Page 19 of Gabriela and His Grace

Gabby snorted. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Lucia had wandered closer to the duke and his gaggle of friends, and Gabby hastened to catch up.

“Tell me, Gabby—” her friend began.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to like this,” she interjected with a sigh.

Lucia smirked, before she gestured with her chin to Whitfield. “Will you add this to your list of the duke’s faults?”

Annoyance rang in Gabby’s ears, and she fought the urge to walk away. She knew Lucia was not being rude, and yet Gabby so disliked her opinions and viewpoints being challenged. Whitfield was very much an unrepentant rake who had provoked her more times than she could count. Unfortunately, it would seem that he was also quite good with children. Gabby didn’t know how to feel about such a revelation, and she scowled openly as she observed the duke stand and dust the chalk from his hands. His large, graceful hands—

Blast it, what was the matter with her?

“Miss Luna, what have I done to upset you today?”

Gabby stiffened, her gaze flying to Whitfield, who stared back at her with his brows raised.

“I—uhh, I—” She bit her tongue when the duke snorted.

“You were scowling as if I stole the last biscuit on the tea tray.”

Doing her best to project blithe indifference, Gabby lifted a shoulder. “Come now, Your Grace, I never scowl. I am cheerful at all times.”

“Except to me,” he pushed, his voice becoming more animated the more she argued. “Are you upset because you were not invited to play?”

The children all turned to look at her as one, and Gabby rocked back on her feet. Even Lucia glanced at her with a grin.

Gabby immediately shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“Come now, miss,” Brodie interjected, sauntering from his spot on the rail to stand beside her. “Surely you’re amenable to play a simple game of hopscotch with the children.”

The glare Gabby shot him should have reduced him to ashes. As it was, it merely made Brodie cackle.

“You must have played when you were a girl,” Whitfield said, watching her closely.

Not willing to admit anything, Gabby looked down at her feet. “I’m not exactly dressed for it. No doubt my skirts will get in the way.”

Gabby was not prepared for the way her stomach swooped when Whitfield dragged his gaze down her body…before sliding it slowly back up to meet her eyes. “Yes, they would probably be a hindrance. Perhaps your friend would like to play instead. Her skirts aren’t nearly as voluminous as yours.”

Reluctantly, Gabby pivoted to Lucia. It was true that the profile of her friend’s gown was much less pronounced, and if Lucia’s wide grin was any indication, she would be more than happy to accept the invitation.

After taking a pause to calm her annoyance, Gabby placed a hand on Lucia’s arm. “Whitfield, this is Miss Lucia Moreno. Lucia, this is His Grace, the Duke of Whitfield.”

Gabby clamped her teeth together as Lucia and the duke exchanged greetings and then when Lucia stepped forward to join the children in the game. She tried to look unbothered as the group all but forgot her when the marker was thrown and play began, twirling her hat ribbon around her finger and politely following the action. But she was an outsider to the fun, watching as Lucia lifted her skirts and successfully hopped over the marker Whitfield’s team threw. Her teammates roared with delight, even while the duke and his followers booed and hissed good-naturedly.

She did not like being left out, and a sour taste filled her mouth. It reminded her of being a young girl, and watching as Ana María, and sometimes Isabel, were dressed in their finest gowns and brought out to meet their father’s guests. They were his perfect, lovely daughters whom he wanted to parade about like dolls, and Gabby had hated not to be invited. Her mother claimed it was because she was too unruly; too brass, too incorrigible, too much. It wasn’t until she grew older that Gabby learned if she wanted to capture her father’s attention, she needed to play by his rules.

It certainly helped that her beauty matured as she aged, and her company was sought after by suitors and her father’s allies alike.

Yet the sting of being excluded, of being ignored, was a phantom pain that sometimes struck her without warning…as it did now.

“I must say, Miss Luna, I’m surprised you didn’t play,” Brodie said from her side, his eyes trained on the hopscotch court.

Gabby shrugged. “I probably would have, if not for my skirts.”

“Were you worried you would lose to His Grace?”

Swiveling her head, she pinned the older man with a glare. “Por supuesto que no.”