A Gentleman Never Tells(53)
Gabrielle’s shoulders stiffened. “I told you that was a chance meeting and not by design.”
“But no one believes you, including me.”
Her words angered Gabrielle. “That’s not true, Rosa.”
“Of course it is, but it’s all right. I’ve met with Staunton in secret before and no one caught us. I will do it again if I so desire. It’s time you realize, Gabby, that you are not my mother. I don’t need you telling me what I can or cannot do. Furthermore, I’m old enough to make my own decisions without your help.”
Rosabelle turned and started to run from the room, but stopped short and looked back at Gabrielle. “And if you dare tell Papa about me and Staunton,” she said, “I will never speak to you again as long as I live.”
Gabrielle gasped again as Rosa stomped from the room.
What was she going to do? The last thing Gabrielle wanted was for Rosabelle to have to endure rude comments and outrageous rumors from stuffy old ladies. Was it finally time for her to confess everything to her father? No, her father would not understand Rosabelle’s behavior at all.
But it was time for Gabrielle to have a talk with Staunton. He was older and wiser than Rosa, and he would have to make her see that they could not continue to meet in secret. If he truly loved her, he had to know how impetuous she was and how dangerous it was for the two of them to have an affair. Since he didn’t seem to know what the sensible thing was for them to do, she would tell him. He must stand up to his father and hers and demand that the two of them be allowed to go ahead and be married, or at the very least be engaged.
But when to talk to him was the problem.
Should she wait until the Cuddlebury’s party next week and try to talk to him there? No, even if he attended there would be too many opportunities for interruptions, prying ears, and more gossip. And it might be too late. Rosabelle had a bee in her bonnet, and there was no time to waste.
Gabrielle would send her own letter to Staunton, but unlike Rosa, she would sign her letter. She left her needlework on the table, went to the secretary in the drawing room, and sat down. She opened a drawer and took out a quill, ink jar, and a sheet of vellum, and wrote:
Staunton,
I find it is necessary that I should talk to you about an important matter as soon as possible. I would be most grateful if you would please respond with a date and time that would be good for you so we might meet in Hyde or St. James Park. I await your answer.
With all regards,
Gabby
***
Brent stepped out of the pouring rain and into the warmth of the Harbor Lights Club. A stiff-looking attendant approached him, staring at the swelling on the side of Brent’s mouth. No doubt he wasn’t used to seeing many gentlemen coming into the establishment with a fat lip. Brent ignored his scrutiny and handed the man his wet coat, hat, umbrella, and gloves, and explained who he was and that he wasn’t a member of the club but was to meet Sir Randolph Gibson in the taproom. When Brent said he was Viscount Brentwood, the man’s attitude changed immediately, and at the mention of Sir Randolph’s name, the attendant’s face lighted with a smile.
The man handed Brent’s soggy garments off to another person, and then he led Brent down a dimly lit corridor. They passed more than one room where he heard loud talking, laughter, and billiard balls smacking together. For a small club, it seemed to have a lively atmosphere. The man stopped in the doorway of the taproom and pointed to a finely dressed gentleman who was seated at a table by the front window that opened to the busy street.
He’d seen Sir Randolph at a couple of different parties over the past month, and there was no way Brent wouldn’t have known the man. Matson and Iverson’s resemblance to him was stunning. Sir Randolph had been presented to Brent at a party, though they hadn’t really spoken, other than the perfunctory greetings that civility required. Unlike his meeting with Mr. Alfred Staunton, both Brent and Sir Randolph had behaved as gentlemen, and neither had said a word about what was really on their minds. The man had readily accepted when Brent sent him a note suggesting they meet.
Brent could understand his brothers’ wanting to ignore the fact they looked just like the man and simply get on with their lives. That’s what Brent wanted for them, but he also wanted more. He wanted to see where Sir Randolph stood with the twins. It wasn’t that Brent didn’t think his brothers could handle any situation that might come up; it was mainly his vow to his mother that he would keep up with them and, if need be, help them.