He held up his palm. “Yes. Foolish.”
“The entire of the beau monde will be in attendance, my lord—”
“So, I’m relegated back to formal address, eh?”
“Don’t toy with me, Huntley. Your remarks are highly insulting.”
“Be that as it may, madam, you will obey me in this matter.” If he relented in the minutest way, there would be no stopping her.
“What can happen with all those gossipmongers about?” she muttered. “Lady Ingleby alone is enough to frighten the most duddering of rakes.”
She was right, but he was taking no chances. There was no absolute guarantee Bentick had murdered Stanford, though he was the most likely, besides his threats towards her. She was safest right under his thumb and he intended to keep her there.
An hour later he was shaking his head as the carriage pulled up to Huntley House. The rain had not only dissipated, but the sun was blinding after a week’s absence veiled by heavy clouds and rain.
“Will you be accompanying me to the unveiling?” Gabriella asked with a nonchalance that didn’t quite hide a thread of apprehension.
He frowned. “Certainly. Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“It’s not necessarily the on dit.” Her smile was unreadable. Not coy, nor smug, nor mischievous. Afraid?
Yes, she feared he would desert her like other times when were courting. Or when he was to accompany her to the theater and had been summoned by the prime minister. Of course, she’d no way of knowing—he had no intention of ever leaving her on her again. “Gabriella—”
“I-I must dress.” She dashed up the stairs and threw over her shoulder. “This is the fashion event of the Season, you know.” She disappeared. Her chamber door closed and echoed throughout the house.
James went up the stairs more slowly. His heart hurt, realizing her trust in him wasn’t as complete as he desired. And, how much of the fault lay at his own feet. He reached his chamber and stopped, staring hard at her closed door. After a long moment, he entered his room.
Gabriella was right. Everyone would be at Hyde Park this afternoon, and he was still not satisfied with Bentick’s explanations regarding Stanford’s death. Why was the man so anxious if he wasn’t guilty of murdering Stanford as he continually insisted? Not to mention the man’s parting outrage towards Gabriella. James greatly feared the baron could easily reason out who’d fleeced him of his two hundred pounds in his sobriety. Besides that, Bentick remained at the top of a very short list when it came to Stanford’s death.
~~~
James waited at the base of the staircase in the foyer of Huntley Hall for his wife. She soon glided into sight, dressed smartly in a soft green frock. It was the accessory in her arms that had him straightening. He reached over and tickled Lady Macbeth beneath her chin as his wife reached the bottom step. “Do you really think it wise to bring the queen with you to the unveiling? All we need is Wellington’s wife to get wind of her inappropriately bestowed name.”
Gabriella smoothed a gloved hand over the top of her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lady Wellington hasn’t been out in Society in forever. She’s more sickly than Lady Liverpool and she certainly doesn’t harbor Lady Liverpool’s depth of charitable nature.”
Still, someone was likely to swoon as Hyde Park would be overrun with nobility. The unveiling of Mr. Westmacott’s sculpture was to commemorate the Duke of Wellington’s victories in the Peninsular Wars and his successes that led to end of the Napoleonic Wars. The event was to take place across the street from the duke’s current resident at Apsley House with a lavish celebration to commence in the duke’s home afterward. Perhaps he could talk Gabriella into foregoing the indoor festivities.
“Why shouldn’t Lady Macbeth attend? She’ll be on her lead. I’m not likely to bring scandal on our heads with her about.”
Lady Macbeth appeared enraptured in doggy-heaven with her pink tongue lollygagging from the side of her mouth.
“No scandal, eh.” That remained to be seen.
“I would wager Lady Dankworth has no such misgivings regarding her ridiculously dressed pugs.”
There was that. James shook his head, deciding his wife had lost her mind. It was certainly not a fight worth fighting. He took the dog and exchanged her for Gabriella’s perfectly matching spencer from Diggs and assisted her into it. The walk from Fitzroy Square to the unveiling site was too far to manage on foot, so James had arranged to drive the phaeton himself with Connor riding as tiger. A short stint through the park would allow them to avoid most of the traffic.
Except the ton was out in droves, and all seemed to share the same idea, he learned shortly after. The pace moved at a crawl even through the east end of Hyde Park, but the rain had made for a rare crispness in the air. The sun wasn’t hot and Lady Macbeth perched on Gabriella’s lap.
“Are you ever going to share with me what you do for the Crown?” Gabriella asked with a suspicious blandness.
The question so startled him, the horses lurched beneath his hold—and he wasn’t certain—but could swear he heard an inappropriate epitaph from the vehicle’s rear. He drew in a slow breath and loosened his fingers. The horses calmed at once. “Er, what do you mean?”
Her head snapped around, the rim of her bonnet slapping his jaw. “You must think me blind,” she said. Her expression and her voice were bleak, hurt showed in her eyes at his refusal to confide.
He glanced around but no one appeared within hearing. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, keenly aware of Connor at the back. “I’m not used to sharing such information.”
“Why not?” she snipped. “I think Liverpool’s message to you through Reg at the theater a few weeks ago said much to anyone who cared to take notice.”
