Inside, something cold and vicious twisted through him. Benedict would have wanted none of this. The thought of his brother attached to this woman, bound by marriage or memory, felt like an insult he could not scrub away. Gabriel kept his expression smooth, but his hands tightened briefly on the edge of the table.
Helen leaned forward slightly, studying him. “You look exhausted,” she observed. “But relieved.”
“I am both,” Gabriel said evenly.
The serving wench returned with a bottle of port and two glasses. Gabriel accepted it, pouring a generous measure into Helen’s glass before filling his own sparingly. The deep red liquid caught the firelight as he raised it.
“To our future,” he said.
Helen lifted her glass with satisfaction. “To our future,” she echoed.
They drank.
The taste of the port was rich and sharp, burning down Gabriel’s throat in a way that steadied rather than soothed him. He set his glass down and allowed Helen to speak freely, nodding at intervals as she described changes she intended to make at Anderton Manor.
“The drawing room, for instance,” she said, gesturing vaguely. “Far too much light. It should be softened. And the gardens, I intend to redesign them entirely. They lack discipline.”
“Of course,” Gabriel replied. “Whatever you think best.”
Helen smiled approvingly. “You are more agreeable than I expected.”
“I have learned the value of compromise,” he said.
He did not add that every word was a performance, carefully constructed and balanced on the edge of something far more dangerous.
The food arrived shortly after. A roast chicken glistening with herb butter was placed at the center of the table, accompanied by glazed carrots, roasted potatoes crisped at the edges, and a meat pie whose crust flaked apart at the slightest touch. A dish of custard followed, thick and pale, its surface trembling slightly as it was set down. The smell of it all filled the air, rich and heavy, almost suffocating in its domesticity.
His heart twisted as he saw it. It reminded him of Amelia the day she made custard. The lighter days when things seemed fine and not marked by blackmail.
Helen leaned forward, inspecting the meal. “You have truly prepared for celebration,” she said.
“I told you we should celebrate,” Gabriel replied.
She laughed softly and reached for the serving knife. “Then let us not waste it.”
As she spoke, his gaze flicked briefly toward the door behind her again. She was unaware of how carefully Gabriel had positioned her.
Helen served herself a portion of meat pie, continuing without pause. “There is, however, one matter we must settle quickly,” she said.
Gabriel’s eyes lifted slightly. “Yes?”
“The governess,” she said crisply. “Miss Shirley. She must be removed immediately now that I am returning as duchess. I will not have her presence complicating matters. We should find her a position in another household far away. Perhaps in the North.”
Gabriel placed his fork down deliberately. “That will not be necessary,” he said.
Helen looked at him with faint surprise. “Oh?”
“Miss Shirley,” Gabriel continued smoothly, “is the daughter of a viscount. A well-positioned family. She will simply be returned to them.”
Helen blinked, momentarily thrown. “The daughter of a viscount?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said evenly. “I was surprised myself when I learned it.”
“I had no idea,” Helen murmured, frowning slightly.
“Few do,” Gabriel replied.
Helen leaned back, reassessing. “Well,” she said after a pause, “that does simplify things. Still, she should be removed by morning at the latest.”
