“The duchess of Ryleigh and the Lady Huntley.” Estelle seemed to come off her seat to plop back down, punctuating her statement. Her buildup still came as a shock.
Rose shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“Your sister takes in whores and the like. Degenerates from unseemly places like… like Bethnal Green and Whitechapel. Foreigners. Why, it’s outright ruinous,” she said, throwing her back against the settee.
… debauching an actress, a person of virtually no consequence. Rose cringed as the words she tossed out so carelessly to her sister flitted through her head. She carefully set her cup on the tray, her fingers trembling with a slow burning rage. “While I’m the first to accuse my sister of being an inconsiderate spoiled child,” she said mildly, “Gabriella also happens to be one of the most generous persons of the beau monde. Moreso than the rest of the family. I’m sure these “degenerates” you refer to are likely in desperate need.”
Estelle’s mouth gaped. “But, she is assisting Afrikaans, and… Indians,” she sputtered.
Calmness spilled through Rose. Her sister was generous to those less fortunate, a trait that should be commended not ridiculed. She picked up her cup once more and sipped. “Perhaps her acts of kindness are something you and I could learn from. The world needs more people like my sister and sister-in-law.” She tilted her head to one side. “How did Lady Liverpool respond?”
Estelle’s face turned an unbecoming shade of red, her anger palpable. Her cup rattled on its saucer as she set it on the table. “I regret I must take my leave,” she said stiffly. “I thought it my Christian duty to inform you of Lady Huntley’s pernicious actions before becoming common knowledge.”
“I appreciate your concern for my sister’s reputation,” Rose said dryly.
Estelle’s appalled expression was almost comical. Fury reverberated from her, her embarrassment acute. But she had one parting shot. “Your sister’s abhorrent behavior includes harboring Stanford’s mistress. The one carrying his by-blow.”
Rose flinched, even before the door slammed on her exit.
Forty-Three
“I think it safe enough for us to return home,” James told his wife. He glanced at the bed at her open valise. “I take it you already decided that?”
“I have a house to refurbish. A task that will likely bleed you of every last shilling.”
“That you do,” he said smiling.
Gabriella faced him, holding Lady Macbeth’s small water bowl. “You saw Liverpool then?”
“I did. Had he been convinced to put you on the chopping block, I would have been yanked inside by my cravat.”
She lifted a brow. “Chopping block? What a charming picture you paint.” She strolled over to the sideboard and emptied its contents into the basin and dried the inside with a strip of linen. “What about the semi-common belief that I offed Stanford?” She snorted. “As if I could off my own brother-in-law, no matter how despicable.”
He winced, then decided to address the situation directly. “The good news is that you shan’t be carted off to Newgate anytime soon.” He moved behind her and slipped his arms about her waist, kissed the side of her neck. “I promised I’d keep you safe and I will.” Lady Macbeth’s bowl toppled to the floor.
She spun around in his hold and set her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers crept around and toyed with the hair tickling his neck. “I know you will,” she said softly, trusting, then brushed her lips lightly across his.
A growl rumbled up his chest. “We’ve no time for the things I wish to do to you.”
A coy smile touched her lips. “Or I to you,” she retorted.
He shot her an unabashed grin then glanced to the windows.
Rain pelted the panes. “I fear the unveiling of the Achilles monument may be cancelled this afternoon if this deluge does not let up soon.”
She patted his chest. “Don’t you worry. I have every confidence the rain will stop before we reach home.” She whipped about to complete her packing.
He swooped Lady Macbeth’s bowl from the floor and tucked it into his own bag. “Hmm.” He didn’t argue. Why should he when one could look out the window and spot the obvious? “I have one stipulation, madam, regarding this afternoon’s event.”
She spun around again, her expression mutinous.
Argh… when would he think before he spoke? Remember there was a way to handle his wife without setting off her defensive sensibilities? But this was too important to retreat from. “While Bentick will be dealt with in due time—as the fop hasn’t an ounce of common sense—I don’t expect he’ll come near you with Ryleigh and me nearby.”
“And?”
“And you will not do anything foolish.”
“Foolish!” Outraged flashed, sparkling her eyes to polished emeralds.
