A Gentleman Never Tells(86)
“No, of course not, Auntie.” Gabrielle smiled. “Mr. Murray played quite enough for one evening.”
Her aunt tilted her head and inquired, “So do you think your attempt to give the worst party of the year was a smashing success?”
“Yes,” Gabrielle said somberly, wishing she’d never attempted the ill-fated party, because while the viscount was quite bored along with everyone else, he seemed to be once again willing to overlook her shortcomings. She was beginning to think she would have to give up on Lord Brentwood and accept that her hope rested in changing her father’s mind when he returned.
As if finally sensing her mood, Auntie Bethie said, “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy the evening went as you’d planned. There’s hardly anyone left here but the members of the Royal Poets Society and some chaperones for those young ladies, who are over there in the corner giggling because they drank their champagne too fast. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, I’m pleased the evening went so very well.” She stopped and gave a sad smile. “That is I’m glad it was as boring as I planned. It’s just that I feel so sorry for Lord Brentwood because Lord Snellingly has found his dog, Josephine, and Brent’s dog, Prissy, is still missing.”
Auntie Bethie sighed. “Oh, my, yes. That would put a damp cloth on anything. But maybe after he’s had time to think about it, he’ll feel encouraged that since Lord Snellingly’s dog was found, his will be too.”
“Maybe,” Gabrielle said.
“What’s wrong, dearie? There’s something more wrong than the missing dog, isn’t there?”
Gabrielle looked at her aunt, who had such concern in her features. “Yes, Auntie,” Gabrielle said, realizing she wanted to speak the truth. “I think I’ve fallen in love with Lord Brentwood. And I’m so afraid that, because of my feelings for him, I will weaken my resolve, give in, and let my father arrange a marriage to Lord Brentwood.”
A look of compassion settled on her aunt’s features and she asked, “Why would that make you sad? I should think you would welcome these feelings, since your father wants you to marry him.”
Gabrielle felt an ache in her heart. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Auntie. My father is forcing him. How could I ever find any happiness living with a man my father forced to marry me?”
Seventeen
A great wind is blowing, and that gives you either imagination or a headache.
—Catherine the Great
It was a seldom-seen, beautiful, late November afternoon in London. Gabrielle stood in front of her father’s book-room window, looking out over the barren garden. Auntie Bethie had talked Rosabelle into joining her to look at town homes, so the house was quiet. All but two servants had the afternoon off, and Gabrielle was thrilled to have some undisturbed time to think, to daydream, and to paint. She would have at least two, or if she were lucky, maybe three hours before the house became busy again.
Petra had set up Gabrielle’s easel, canvas, and paints before she left. The double set of windows in the book room faced west, and the bright sunshine made that area of the house a perfect place to paint. Gabrielle had covered her hair with a white scarf and donned a freshly pressed but paint-stained apron over her simple pale blue day dress.
Earlier that day, Gabrielle had received a letter from her father stating he would be returning to London within the week. That meant she had some serious thinking to do about Brent.
When she thought about the way he made her feel when he kissed her, the way he was constantly in her thoughts, the way she yearned to see him again, she knew it would be so easy to simply marry him. But every time that crossed her mind, she remembered he was being forced to marry her to save her reputation, and to save his brothers’ business. How could he ever come to love her or even fully accept her as his wife, thinking she had tricked him that morning in the park? She didn’t want the man she loved feeling trapped.
But what else could she do? She’d tried everything she could think of to make him say no to her father’s demands. Well, there was one thing she hadn’t done. She could let Brent catch her kissing another man. But the thought of that was so distasteful to her she cringed inside. Besides, if she did that, she would only be doing to another man what she’d already done to Brent.
That idea was definitely out.
The possibility of joining a convent had entered her mind. Her father would never give his permission for that, so she would have to slip away from the house without anyone knowing. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of her life never being kissed again. She had enjoyed Brent’s kisses and caresses. Gabrielle gently closed her eyes and continued to stand at the window, letting the warm sunshine melt against her face. She remembered Brent’s smile, his touch, his laughter, and his passionate embraces, and knew for certain a convent wasn’t the right plan for her either. A nun was not supposed to dream about kissing a gentleman or to think herself in love with a man.