“Here we are,” Pierson said, arriving at a large oak door. He knocked once, waited for permission to enter and then opened the door wide so the ladies could file into the room beyond.
Gabriella glanced around the impressive space, where books lined shelves from floor to ceiling, row upon row. It was a while since she’d been inside it last, for she and her family had usually been admitted to one of the parlors or the dining room whenever they’d come to call. But a few years ago, while having tea with the duke and his sons, the Marquess of Shirring and Lord John, the conversation had turned to Gabriella’s interest in entomology and Lord John had kindly offered to show her the Huntley collection on the subject. He’d never judged her for it and neither had his brother, perhaps because they’d been childhood friends, their difference in age not too great to stop them from playing catch with each other in the garden. It seemed so strange to be here now when they were all dead—a horrible intrusion that sent a shudder down Gabriella’s spine.
Shaking off the depressing sensation, Gabriella looked around in search of the duke, wondering if he would be young or old. Perhaps he’d be married? She really had no idea.
“I don’t see him,” her mother whispered. “Do you?”
“Not yet,” Aunt Caroline said.
“Try lookin’ behind ye.” The deep rumble, so close that Gabriella felt the air shift as he spoke, made her spin on her heels. Her lips parted at the sight of the man she’d now seen twice before, and air rushed into her lungs, expanding her chest against her thrumming heart. She shook her head, determined to hide her surprise.
It was just like the time when her father had told her that her sister was gone. And she knew now, just as she had then, that things weren’t as they should be, and that somehow, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, her life had become more complicated than it had been before. “You?” She tried to look past him. “I don’t understand. Where is he? Where is the duke?”
The edge of his mouth tilted, and then he simply stepped around Gabriella, her mother and her aunt, and went to the sideboard. To Gabriella’s astonishment, he calmly poured himself a drink. “I’d forgotten how blind the nobility can be,” he said, eyeing them as though they were gnats he wouldn’t mind swatting. “Ye’re a superficial lot.” He sipped his brandy. “Ye care only for facades and monetary worth.”
“I beg your pardon?” Gabriella’s mother asked in the same superior tone that had made many servants wither. It seemed to have no effect on the man she was presently addressing—a man who appeared surprisingly at ease in the duke’s library, sampling his liquor.
Gabriella frowned.
No.
She shook her head.
Surely not.
It just couldn’t be. Could it?
“The worth of a title,” he was saying, “yer property . . . yer appearance . . . yer daughter’s dowry.” His gaze flicked to Gabriella without hesitation. “Yer daughter’s ability to elevate yer social status by marryin’ well.”
Gabriella’s mother gasped. “Now see here—”
“Mama,” Gabriella hissed, her hand going to her mother’s elbow in an urgent attempt to stop her from saying another word.
“I will not allow you to—” Gabriella’s mother was saying just as a maid entered carrying a tray.
“The tea, as you requested, Your Grace,” the maid said, confirming Gabriella’s suspicions.
The silence that followed was so acute, it reminded Gabriella of a still winter’s day in the country—fields blanketed by thick snow, muting all audible sound. And then the duke moved, the heel of his shoe scraping the floor as he stepped away from the side table. The effect was a piercing reminder of both time and place, producing a sputtering sound from Gabriella’s mother and a light chuckle from Aunt Caroline who seemed to be the only one in the room who found the situation amusing.
The maid departed, barely managing to close the door behind her before it swung open again and two young women tumbled into the room—the same young women whom Gabriella had seen in the duke’s company the day before. She eyed them both with interest, watching as they became aware of their guests. Their eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Blimey,” one of them said smoothing her gown while the other one made a funny movement that might have been an attempt at a curtsy. “Ye look mighty fine.” And then her gaze drifted past Gabriella and her mouth dropped open. “Bloody ‘ell! Would ye look at the size of this place?” Gabriella heard her mother take a sharp breath and couldn’t help but sympathize. Such unrefined manners must be terribly taxing on her nerves.
“Me sisters,” the duke explained. “Amelia an’ Juliette.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Gabriella said. She couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for the pair, who would now have to interact with her mother over tea with no apparent training to help them. It would not be the least bit enjoyable for them, not to mention the work that lay before them if they were ever to stand a chance of fitting in. She was just about to introduce herself to the women when her mother leaned a bit closer to her and whispered in her ear, “This is a disaster. We ought to leave at once.”
But then the duke strode forward and gave them each a hard glare as he waved in the direction of a seating arrangement. “Will ye sit?” he asked.
Chapter 4
Forcing a stoic expression, Raphe waited for the ladies to make their decision. It had taken a great deal of effort not to laugh in response to their wide-eyed dismay when he’d told them who he was. But he’d refrained. Even he knew better than to try and ease the mood with a touch of humor. No. Against these three Society women, intimidation would be his best ally.
Hesitantly, one of them stepped forward. “I don’t believe we were formally introduced.” Her cool gaze assessed and considered him in a manner that might have forced a lesser man to retreat. Raphe stared straight back at her without flinching. “I am Lady Warwick,” she continued, “And this here is my sister-in-law, the Dowager Countess of Everly.” She then waved her hand toward the youngest of the three—the woman whose face had haunted his mind since he’d first laid eyes on her the day before. “My daughter, Lady Gabriella.” The three then dipped into graceful curtsies while Amelia and Juliette stood gaping in awe.
Tilting his head, Raphe considered the trio, their perfect posture and elegance. It must have taken years of training to achieve such fluidity of movement. But to what avail? What did they really gain by it? Admiration, perhaps? What an inane notion.
Which was why he chose to ignore their efforts by arching a brow, crossing to the sofa and taking a seat. Leaning back, he crossed his legs and nodded to the other available spaces. “Well?”
Lady Warwick’s face appeared to turn a shade of green. Clearly, she was not accustomed to such ill treatment. After all, a gentleman did not sit while a lady remained standing. He was perfectly aware. But then again, Raphe mused, he was not a gentleman. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And his sisters . . . well, they were bound to cause a stir, he mused, as they plopped down next to him.
