Startled by Richardson’s voice, Raphe looked up to find the man standing in the doorway with a grave expression. “Yes?” he inquired.
“If I may offer my opinion, I’d take Lady Gabriella’s warning to heart, Your Grace.”
Raphe straightened himself with a noncommittal grunt while his secretary quietly returned to the chair he’d been occupying earlier. “It’s the same warning as yers, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Richardson agreed. He crossed his legs before saying, “But perhaps you’ll be more inclined to listen to her than to me.”
“An’ miss out on the opportunity to impress me peers?”
Richardson groaned and, from the looks of it, appeared to be trying very hard not to roll his eyes.
Raphe frowned. “Ye don’t think I’m capable,” he remarked with the same degree of flatness he felt.
“I did not say that, Your Grace.”
“Ye didn’t ‘ave to!”
“Have to, Your Grace. Have to.” Richardson sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly beneath the weight of what Raphe assumed to be reluctant resignation. “I would be remiss in my duties toward you and your sisters if I were to let you attend such an event before you are ready.”
“Then I suggest that we do what we can to ensure me readiness, Richardson, because I’m goin’ to that dinner.” Especially if Fielding was hoping to make a laughingstock of him. “I’ll prove meself capable. Mark me word!” Richardson didn’t look the least bit convinced, but Raphe could see no other way around it. “To send me regrets would just signify their victory and my defeat. An’ just so ye know, I like to win.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” When Raphe didn’t respond, Richardson blew out a deep breath and eventually nodded. “Well, in that case, I suggest we get started. There’s a lot for us to accomplish within the next few days, so I’ll summon Humphreys and Pierson right away.” He didn’t need to say that they would need all the help they could get. That thought was heavily implied.
Chapter 8
Flipping through a recently purchased book about centipedes, Gabriella waited for her mother and her aunt to leave the house the following morning.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Her mother asked, eyeing Gabriella’s book with a twitch of her nose.
“No, Mama. Poetry readings have never interested me very much.”
“More the pity,” her mother murmured.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Aunt Caroline said, “it doesn’t interest us either. We’re only going because it was your idea to host the event, Portia.”
“With good reason, Caro,” Gabriella’s mother shot back. “It’s an excellent way for me to raise money for the hospital.”
And since nobody wanted to argue the importance of a charitable event, Gabriella simply wished her mother and aunt a good day, listening carefully for the sound of the front door closing behind them.
Expelling a deep breath, she took another sip of her tea and glanced at the clock that stood on top of a large cabinet. The hands ticked merrily along, bringing her closer to her next encounter with her neighbors. A touch of excitement slithered through her belly. How thrilling this would be—what a challenge! She’d come up with several ideas on how to proceed since her interview with Huntley the previous day. None of which would include the man himself.
Which was how it should be—how it had to be. After all, she could not allow him to continue doing whatever it was he’d been doing to her yesterday. The way she’d responded to him had felt . . . strange and unfamiliar . . . indecent and . . .
Stop it!
Tearing her mind away from the duke, she forced herself to focus on his sisters as she went in search of Anna. They were the ones she’d be helping, not Huntley. She’d even managed to find the etiquette book she’d been given for her twelfth birthday: A Lady’s Guide to Proper Comportment and Social Skill. That ought to help.
“We will go through the garden today,” Gabriella told her maid, deciding to take advantage of the fact that Warwick House backed up to Green Park, with a wrought-iron gate offering easy access to the footpath. If any of her servants went looking for her, they would simply assume that she’d gone for a stroll.
“Yes, my lady,” Anna dutifully replied as they set out together.
Turning toward her, Gabriella said, “Anna, you have every right to refuse coming with me, you know. Especially since there is a good chance that my parents will find a way to punish you if they ever discover that you agreed to join me—that you did not do everything in your power to prevent me from visiting this house. All I can do is promise you that I will tell them you tried to change my mind and that, failing to do so, decided to remain at my side for the sake of propriety.”
“Thank you, my lady, but I would never think of abandoning you.” They made their way along a footpath. “In fact, I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing for those girls.”
Touched by her kindness, Gabriella offered Anna her thanks and hurried onward, entering the Huntley garden through a narrow opening in the fence—a remnant from years gone by when Gabriella and her sister had played with Shirring and Lord John as children. Crossing the springy grass of the lawn, they approached the stairs leading up to the terrace and knocked on the glass door there.
“The duke’s sisters are expecting you,” Pierson said in the same dry tone that Simmons employed as he admitted them. “This way, if you please.”
