A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Three

Courage is doing what you’re afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you are scared.

—Eddie Rickenbacker

Gabrielle paced in front of the window in the drawing room of their Mayfair home. Her faithful companion, Brutus, slept peacefully on his giant pillow in his favorite spot near the softly burning fire.

She kept reminding herself she was a calm, rational, and sensible person, even though her actions earlier that morning disproved that fact. Most of the shock of everything that had happened had worn off, and Gabrielle was feeling stronger and more capable of dealing with the crisis she’d created with her uncharacteristically impulsive and scandalous behavior in Hyde Park.

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.

Gabrielle wished she didn’t have to have this discussion with her father, but there was no way around it. And she wasn’t going to stand around worrying, fearful, waiting for her father to come to her. She was going to him to determine her fate.

She waited a reasonable amount of time and then squared her shoulders and headed that way. She stopped at the doorway to the drawing room when she heard Brutus moving behind her.

Looking back at the dog, she saw him half standing, struggling to lift his back legs and get them moving. “Stay,” she said and held out her hand. “You’ve done enough walking for today.”

Brutus made a low growling sound in his throat, as if to argue with her his right to go, as he continued struggling to stand.

“Stay, Brutus,” she said more firmly. “Down.”

Brutus stopped but continued looking at her with big, soulful eyes, panting heavily, as if hoping she would change her mind.

“I’m only going to the book room to see Papa,” she said gently, not wanting him to think she was scolding him. “There’s no reason for you to disturb yourself. Now be a good boy and lie back down on your soft pillow.”

Seeing he wasn’t going to win this battle, Brutus eased back down onto his bed with a groan, laid his head on his front paws, and stared at her with a sorrowful expression.

Gabrielle felt as if a cold hand gripped her heart. She knew the cold of their morning jaunt had seeped into his old bones and sapped a lot of his strength. It was heartbreaking to know her big brute of a dog and faithful companion could no longer climb the two steps by himself to get into her father’s coach. Muggs had struggled to help lift his hind legs and get him into the carriage. Brutus’s age was showing more and more as each day, week, and month passed.

She smiled lovingly at Brutus. “That’s my good boy. I’ll be back soon.”

Halfway to the book room, fluttering butterflies attacked her stomach, and that angered her. She wasn’t a simpering fool. Whatever weakness had come over her in Hyde Park that had caused her to deny her good common sense and kiss a stranger was gone.

Forever, she vowed.

She was back to being Miss Practical. But as she neared the end of the corridor, she couldn’t help but ask herself if she really wanted to return to life as it was before her few enchanting moments in Lord Brentwood’s arms.

Gabrielle stopped at the open doorway of the book room and, pulling from an inner strength that had served her well in the past, knocked on the casing. Her father looked up from pouring himself a drink but didn’t speak to her.

“Papa,” she said and stepped inside.

“You are either very brave or very foolish, Gabrielle, to seek me out knowing how upset I am with you at this very moment. You would do well to give me time to have a drink, perhaps several, before you approach me.”

Gabrielle wasn’t afraid of her father, and until today, she had always obeyed him.

“What’s done is done, Papa,” she said, grateful her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

“Yes, yes, I know, and can’t be undone. Believe me, I’ve tried. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived at Austerhill’s house, he had already awakened his son and told him about your brazen indiscretion. Of course, Staunton made a good show of wanting to immediately call out the viscount, but thankfully, his father and I talked him out of that foolhardy idea. Neither of us wanted scandal heaped upon scandal.”

“Oh, thank goodness, Papa! That would have been madness.”

“So was my time there. From the moment I arrived, the entire household treated me as though I had brought the black plague to their doorstep. I hope you are happy now that your wedding and my financial plans are officially canceled.”

As a matter of fact, she was happy and relieved her wedding was canceled, but no matter how difficult a man he was, she couldn’t find delight in her father’s misery. He may not have been a doting father through the years, but he’d certainly never done her harm. Gabrielle wished she could tell him that she took it all back, but that wasn’t true. She knew she wouldn’t want to have missed those few incredible minutes she’d spent in the viscount’s strong arms for anything in the world.

“But surely, Papa, you will regain the properties you promised to the earl as my dowry when the betrothal was arranged; so all will not be lost.”

The duke harrumphed disdainfully. “I would never give away anything I wanted.”

The sting of her father’s carelessly chosen words pierced her, and she gasped. “But what about me, Papa? You were willing to give me away.”

To a man you knew I didn’t love.

“What?” He waved his hand as if to brush off what she said. “No. I mean, yes, of course, Gabrielle. Fathers always give their daughters away in marriage, but make no mistake. You will always be my daughter. And if any man dares hurt you in any way, he would have me to answer to.”

Gabrielle knew that was as close as he was going to come to an endearing comment.

“What I meant was that the whole of what I promised to Austerhill and his son are worthless lands to me and useless business ventures I wanted to dispose of anyway. He is the one who had the prized lands I wanted to add to my holdings. Now, thanks to you, I won’t get them.”

Her father had never tried to hide his many business ventures from her, often bragging to her, and to Ellis when he was home from Oxford, about his lucrative deals. He seemed to be happiest when he was trying to lure some unsuspecting soul into selling their land, their horses, or their businesses to him.

Gabrielle walked farther into the room. “If that’s the case, Papa, maybe now is the right time to bring this up. Perhaps in a few days you could suggest to Lord Austerhill and to Staunton that they might consider Rosabelle’s hand in marriage so the arrangements the two families have put in place can proceed as originally planned.”

“What?” The duke turned toward her, glass in hand, and laughed bitterly. “Ha! How well I would like that! But I can assure you, Gabrielle, that neither the earl nor his weak-kneed son wants anything to do with either of my daughters now, later, or ever.”

Gabrielle blinked at her father’s harsh words as he put the glass to his mouth, drank heavily from it, and then turned his back on her to refill it. At least there was hope, since her father didn’t know Staunton wanted to be with Rosabelle. And her father wanted the lands, so he would be agreeable. The only one to worry about would be Lord Austerhill. Surely in time, his son could persuade him to allow marriage with Rosabelle.

“But maybe all is not lost.” Her father spoke more as if talking to himself than her.

“What?”

“I’ve already sent word to Viscount Brentwood, asking him to come see me late this afternoon.”

Gabrielle tensed. “Papa, can’t we just leave him out of this? I want to forget about what happened in the park.”

The duke turned back toward her and harrumphed again as he walked toward his desk. “If only we could. Wouldn’t that be a pretty ribbon wrapped around a boar’s tail? But, no, we can’t just forget about him. I have no doubt that, in time, news of your indiscretion will be tattled from the tongues of men at the clubs and whispered from the waspish mouths of every old hen and every young biddy in the ton.”

“That certainly puts the situation I’m in bluntly.”

“These kinds of things have a way of growing all out of proportion, but you did it, not I. Obviously, I would have considered the viscount for you, along with all the rest of the blades who were knocking on my door, had he been in Town at the beginning of the Season. I’m glad you at least had the good sense to have a tryst with a titled man.”

Her father had never been one to mince his words, and she shouldn’t have expected it of him now.

“But I have to say, Gabrielle, that it doesn’t speak well of him that he tried to run away when he saw us coming to aid you; but then you picked him, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know why he ran, Papa. All I remember was seeing four men charging us. That could frighten anyone.”

“Harrumph,” her father muttered. “I don’t think it would have frightened me. But no matter the reason he ran, all that is important is Muggs stopped him before he got away.”

“So what will you have me do to save face in Society? Will you banish me to one of your country homes?”

A wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Why the devil would I do that? No doubt that is what you would love, but no.” He chuckled ruefully. “Life will not be so easy for you. Even after the alarming stunt you pulled, you are still much too valuable for me to hide away in a small village somewhere. Exaggerated tales of your assignation in the park with Brentwood will surface, but so be it. They will die down in due time. Thankfully, because I’m a duke, no one would dare cross me. I’m certain that if you marry quickly enough, all will be forgiven and forgotten.” The chair behind his desk creaked as he lowered his broad frame into it. “So, no, dear girl, you will not be banished to our beautiful English countryside. You will be wed to the viscount.”

Gabrielle looked at her father and had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him no. She wondered what had come over her. Why and how had she changed in such a short span of time? Five months ago she had readily agreed when her father told her he wanted her to marry Staunton, a man she had no feelings for whatsoever. She never once thought to disobey her father. She hardly even questioned him, but she had changed. She no longer wanted to just accept what her father wanted her to do without challenging him.

“Papa, I don’t want to—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “Whatever you say will fall on deaf ears, my dear. I don’t know the viscount but I’ll see what kind of financial arrangements I can make with him. They won’t be as lucrative as I had with the earl, I’m sure, but maybe he has something that would be worth an exchange for your hand in marriage. And, of course, I’ll provide him an adequate dowry. I spoke with my solicitor before I came back home. He is already gathering information on Brentwood for me and should have it to me before the man arrives late this afternoon.”

Gabrielle remembered the expression on Lord Brentwood’s face when he heard she was set to be married next week, and that gave her some comfort. He was not a happy man. No matter what he’d said about willing to lie in the bed he made. If she read him right, his expression told her he would rather suffer the depths of hell than marry her.

“Since you liked the viscount well enough to meet him in the park and let him kiss you,” her father continued, “I intend to see that you marry him.”

Showing more confidence than she was feeling, Gabrielle took a bold step toward her father’s desk, and in a strong voice, said, “I don’t want to marry him.”

The chair squeaked as he reached over and placed his glass on the desk. “You should have thought about that before you designed your affair with him.”

Gabrielle gasped. “There was no affair, Papa.”

He slammed a meaty hand down on his desk. “Then what would you call it, Gabrielle?”

“Madness,” she whispered. “Utter madness.” As the words passed her lips, fleeting memories flooded her. Strong, warm, and passionate arms wrapped tightly around her. Cool, soft, and inviting lips pressed against hers. A wide, firm palm pressed gently to her breast.

“Madness?” he asked and then sighed heavily before picking up his glass again. “Aptly put. Now leave me, Gabrielle, I’m tired of this subject, and I have work to do.”

Gabrielle studied her father. It was clear she wasn’t going to change him, but she could change herself. No, she had changed. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her when she saw her sister and Staunton together, but she wasn’t the same person anymore. She knew she’d done the right thing in keeping scandal away from Rosabelle’s name, and now she had to keep from ruining Lord Brentwood’s life, as well. Even though he had been kind enough to indicate he would marry her if her father insisted, she held out hope that he would come to his senses and help her convince her father that marriage between them wasn’t necessary.

With no fear of reprisal, she said. “I want to be present whenever you talk to Lord Brentwood.”

Not bothering to look at her, the duke harrumphed again and said, “Absolutely not.”

“It’s my life, Papa.”

He looked up at her. “Which you have turned into total chaos, along with mine. I’d say you’ve done quite enough.”

“Still squealing like a wild boar caught among the briars, Duke? It looks as though I got here just in time to help Gabby before you blow up like a hot air balloon.”

Gabrielle whirled to see her favorite aunt standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, a black travelling cape on her shoulders, a fancy feathered hat on her head, and cotton gloves on her hands. At the sight of her beloved aunt, Gabrielle felt as if a burden lifted from her shoulders, and she smiled.

“You know,” her aunt continued, “that my dear sister would have never allowed you to talk in that tone to one of her daughters.”

The duke grunted. “I see you still haven’t learned the art of knocking and being announced, Elizabeth.”

“Never saw the reason to, after my sister told me I would always be welcomed in her home. She said the door was always open to me, so why shouldn’t I just walk right in?”

“Because you are usually butting in where you’re not wanted,” the duke said.

“Auntie Bethie,” Gabrielle exclaimed excitedly and rushed toward her aunt. “I’m so glad to see you! I was hoping you would come soon.”

“Lovely to see you, dearest,” her aunt said as they hugged and kissed each other on their cheeks. “You do get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Nonsense, Auntie, let me help you with your cape.”

Gabrielle’s father had three sisters, and while Gabrielle enjoyed seeing them all, she had never adored any of them the way she adored her mother’s only sister. Mrs. Elizabeth Potter was petite in size, but her loud and gravelly voice made her sound as boisterous as most men. Her nose and chin were sharp, and her eyes were as dark brown as the chocolate she liked to drink. She had a shock of golden-red hair that never seemed to fade or show gray. No doubt that was because of a secret solution she bought from the same apothecary where she bought her fountain of youth cream that she put on her face every evening before retiring. Gabrielle didn’t know why her aunt bothered to tint her hair. It was usually hidden beneath one of her many outrageously designed hats.

“You do remember that my wife passed on more than a dozen years ago, don’t you?” Gabby’s father barked. “Or have you gotten so old that your memory doesn’t serve you well anymore?”

“Don’t be such a tyrant, Papa,” Gabrielle said. “I’m thrilled Auntie Bethie is here.” Gabrielle took her aunt’s cape and laid it on a chair by the door.

“You would be,” her father murmured, “but I’m not. She dotes on you and treats you as if you were a piece of the finest china.” He looked over at her aunt and said, “I don’t even know why you are here.”

Auntie Bethie ignored him and smiled at Gabrielle as she handed over her drawstring reticule. “I’m here for the wedding, of course.”

Gabrielle blinked and opened her mouth to say the wedding had been canceled, but her father spoke first.

“You’re early,” he snapped.

“When it involves a wedding, a week is not too early to arrive. Besides, I wanted to surprise Gabrielle.”

Her father picked up his glass again. “It’s more like you wanted to irritate the devil out of me.”

She gave him a cunning smile as she untied the ribbon of her feathered bonnet and said, “You’ve always been able to see right through me, Duke.”

He matched her smile with a smirk of his own. “It’s easy to see through shallow water, Elizabeth.”

A deep, throaty laugh emerged from the small woman, and she walked farther into the room, taking off her gloves as she went. Her dark brown travelling dress swished around her ankles as she moved.

“I’m delighted I can still manage to irritate you, but by the looks of that glass in your hand, I’d say I’ll have to stand in line today. I think someone has already beaten me to it this morning. It’s a bit early in the day for the fish juice, isn’t it, Duke?”

“You would change your Puritan ways and be drinking, too, if you’d had the morning I’ve had,” he grumbled.

Though the subject was a serious one, Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile as her father and aunt traded barbs with each other. Even though their dislike for each other was very real, always intense, and at times very caustic, they could be quite comical. For as long as she could remember, the two had never had a kind word for the other. Because of their constant bickering when they were around each other, Auntie Bethie visited them only once or twice a year. She usually stayed at least three or four weeks every time. The duke would always find a reason to leave shortly after her arrival, and she would always leave as soon as he returned.

Elizabeth stopped in front of the duke’s desk, propped a lean hip against it, and asked, “Who is the lucky devil who dared to take my place of honor in your cold heart?”

Gabrielle’s father lifted his glass in salute to Elizabeth. “A viscount named Brentwood.”

Auntie Bethie turned toward Gabrielle. “Perhaps I’ll meet him at the wedding?”

“You’re too late for the wedding,” her father said gruffly.

Her aunt peeled her hat off her head, tossed the feathered bonnet to Gabrielle, and then turned back to the duke. “Will you make up your mind, old man? You just told me I was early.”

“Blast it, woman, you were early because the wedding was next week, and there was no reason for you to come until the day of it. And you’re late now because the wedding has just been canceled.”

A garbled gasp came from the doorway. “Gabby, you’re not going to marry Staunton?”

At the sound of her sister’s voice, Gabrielle spun toward the door. Rosabelle stood just inside the room, her bright blue eyes glistening with questions Gabrielle wasn’t ready to answer.

Rosabelle rushed breathlessly into the room, her long golden curls bouncing on her back. Her gaze searched wildly from Gabrielle to their father, to their aunt, and then back to Gabrielle. “Tell me, is what I just heard true?”

Looking at her sister’s hopeful expression, Gabrielle knew that Rosabelle was brimming with love for Staunton. Earlier in the day, Gabrielle had wondered how she’d missed their love for each other, but now she knew. She simply hadn’t cared enough for Staunton one way or the other to notice how he looked at any other young ladies, or how they looked at him.

The duke rose from his chair. “That is the truth.”

Relief that quickly turned to hopefulness washed down Rosabelle’s face. Her chest heaved with expectations, and her eyes once again eagerly searched every face in the room. But obviously reading the dire expressions of Gabrielle, her father, and her aunt, she quickly masked her happiness with a troubled, exaggerated frown of shock.

Rosabelle clutched her skirt in her hands. “Auntie Bethie, is this why you are here?” Not waiting for an answer, she turned to Gabrielle. “Gabby, this is absolutely the most dreadful news. Why? What happened between you two? When did it happen?”

Not wanting to get into this with Rosabelle or her aunt at the moment, Gabrielle said, “There is no need to go into the details about this to anyone, is there, Papa?”

“None I can see. Everything will have to be settled with Austerhill before anything concerning Brentwood need be formally announced. Though I’m sure your aunt will not rest her old bones until she knows more from you.”

Rosabelle kept concern on her features. Her hands worked the fabric of her dress. “How can you bear it, Gabby? You must be so brokenhearted and distressed. I don’t know why you aren’t drowning in a pail of tears.”

“Because she’s her mother’s daughter,” Auntie Bethie said. “She’s much too strong for that kind of nonsense.”

Feeling calmer now that her aunt was here and now that Rosabelle knew the wedding was canceled, Gabrielle said, “Don’t be alarmed for me, Rosa. You know that it never was a love match between us. It was all financial, so there are no broken hearts, just details that need to be handled, which Papa is already in the process of taking care of.”

“Still, to have your wedding canceled a week before—I don’t know what to say. You had everything planned. Your trunks are packed and ready to be delivered to your new home. What are you going to do?”

Those were little details Gabrielle didn’t need to be reminded of.

“She will do nothing,” Auntie Bethie said. “I shall be happy to take care of everything, all the cancellations, all the notes that must be sent, everything. I will handle it all.”

“Thank you, Auntie, that would be so very kind of you.”

“Consider it done.”

Gabrielle was glad to see Rosabelle’s attempted expression of alarm relax into a frown of real concern for her. She knew her sister hadn’t deliberately set out to steal Staunton away from her.

Gabrielle couldn’t blame Rosa for not telling her about the loving feelings she had for Staunton, either. After the way her father had put her through the mill with all his questions about Lord Brentwood, Gabrielle knew admitting to a wrong doing wasn’t an easy thing to do.

Now that Gabrielle had had time to think rationally, she couldn’t blame Rosabelle for anything that had happened. Gabrielle had read enough books and heard enough gossip from widows and dowagers to know it wasn’t unusual for young ladies to fall in love with men as handsome and dashing as Staunton. Even she had fallen victim to that malady once.

For a brief time last year, Gabrielle had fancied herself madly in love with a handsome soldier she’d seen while strolling with her family through Vauxhall Gardens. He had been so powerful looking, so handsomely debonair in his uniform, with his wide leather belt strapped around his slim waist and a shiny sword hanging by his side. When he’d looked her way and smiled, her heart fluttered and felt as if it had melted in her chest. She couldn’t count the nights she’d lain awake dreaming about him, hoping she’d see him again, but she never did.

“I know you are very strong, Gabby,” Rosabelle said. “You’re the strongest lady I have ever known; but still, you must be devastated by this turn of events.”

There was no acting or faking in Rosabelle’s comments about Gabrielle’s strength, and she appreciated the kind words from her. But there had been several times that day when Gabrielle hadn’t felt strong at all.

“Oddly, I’m not,” Gabrielle said, wanting to put an end to this uncomfortable conversation. “I will just say I am not unhappy about what has happened, Rosa, and leave it at that. I’m sure there will be gossip about me in the next few days, and quite possibly for weeks to come. But I believe the scandal of a canceled wedding will die down as soon as another scandal happens to take its place. Which, knowing London Society as we do, shouldn’t be too long. In any case, I’m sure the worst of it will be over by winter’s end and will in no way affect you or your prospects for a good match next Season.”

Gabrielle saw the love for Staunton in her sister’s face. That told her she had made the right decision to sacrifice her reputation to save Rosabelle’s. Her sister was in love, and Gabrielle wasn’t. What she had to do now was find a way to help the young lovers be together and to keep her father from forcing her to marry Lord Brentwood.

Hopefulness etched its way back into her sister’s features again as she asked, “Do you really think that?”

“Of course she does, and so do I and your father, too,” Auntie Bethie said. “Now come give me a proper hug and a kiss before I start thinking you no longer care about me.”

Rosabelle ran over and hugged her aunt and kissed her cheek. She then, unexpectedly, rushed over and threw her arms around Gabrielle and said, “Oh, Gabby, what will you do?”

Gabrielle’s heart softened even more as her sister’s arms circled her, holding her tightly. Rosabelle’s body trembled. Gabrielle knew they would eventually have a heart-to-heart talk about what happened, but she wasn’t ready for that yet, and she felt Rosabelle wasn’t either.

Her father looked at Gabrielle from over Rosabelle’s shoulder and said, “She’ll marry someone else, of course.”

Gabrielle patted her sister’s back, knowing she had argued with her father all she could for one day, but there was always tomorrow and the next day. Whatever had come over her in Hyde Park had changed her. She was a different person, and she wouldn’t be so easily led by her father’s wishes again.

But putting those new and different feelings aside for the time being, Gabrielle said calmly and without emotion, “Don’t worry about me, Rosa, I know exactly what I will do.”