Page 7 of Gabriela and His Grace

Still, Gabby wasn’t heartless, and with a sigh she quietly made her way to him. “You don’t strike me as a man to be felled by seasickness.”

Not exactly kind, but she reasoned it was the best she could do.

Whitfield’s frame instantly stiffened, before his shoulders drooped. Turning his chin, he glanced back at her and offered a brief smile. “Well, you are in good company, for I didn’t expect it, either.”

Gabby hummed in the back of her throat as she took a step closer. “I must say—”

“Must you?”

“—that I almost believed you incapable of human afflictions,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Gabby didn’t let any man speak over her. “You being a duke and all.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the ship dipped sharply then, and Whitfield turned to grip the railing with both hands. His head dropped forward, and it took him a moment to say, “I don’t know what I did to offend Poseidon.”

A laugh bubbled up her throat, but she quickly swallowed it. Gabby wrapped her shawl tighter about herself even as she inched closer. “Isa had horrible seasickness on our voyage to England. I had never seen her so listless.”

“Listless. That’s an appropriate word to describe how I’m feeling.” Whitfield’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “First your warm welcome, and now this stingy greeting from the sea. This trip across the Atlantic seems determined to humble me.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks. “Yes, well, that was not well done of me. I was surprised…” She dropped her head. “And I acted rudely. I apologize.”

She glanced up to find Whitfield looking at her, his brows now high on his forehead.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she snapped…and then bit her tongue. After a pause, Gabby licked her lips and tried again. “I know when I’m in the wrong.”

“So you know when you’re in the wrong, yet choose to not always confess it.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that it?”

Gabby considered this for a moment, and eventually nodded. “I have a healthy dose of self-awareness…although I’m often lacking in empathy. And patience.”

“Hmm,” the duke said, turning to stare back out on the ocean. “I wouldn’t say you’re uncaring.”

“You wouldn’t?” Gabby’s brow furrowed.

“I’m well aware you have no care for me, Miss Luna,” he said on a snort, “but I’m not ignorant of how you give it to others.”

“What do you mean?”

The corner of Whitfield’s mouth kicked up. “I know of the charitable ventures you engage in.”

“Oh,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to study the planks beneath her feet. Gabby should have known the duke was aware of the work she had done with her women’s group. Although they had fundraised to provide aid to widows and young mothers within Whitechapel and beyond, they had begun to organize an official effort to petition Parliament to take up the right of women to vote. Gabby had worked alongside several friends to gather signatures for the petition, and she felt terrible that she had left before all the signatures had been acquired.

Another thought that plagued her was how she would fill her time once she arrived in Mexico. Ideally, Gabby would like to aid the resistance in some way. Perhaps she could assist Isabel in her work for Señora Maza de Juárez or even act as a diplomat, earning the regard of imperialists, who would be keen to form alliances now that the French empire was crumbling. But such plans would matter only if her father didn’t immediately send her back to England for not asking to return—

“What charitable or political causes will you commit yourself to once you return to your life in Mexico?”

Gabby blinked. Of course Whitfield would ask her such a thing. But Gabby was done considering her future in Mexico when so much about it seemed uncertain. So Gabby rushed to divert the attention from herself.

“I didn’t know you were invested in the Camino Rojo mine,” she blurted out, containing a cringe over how forceful her voice sounded.

If Whitfield thought it strange, he didn’t show it. Instead, he raised a shoulder as he carefully folded his handkerchief and put it in the pocket of his coat. “My letter to you announcing the news must have been lost in the post.”

Gabby’s mouth wobbled as she bit back a laugh. “How terribly rude,” she finally managed.

The duke’s eyes darted to her for a moment, and he promptly looked away again.

Silence enveloped them but it was not uncomfortable. Gabby was usually on edge when she was around Whitfield, always ready to return his pointed jests with barbs of her own.

But there was no bite in Whitfield’s jests now, and Gabby didn’t have the energy to reignite their war of words. Not when the ocean breeze sifted through her hair and cooled the fire of her temper.

“Are you excited to be returning home?”