Page 57 of Gabriela and His Grace

“Because he’s a duke, no doubt,” Gabby said, wrinkling her nose.

“That probably plays a part.” Isabel toyed with the lace overlay on the gown. “But Whitfield has always struck me as a protector. For all that he can be intimidating, he’s come to the aid of more than one wallflower or widow whose dance card had been woefully empty. Me included.”

Gabby could not argue with her sister’s observation. Whitfield was an intimidating figure, even if she herself had never been intimidated by him. But as Isabel mentioned, Gabby had noticed that the duke danced with a handful of wallflowers at every ball, but she assumed he did so because they were heiresses whose fortunes he could benefit from. But perhaps that had been unfair of her…

“Sirius suspects that Whitfield’s close relationship with his late mother sparked his inclination to protect women in need,” Isabel added.

Her interest snared, Gabby turned to face her sister. “I don’t understand.”

Once again, Isabel shrugged. “Sirius said that until Whitfield arrived at Eton, he had never left the family estate in Gloucestershire. The late duke abandoned him and his mother there, with only the servants for company. Sirius called old Whitfield cruel and neglectful.”

“Oh,” Gabby murmured dumbly, remembering past remarks the duke had made about his father. Apparently she was not the only one who had been shaped by a formidable parent.

“So that’s why I’m not surprised the duke has come to your aid.” Her sister’s smile was gentle. “Perhaps you’ve acquired your own defender, querida.”

Gabby scoffed, the sound more harsh than she’d intended. But better for Isabel to think her skeptical than for her sister to realize Gabby’s heart kicked into a sprint at the thought Whitfield might actually possess gracious regards for her. “The duke has been kind to me, but remember this is still Whitfield we’re talking about. He’s still haughty and self-serving.”

“Mayhap.” Isabel waved a hand. “But he didn’t have to help secure you a ticket to London, and he certainly didn’t have to defend you at the Ortiz party.”

“You heard about that?” Gabby gasped.

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Of course I did. I hear all the gossip working for Señora Maza de Juárez. Many were impressed that he praised you so highly.”

His words had been a tonic…even while their dance afterward had sent her scurrying from his presence like a frightened hare.

Yet Gabby would concede nothing. “He’s a duke. One kind word from him is shared in a tizzy.”

“You’re probably right about that.” Isabel stared at her for a moment, and Gabby tried to pretend the intensity of her sister’s gaze didn’t perturb her. “Why didn’t you tell me what happened that night? Why did I have to find out through gossip?”

Gabby picked at a thread on her waistband, weighing various excuses in her mind. This was not the discussion she wanted to have with Isabel. But…another part of her wanted to share the heartbreak their father’s callous words caused. How holding her head high while her chin trembled with unshed tears had taken every ounce of strength Gabby possessed. How Whitfield’s cutting response had quickly ended the conversation. How she was thankful to him for his sentiments, but also angry at how easily he was able to shame her father when not once had Elías Luna ever felt shame for how he treated her.

She met Isabel’s stare, glimpsing the well of love her sister always saved just for her. “Have you ever had your emotions pulled in various directions until you have no notion of how you feel about anything?”

“Oh yes. It’s rather”—Isabel’s gaze grew unfocused, as if she was remembering something in the past—“alarming.”

“Alarming is an excellent word for it.”

Isabel moved from the bed to sit on the floor next to Gabby, their skirts billowing up around them. “Would you like to tell me how the events of that night made you feel? When you depart on the morrow, I won’t be available to lend you my sisterly ear.”

“I wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” Gabby whispered, reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand.

“You don’t have to leave tomorrow,” Isabel said, stroking her thumb over Gabby’s knuckles. “But if you don’t, you may not become the Gabby Luna you were meant to be.”

Tears abruptly clogged Gabby’s throat, and it took her several seconds to swallow them. “I would so like to meet that Gabby.”

“Igualmente.” Isabel raised Gabby’s hand to her cheek and held it there. “Now talk to me, hermanita, for soon I will be homesick for your voice.”

Ignoring the watery quality to her laugh, Gabby rested her head on Isabel’s shoulder. Thankful she could steal this time with her older sister, Gabby recounted what occurred at the Ortiz dinner party and how it made her feel. And, with a gulp for bravery, she divulged all the contradictory emotions the duke provoked within her.

16

Later that evening, long after Sebastian had seen Brodie off on his expedited trip to Altamira, he sat ensconced with Sirius in his study. They discussed the progress of the mine at length before the conversation turned to his own impending departure.

“It’s been almost eight weeks but feels as if you just arrived, and now you’re already returning to London.” Sirius took a sip of whisky and peered at Sebastian over his glass. “I’m glad you came.”

Swallowing a healthy mouthful of whisky, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “It’s done me good to see you happy here. Considering the condition you were in when you departed London, I’ve wondered if you made the right choice.”

Sirius snorted, although his gaze was a hundred miles away. “I was not in a good place when Isabel returned to Mexico, and I didn’t think I would see her again. But I have loyal friends who thankfully knocked some sense into me.”