Gabriel gave a short, humorless laugh. “Most men are not me.” The words hung there, heavy and familiar.
John watched him for a long moment, then shook his head again, softer this time. “No,” he said quietly, “they are not. But you are not your father either, and I have heard enough of you saying that you are.”
Gabriel’s grip tightened slightly on the glass. The mention landed with precise accuracy as it always did. He did not respond immediately. Instead, he stared into the fire as though it might offer a version of himself that he could accept.
“I am aware,” he said finally, though the words lacked conviction.
John did not press further. He rarely did when Gabriel reached that particular edge.
After a moment, Gabriel spoke again, his tone shifting back into control.
“She has spent her life with no say in her own decisions,” Gabriel said, as though explaining a fact rather than confessing a concern. “Her engagements, her expectations, her entire future dictated by others.” He set the glass down more firmly than necessary. “I will not repeat that pattern here when it was the reason she fled to begin with.”
John nodded slowly, considering him carefully.
“Then perhaps,” John said, choosing his words with deliberate calm, “you should consider asking her what she wants so that she may be the decider of her own future.”
Gabriel frowned. “That is not how decisions are made in my household.”
John gave a faint, tired smile. “Your household, no. Her life, however, is not yours to decide.” The words landed cleanly, without malice but without softness either.
Gabriel leaned forward slightly as he stared at the floor. The fire cast moving shadows across the wood, restless and unsettled.
“I will ask her,” he said at last, his voice quieter now.
John raised an eyebrow. “When?”
Gabriel hesitated only briefly. “After the ball,” he replied. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “It is the most appropriate time.”
John did not look convinced but said nothing more. Gabriel stood, retrieving his coat as though the conversation had reached its natural end.
“She will have a choice,” he said, more to himself than to John. He paused at the door. “I’ll do it for the children, of course.”
John gave a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. “Of course,” he echoed, though his tone suggested he believed something entirely different.
Gabriel stepped out into the cold air, closing the door behind him with deliberate control. The wind met him, sharp and grounding. He stood for a moment before mounting his horse, staring out at the fields ahead. The thought remained with him, persistent and unwelcome. After the ball, he would ask her what she wanted. Not because he needed her. Not because he could imagine anything beyond her presence in his home.
He tightened his grip on the reins and rode forward into the night, refusing to name the part of him that already knew he was lying.
Chapter Twenty-One
Amelia walked the estate grounds because she needed distance from her own thoughts, though she was beginning to suspect that distance solved very little when the thoughts simply followed. The grass was damp beneath her boots, the air carrying the faint scent of late summer blossoms and distant stables. She folded her arms tightly against herself as she tried to think clearly about the ball, the children, and the uncomfortable fact that her life no longer felt as though it belonged entirely to her.
Again.
Every decision now seemed to lead back to Gabriel in one way or another, which was precisely the problem she refused to name aloud.
The sound of hoofbeats broke through her reverie before she saw him, steady and controlled, as though even a horse beneath him obeyed out of sheer respect. She lifted her gaze just in timeto see Gabriel approaching across the meadow, his dark coat catching the wind as he guided the horse with practiced ease. He slowed as he neared her, then dismounted in a single fluid motion, landing beside her with a quiet certainty that made her pulse behave disgracefully. For a moment, he simply looked at her, as though deciding whether her presence here was expected or inconvenient.
“Your Grace,” she said.
“Lady Amelia,” he nodded.
There was a moment of silence as he let the horse wander off to graze, then he stepped alongside her, joining her walk.
“Where have you been?” Amelia asked, clasping her hands together to steady them as he fell into step beside her.
“Dr Hunt,” Gabriel replied, brushing a hand through his hair as though the mention of the physician was explanation enough.
