“Then perhaps we are perfectly matched in mutual irritation.”
His mouth twitched again, though the expression vanished almost instantly. “Perhaps.”
There was a pause then, heavier than the argument itself, as though neither of them quite knew how to move forward without stepping into something more dangerous than disagreement. Amelia broke it first, turning away as she gathered the last shred of her composure.
“I will go upstairs,” she said stiffly, “before I ruin your entire hallway.”
“An excellent plan,” Gabriel replied.
She did not look back at him as she walked away, though she was acutely aware of his gaze following her. Only when she reached the corridor did she finally allow herself to breathe properly again. Behind her, she heard no further comment, only the faint sound of his retreating steps in the opposite direction.
And yet, despite the argument, despite the soaked dress and the sharp words, Amelia found herself thinking not about anger but about the way he had carried her without hesitation, which, she decided firmly, was far more troubling than the brook itself.
Gabriel had not expected the arrival of his aunt to feel like the beginning of a siege, yet that was precisely how Lady Provie made her entrance into Anderton Manor. The carriage wheels had barely stopped before she was stepping down with brisk efficiency, her posture immaculate despite the long journey. She was a woman who looked as though inconvenience offended her personally, and she carried herself with the authority of someone who believed the world should have adjusted itself in advance of her arrival. Gabriel stood in the foyer as she swept inside, already prepared for trouble.
“Gabriel,” Lady Provie said at once, removing her gloves with sharp, precise movements. “Tell me this is not true.”
He inclined his head politely. “Good afternoon, Aunt.”
She did not bother responding to the pleasantry. Instead, she looked around the foyer as though it had personally disappointed her. “A ball,” she continued, her tone sharpening with every syllable, “for a runaway governess, no less. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Gabriel blinked once, slow and controlled. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Provie tilted her head, lips tightening in disapproval. “Do not play innocent with me, Gabriel. London is talking. A duke’s household harboring a lady who fled her betrothed. A scandalous little arrangement, and now, you are hosting entertainment in her honor.”
For a moment, Gabriel did not respond. The words landed too cleanly, too precisely, as though someone had taken something private and dragged it into the open daylight. Amelia’s name spoken like that, in the context of gossip and speculation, created an irritation in his chest that he did not immediately recognize.
“That is not what the ball is for,” he said at last, his voice clipped. “It is for Valerie’s debut preparations. Miss Shirley is not the subject of any celebration.”
Lady Provie raised one brow. “That is not what I have heard.”
Of course, it was not, Gabriel thought grimly. Nothing ever arrived in London intact; it always came distorted, sharpened into something more entertaining than accurate. He exhaled slowly through his nose, resisting the urge to rub at his temples.
“Tea in the parlor,” he instructed a passing servant. “My aunt has had a long journey.”
Lady Provie turned her head slightly. “How thoughtful.”
Gabriel did not rise to the tone. “It is called basic hospitality.”
She followed him into the parlor with unhurried confidence, as though she owned the house already and was simply inspecting it. Gabriel gestured for her to sit, then took his own seat opposite, watching as she adjusted herself with practiced elegance.
A tray was brought in moments later, and he poured the tea himself, handing her a cup without comment.
“You are more domesticated than I remember,” Lady Provie remarked, accepting the cup.
“I have a household to run.”
“So I see,” she replied, though the emphasis suggested she was not impressed by his methods of doing so. “Tell me about this governess. Miss Shirley.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened slightly. “You will meet her at dinner.”
Lady Provie took a measured sip of tea. “No, I would prefer to meet her now.”
He set his cup down more firmly than necessary. “She is currently occupied.”
“With what?”
“Teaching David,” he said.
