A Gentleman Never Tells(11)
Staring at her father and the viscount, she became so emotional that, for a moment, she was on the verge of spilling all and telling them about Staunton and Rosabelle’s romance and deception when, thankfully, they’d heard someone approaching them in the park. Her father told Lord Brentwood they would talk later. He had then grabbed her arm, quickly whisked her to his waiting carriage and back home where she had been ever since.
After telling her he’d deal with her when he returned, he had left immediately to see Lord Austerhill. Her father desperately wanted to undo the damage she’d done by being caught in a compromising embrace with Lord Brentwood. In the hours since he’d been gone, Gabrielle didn’t care what kind of agreement her father might reach with Lord Austerhill, she would never marry the earl’s son.
She was over the shock of Rosabelle and Staunton’s love for each other and was thinking more rationally about that, as well. If the two of them truly loved each other, wasn’t it her duty to try to make it possible for them to be together? Just because Gabrielle had been willing to settle for a loveless marriage in order to be the obedient daughter didn’t mean Rosabelle must, too.
She was glad she hadn’t had to face her sister since she returned home. It wasn’t yet past noontime. Rosabelle was a late riser and always took an enormous amount of time with her toilette in the mornings.
With little more than a year’s difference in their ages, Rosabelle had always been very competitive with Gabrielle, but she never minded and often would let her sister win if they were playing cards or other games. To please her sister, Gabrielle had even postponed her debut at court a year so she and Rosabelle could debut together. They had always been close, sometimes talking until the wee hours of the morning about friends, books, beaus, and clothing. That is, until recently. Gabrielle had noticed her sister had been avoiding her. She had thought it was because Rosabelle was upset to see her leaving to have a home and family of her own. Now Gabrielle knew the real reason.
A shiver shook her. Gabrielle couldn’t even think about how dreadfully awful it would have been if she had married Staunton and then learned of her sister’s love for him.
Gabrielle heard the rear door open and stopped in front of the window. That must be her father. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her hands into fists. She willed herself to be courageous and strong. She had learned long ago how to reason with her temperamental father, and she had to do that now. It was best to be patient with him, let him have his say, and then calmly make her point. Slowly, her hands relaxed. Her eyes opened. She took a long, steadying breath.
In the past, it had always helped her to think of the worst that could happen and then come up with a solution. What exactly could her father do to her for her indiscretion? She supposed the worst thing he could do would be to try to force her to marry Staunton. She had already decided she’d never do that. So the next worst thing would be if she were forced to marry the viscount. That was almost as objectionable as marrying the earl’s son.
Almost, but not quite.
If she acquiesced to that, she would not only be agreeing to another loveless marriage, but she would be ruining Lord Brentwood’s life, too. She couldn’t do that to him.
She had to give her father another option. She would ask that he send her away to one of his many estates. She knew from gossip that each Season more than one young lady was sent to the country to live for a time. Some returned to London and Society, and others preferred to stay in the country.
Gabrielle had always loved the hustle and bustle of living in London. She loved riding in the parks, walking the streets, and looking in shops. She loved going to Vauxhall Gardens, the opera, and on the few occasions her father had allowed, to the theatre. She would probably be lonely in the country for a time, but with enough books to read, needlework to stitch, and her painting, she would find a way to cope and fill her days.
Her father’s voice drifted down the corridor. He was talking to Mrs. Lathbury, a short, rotund woman with a soft voice, who was frightened of her own shadow. She was the latest in a long string of housekeepers who had managed the duke’s Mayfair home over the years. Her father had never been an easy man to work for, and turnover in their staff occurred frequently, certainly more often than Gabrielle would have liked. She was only six when her mother died giving birth to her only son, Ellis, who was currently finishing his studies at Oxford. Gabrielle had often wondered if her father would have been a kinder, softer man had her mother lived longer.
A few moments later, she heard the duke stomping down the corridor. Listening to his heavy footfalls, Gabrielle knew he was heading straight to his book room, which was opposite the music room.