Not a second had passed after leaving Huntley House before her mother had sharply remarked, “The nerve of that man! Who on earth does he think he is?”
To which her aunt had calmly replied, “The Duke of Huntley, I suspect.”
Gabriella had done her best not to smile.
“He’s a disgrace to the title,” her mother had said, “A mushroom, and an imposter.”
“I don’t see how that can be possible, Mama,” Gabriella had murmured. “He would not have been brought to Huntley House unless he was the legitimate heir. The solicitors would have made certain of that.”
Her mother had responded with a cutting scowl. “You’re not to speak to him again. Is that understood?”
“What if I pass him on the street?”
“Then you must cross to the other side.”
“That would be terribly rude,” Aunt Caroline had said, “and would probably reflect poorly on Gabriella.”
Gabriella’s mother had stopped for a moment, as if frozen. Eventually, she’d given a curt nod and resumed walking. “You are correct.” She’d looked at her daughter, her eyes narrowing as if she were able to look inside her head. “Just don’t speak to him then.”
Arriving home they’d handed over their gloves and bonnets to their butler, Mr. Simmons, before proceeding out onto the terrace, where a pergola covered in roses offered a shady retreat.
“And what if he speaks to me? What if he wishes me a good day in passing? Am I to ignore him?”
“You may acknowledge his greeting with a nod,” her mother had said.
“Mama,” Gabriella had said, barely managing not to roll her eyes, “I do believe you are exaggerating.”
“Exaggerating?” Her mother had squeaked as she’d dropped down onto a wicker chair and proceeded to fan herself with a handkerchief. “Did you not see what he looked like? Did you not hear how he spoke?”
“Yes, Mama. I both saw and heard.”
“And his sisters!” she’d continued. “They looked like they belonged in a hovel. Did you happen to notice their hands? They were red and calloused, with cracking nails and—”
“Mama,” Gabriella had cut in. “The fact that they have had a difficult life was plain to see. But that does not warrant our condemnation, surely.”
“I agree,” Aunt Caroline had said. She’d taken the seat facing her sister-in-law. “It would be unkind of us to treat them too harshly.”
“Perhaps if they were servants I would agree, but he is a duke, Caro. A duke!” She’d waved her handkerchief with greater enthusiasm. “And we are his neighbors. The Warwicks and the Huntleys have always been close—our titles securely linked both socially and politically. Oh heavens, whatever will people think?”
“I suppose that depends on what they see,” Gabriella had said, her attention drawn to a peacock butterfly that had been showing great interest in a potted marigold.
“Whatever do you mean?” her mother had asked.
Bracing herself for the argument that would surely follow, Gabriella had looked straight at her and said, “Simply, that I think we should help them.”
Her mother’s mouth had dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”
“Any improvement on their part can only serve to reflect well on us.”
“Gabriella does have a point,” Aunt Caroline had said.
“Of course she has a point,” Gabriella’s mother had hissed. “But that does not make her suggestion any more appropriate. And considering what a chore it was for her to prepare for her own debut, I hardly think she’s in any position to make such propositions.” She’d given her daughter a dubious look. “Have you any idea of the amount of work that would have to be done in order to turn that man into a gentleman or his sisters into ladies?”
Heat had risen to the nape of Gabriella’s neck. “I know it won’t be easy, but I should like to try.” Having spent a lifetime in her sister’s shadow only to find herself suddenly tossed into the center of attention with expectations that were difficult to meet, Gabriella felt a deep need to help her neighbors adjust to their new way of life. She knew how it felt to be whispered about and teased, her interests so different from those of other young ladies that she’d never managed to secure close friendships with any of them. Until Fielding had started showing an interest, her existence had scarcely been acknowledged.
“I don’t like the idea of you keeping their company,” her mother had complained. “What if they bring you down to their level instead of you raising them up?”
Gabriella had sighed.
