on the forehead and set her on the massive bed. Huntley never stirred and her ladyship sniffed at his mouth, let out a disgusted sneeze, spun in a couple of circles before settling and laying her head on Huntley’s bare shoulder.
Gabby was still too vexed with him in regards to his own safety and chose the chair Potts had vacated instead. She stared into the fire, shooting an occasional glare at her husband. She’d never seen him so foxed. Oh, wait, she thought with a smirk, there was their catastrophic wedding night when he’d stumbled in.
Both dog and man let out occasional shuddering snores and she scowled in their direction, but it was worry that inundated her.
“Gabriella.” The raspy growl startled her.
“I’m here, Huntley. You shall live, but with regrets as I understand it.” She went to the bed, perched on the edge and took his hand. Lady Macbeth lifted her head from Huntley’s shoulder, looked at Gabby with concern then resettled.
“Where have you been, husband? It’s almost two in the morning.” She spoke softly. “I’ve been beside myself with worry.”
“You have?” There was a raspy gravel to his voice as if he hadn’t spoken in days.
“I thought you’d been kidnapped again.” she whispered, appalled with, yet again, tears that did nothing to mask her fear.
He tugged on her hand, pulling her into the bed next to him. He curved his body around hers. Lady Macbeth’s huff reached Gabby, but after a tiny snort, quieted.
“This is where you belong,” his words slurred.
“In your bed?”
“In my arms, love. Love y…” but he’d gone silent, his fist settled between her breasts.
“You love me, Huntley. Is that what you were going to say?” she asked softly.
There was no response, but she hadn’t expected one. It was enough to be right where she was. In his arms, she thought, as her eyes drifted closed. Hers and Huntley’s marriage was nothing like Rose’s. She took great comfort in the thought.
Thirty-Two
Gabby and Lady Macbeth went out the front door the next morning and strolled across the street to the Fitzroy gardens. No one was about and they had all the privacy they could desire. Low, dark clouds hovered but thus far the rain held off. Lady Macbeth led Gabby about as if Gabby were the one on the lead. It was late April and she’d been looking forward to the end of the Season and spending time in Doncaster. She was anxious to see Dinah. But with Huntley’s drastic personality disorder, she wasn’t so sure that was her wisest course. There was Hope Street. She and Rebecca weren’t quite in the position to turn things over to a manager.
Lady Macbeth tugged on her leash, filling the morning air with sharp yaps, startling Gabby.
A tow-headed boy stopped just out of reach. “Ye Lady Huntley?” he said in heavily accented cockney.
“Yes.” She glanced around, but it appeared he was alone.
“Willit bite?”
