Gabriella’s mother huffed. “Must you be so dramatic all the time, Caro? All I want to do is issue a dinner invitation.”
“What you want,” Aunt Caroline countered, “is to show off the duke as though his presence here reflects directly on you.”
“I am merely trying to be polite.” The front door opened and Gabriella’s mother immediately produced a brilliant smile. “Pierson! How lovely it is to see you again.”
Gabriella found her mother’s over-joyous demeanor a trifle too sugary. Perhaps Pierson did too, for he did not look the least bit pleased. “Lady Warwick,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“I hear the new duke has arrived.” Gabriella’s mother craned her neck as though hoping to find the man hiding behind Pierson. “Frankly, I was a little disappointed to discover it from my maid, since I would have thought that you would have had the courtesy to send me a note yourself. No matter, though, since we are now here. Please show us in.”
Pierson looked as though he might choke. “I . . . er—that is . . .”
“Good heavens,” Aunt Caroline said. “You look unwell, Pierson. Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing!” He stared at them stiffly, his body firmly wedged between them and the foyer, as though he was facing a tidal wave that he was intent on holding back.
From behind him came the sound of approaching voices. Men’s voices. Pierson closed his eyes for a brief second, as though willing the sound away. “Ladies, this really isn’t a good time.” He moved with the distinct intention of closing the door on them.
“Our apologies,” Gabriella said. Coming here had clearly been a mistake. She turned to her mother. “Come, Mama. We can return at a more opportune time.”
“Very well.” Lady Warwick sniffed. The approaching voices grew louder. Pierson’s face went stark.
“I think that may be him right now,” Aunt Caroline remarked.
Gabriella’s mother craned her neck again and rose up onto her toes. “Oh yes. I think you may be right.”
“Lady Warwick,” Pierson clipped. The man seemed to grow in height. “Please step away from the door so that I may close it.”
Gabriella groaned. He really wasn’t acquainted with her mother’s tenacity when it came to satisfying her curiosity. A fact immediately made clear when the lady in question turned swiftly about and appeared to lose her footing. One moment she was standing elegantly at Gabriella’s side. The next, she was complaining about the pain of a supposedly sprained ankle. All so that she could be the first to tell her friends about the new duke. Gabriella dropped her gaze. She wished she’d stayed home and away from all the drama.
“Would you like me to send a footman to inform your husband of your mishap?” Pierson asked.
Gabriella couldn’t help but admire the man’s unwillingness to bow to her mother’s machinations. He’d obviously seen right through her.
“No,” her mother said. “What I would like is a chair on which to sit and rest for a while.”
Pierson frowned. He studied her. Assessed her. Appeared to be on the verge of denying her request, when a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped up behind him, his eyes as dark and unyielding as they’d been the day before when Gabriella had met him in the street. “What’s all the fuss about?” His gaze swept over them, and Gabriella felt her heart tremble a little when it paused on her before moving on to her aunt.
“Your—ahem, that is . . .” Pierson looked thoroughly out of sorts. He drew a breath, then cleared his throat. “These ladies have come to call on the duke.”
A second passed. The man tilted his head. Gabriella tried not to stare. He looked just as imposing as he had done yesterday. He had to be a servant, just as she and Fielding had surmised, considering his clothing. But why on earth would a servant be interfering with Pierson’s duties? A thought struck her. He must have been in the new duke’s employ before arriving here—perhaps at some smaller country estate—and had simply arrived ahead of his master. Yes. That explained it!
“Well then . . .” The man’s gaze returned to Gabriella. The edge of his mouth tilted, not quite enough to form a smile, but enough to do silly things to her knees. She looked away, annoyed that someone like him should have any effect on someone like her. “Let’s show ’em to the library.”
Pierson’s head whipped around to stare at the man. “But—but . . . you cannot possibly—”
“Do it,” the man said before turning away. “And ‘ave some tea brought in,” he shouted before disappearing down a hallway.
Gabriella had no idea what to make of such an encounter. Neither did her mother, it seemed, for she just stood there, blinking as though the world she knew had just come to a screeching halt.
Aunt Caroline, however, allowed a faint chuckle as they started forward. “I do believe this is turning out to be one of the most memorable visits I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying in a long time. Thank you for suggesting it, Portia.”
“I must confess that I am wondering if it was wise of me to be quite so insistent,” Gabriella’s mother muttered as they followed Pierson toward the back of the house.
“As the saying goes, curiosity did kill the cat,” Aunt Caroline murmured.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t kill us,” Gabriella’s mother said. “That servant who granted us entry looked positively savage, with that bronzed skin of his and those ill-fitting clothes. One would think he was more at home in a mine than in a duke’s employ. Really, I cannot believe such a . . . a . . . filthy man is living right next door to us.”
“He did not look filthy, Mama,” Gabriella couldn’t help but say. She was feeling a little bad about all the criticism the poor man was getting, first from herself and Fielding and now from her mother. Even though he really should make more of an effort if he meant to live in this part of town. A haircut and a shave would certainly be a good start.
