For the next two hours, Gabriella applied herself to teaching Amelia and Juliette how to comport themselves as young ladies ought. She corrected their English whenever they spoke incorrectly, while they proved themselves to be better students than expected, both making conscious efforts to heed her advice, no matter how trying it must have been for them at times.
“You know, I’m quite impressed by your progress today,” she told them later as they took a small reprieve for luncheon, which consisted of sandwiches brought into the sunroom for the sake of expediency. It was the truth. What these two women had accomplished today during their first lesson was quite impressive, to say the least. Gabriella was confident that as long as they kept it up, they would be sure to turn a few heads once they made their debut in another couple of weeks or so.
“We have you to thank, Gabriella,” Juliette said as she bit into a sandwich. The effort left a blob of butter attached to the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, she stuck out her tongue with the intention of licking it away, but then she saw Gabriella’s frown, considered her options, and reached for her napkin instead.
Gabriella gave her a nod of approval and an encouraging smile. Finishing her own food, she studied each of the sisters in turn. They were both quite pretty, she noted, and they were looking a little healthier than when she’d seen them last, although Juliette appeared more fragile than her sister. Thankfully, their maids had been of some use with regard to their attire, for both had acquired flattering gowns cut in the most fashionable styles. “When you meet Queen Charlotte for the first time, you will be required to execute impeccable curtsies,” Gabriella told them.
“Do you really think we’ll be invited to the royal drawing room?” Juliette quietly asked.
“Without question,” Gabriella said. Seeing the troubled look in her eyes, she added, “Not to worry, though. I’m going to make sure that you’re ready once the invitation arrives. And when you do go there, I shall come with you.”
“Really?” Amelia sounded both happy and relieved.
“Well of course!” Gabriella frowned. “Your brother didn’t mention it?”
“He told us not to expect anything beyond a little advice,” Juliette said.
Gabriella understood Huntley’s reasoning immediately. “He didn’t want you to get your hopes up in case I changed my mind.” His consideration toward his sisters was touching—a vulnerable side of himself that he otherwise hid beneath honed muscles and a serious expression.
“He’s very protective of us,” Juliette said. She bit her lip as her expression grew distant. “Too protective, at times.”
Chuckling as though to alleviate her sister’s maudlin mood, Amelia got to her feet with a start, almost overturning her glass of lemonade in the process. “Gabriella doesn’t want to hear about that, Julie. Come, let’s show her our curtsies instead.”
And so they did, while Gabriella corrected their postures and movement of limbs. The idea that Huntley had a compelling reason to shelter his sisters, and that it might stretch beyond the obvious one regarding the ton, had lodged itself securely in her mind, however. She wondered about it, increasingly distracted by the many possibilities. She had no business being curious, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. For reasons unknown, she wanted to know more about Huntley and his sisters.
They were not like any aristocrats she’d met before, and her parents would probably lock her away in the attic for daring to speak with them, let alone spend the entire morning in their company. But they were interesting, and . . . enjoyable. A breath of fresh air in an otherwise stale environment.
She was just pondering the notion that one should never judge a person before getting to know them when the nape of her neck suddenly buzzed with acute awareness. Turning with a start, she saw Huntley leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, eyes dark as night, and with a coy smile trailing along his lips. “Am I intruding?”
Chapter 9
Gabriella stared. How utterly unfair of him to look like that, his posture stretching and bunching his perfectly tailored jacket in a way that accentuated the width of his chest and the breadth of his shoulders, his body exuding physical strength while the chiseled sweep of his nose and jawline accentuated the soft curve of his lips. Feeling parched, Gabriella struggled against the dryness in her throat until she finally managed to utter a gravelly, “No.” She should have said yes, she reflected, and sent him away. Instead, he pushed himself away from the doorway and strode toward her with the distinct presence of a man who never allowed the opinions of others to affect him.
Knowing he had no choice but to bow to social norms now—to change everything about himself for the sake of appearances—had to be frustrating. His candid dislike of the aristocracy meant that he probably had to deny a great many principles in order to embrace a life among them. That he would do so for his sisters was extraordinarily noble.
“Amelia and Juliette are making excellent progress,” Gabriella said, her voice a little sharper than she would have liked.
Pausing, he looked down at her. His features were more relaxed today, his eyes radiating a startling degree of warmth that seemed to spill over her. The slightest dimple appeared at the edge of his lips, in perfect accordance with her escalating heartbeat. In one easy move, he claimed the seat beside her, his sudden closeness disrupting her trained control in a trice. Pushing the palm of her hand into the seat cushion beneath her, Gabriella sought to reacquire some measure of stability in the midst of the strange storm that tore its way through her.
“Then you must be an excellent teacher,” he murmured, his words somehow managing to linger between them like unspoken promises.
What was she thinking? He was being perfectly cordial. There was no reason at all for her to suppose this bizarre attraction . . . She drew a breath. No. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, a man she’d met only days before on the pavement in front of his home when she’d mistaken him for a servant. And yet . . . no other man had ever affected her in such an uncomfortable way. It had to be his unusualness that made her react so. Yes. That was it. She simply wasn’t accustomed to dealing with a man who was so . . . different from the other gentlemen of her acquaintance.
And then, while his sisters proclaimed that indeed she was the best teacher in the world and proceeded to praise her to the heavens, Huntley reached for her hand, the unexpected touch stealing through her with fiery sparks of awareness. It was all Gabriella could do not to forget to breathe, her dazed mind barely registering the gentle scrape of a callused thumb against her soft skin as he raised the hand slowly to his lips.
She could not look at him, but neither could she look away, which presented something of a conundrum. The kiss was airy—scarcely a touch at all. Nevertheless, it sent heat rushing through her veins, scorching her from the inside out while her heart beat in concert with her ragged exhalations of breath.
Aware of the crimson that surely blanketed her cheeks and temples, Gabriella closed her eyes just briefly enough to regain what little composure she had left. “Thank you, Your Grace. It has been a pleasure getting to know them better.” With a gentle tug, she drew her hand away from his and willed the sensations he’d stirred in her to abate. This was wrong. She ought to feel this way about Fielding, for whom she’d hardly spared a thought since her arrival here. Sobered by guilt, she managed a cooler tone when she spoke again. “You’ll be pleased to know that they’ve applied themselves diligently the entire morning.”
His gaze drifted to the table where Amelia had placed the book that Gabriella had brought with her. His eyebrows rose as he reached for it, studied it and set it back down. “My secretary gave me somethin’ similar: The Gentleman Instructed, In the Conduct of a Virtuous and ‘appy Life.” Leaning back, he stretched out his legs in a casual pose of relaxation. “If I do as it suggests, my days will be filled with nothin’ but social visits. Frankly, I don’t know ’ow gentlemen get anythin’ practical done when they ’ave—have—to call on any friend who has recently returned from a journey, who requires an expression of joy or sympathy, upon ‘is host at any party immediately followin’ the event, upon any lady who’s accepted ‘is escort . . . the list goes on.”
“I suppose that’s why gentlemen value their secretaries so much,” Gabriella said with a teasing smirk. “They obviously need someone to manage their busy schedules.”
His eyes caught hers, twinkling in response to her comment—just long enough to convey his appreciation of her sarcasm. But then he sighed and shook his head, dislodging a lock that settled across his brow. “It’s not very efficient, is it?” He grinned then. “If it were up to me I’d let the calls accumulate and then put everyone together in one room, say whatever needed to be said, offer a bit of tea, and be done with it in ‘alf an hour or less.”
Gabriella laughed. “How enterprising of you!”
“But,” he added, all traces of humor fading, “I don’t suppose I should worry too much since I ‘ave no friends to call on yet.”
