“I thought you might. Can I ask questions this time?”
“You probably should.”
“Is this dangerous?”
“Unlikely, but that is difficult to say. Your discretion is also required.”
Brentworth stopped his horse. “Explain yourself.”
He had considered giving Brentworth only half the story. Instead, on that hill, while the remnant of society gathered for the fashionable hour, he told him everything. He owed Brentworth the whole truth.
Brentworth heard him out in silence. “When do you expect to receive this letter?” he asked when Gabriel was finished.
“Any day now.”
“Send the directions to me and I will have the dagger delivered. As for following it, I will recruit Stratton to join me. It will do him good to have a purpose besides fatherhood for a few days.”
“That is not wise. Even alone and in disguise you will be . . . notable.” He found himself using Amanda’s word for that which can never be disguised. Brentworth was one of the most notable of the notables in England. “Better one than two.”
“I’ll be damned if I will wear a disguise, Langford. The culprit is sure to wonder why some odd fellow uncomfortable in his old coats is always about. Stratton and I will go as we are, and the man will be none the wiser. In a hundred years, he would never think two dukes had any interest in him.”
“Bring Stratton if you will, and tell him what you must.”
“I shall tell him everything, of course.” He vaguely shook his head. “You are going to a great deal of trouble for this woman. I hope you know what you are doing.”
Gabriel turned his horse and they rode on. Brentworth’s last comment had not been about the plan or the search. He really meantI hope that you know that you risk compromising all that you are for this woman.
Chapter Twenty-One
Amanda learned that Langford left the house early the next morning. Vincent told her they would not have to check the mail drop because His Grace intended to do so before he returned. That had happened a few times in the past.
She was in the garden when he returned midday. He found her there and held out his hand. “Come with me.”
He led her up the stairs and into her chamber. She waited for the embrace and kiss that would initiate their passion. Instead, he kept leading her, into her dressing room.
Muslin bundles covered the divan. Confused, she went over and poked at one. It squished and gave out a subtle sound.
“What is this?”
“Open it and see.”
She pulled the muslin apart. A lovely cream day dress fell out. She held it up to admire it. “It is delicious.”
“It is yours. So are the others. Did you know that some modistes make dresses without a commission? I had no idea.”
“I expect they hope to entice a client with a dress already made when she comes to commission others. Or have a few for emergencies.” She opened another bundle. An evening dress this time, in the palest gray, richly decorated with silver-toned lace.
“There are shoes in that one, and a reticule, and a rather practical carriage ensemble in this one here.”
“How did you find all of this?” She pulled out the shoes and reticule and laid them with the evening dress. The carriage ensemble might be practical, but she almost drooled when she saw the superfine blue wool mantle that formed part of it.
“I have a friend who makes an art of discretion. He knew the names of modistes who do not share the names of their patrons even with their seamstresses. I paid them some early calls.”
She gazed down on the gifts, still stunned. “Why?”
“I have wanted to do this, but there was no time to order a wardrobe, nor a way to send you without your being seen.”
No time. “You wanted me dressed thus?”
