Мэри Бэлоу - Someone to Romance

“And so,” Wren said, “even if he can be convicted on the one charge, on the other he cannot be. Which is exactly why we all came here this morning, Gabriel. If justice is to be meted out, or an approximation of justice, then it must be done in a different way.”

“A bloodthirsty wife you have there, Alexander,” Molenor said, but he was nodding approvingly at her.

“I like to see justice done, Uncle Thomas,” she told him. “Not only is Mr. Manley Rochford a—a ravisher and a murderer, but he is also willing to commit a second, judicial, murder by framing Gabriel and sending him to the gallows. He must not be allowed to creep home, his only punishment being his disappointment over not gaining the earldom. And he is still the heir to that earldom. You had better watch your back, Gabriel.”

“You are so very right about everything, Wren,” Anna said.

“Hear, hear,” Bertie said. “ Will he creep back home?”

“He had not made any move to do so up to the time we came here,” Netherby said. “My man outside his house and the one outside his carriage house had a tedious night. So did the mysterious stranger who also had an eye on the house.”

“Stranger?” Gabriel frowned.

“Alas,” Netherby said. “My man was unable to identify him when he spotted him. And then he disappeared—or seemed to.”

“We are on it,” Riverdale assured Gabriel.

“What I would like to do at the very least, with apologies to the ladies,” Gabriel said, “is pound Manley Rochford to a pulp. Bertie, will you serve as my second?”

Jessica, he noticed without actually turning his head in her direction, clapped both hands over her mouth.

“It would be my pleasure, Gabe,” Bertie assured him.

“You are right about this not being appropriate for the hearing of ladies,” Dirkson said. “Remember that Rochford would have the choice of weapons if you were the challenger, Lyndale.”

“Women, Charles,” Anna said, “are not such delicate creatures as men believe. But . . . surely there is an alternative? Duels are not the answer to everything.”

“They are not, Anna,” Dorchester agreed. “Unfortunately they are the only answer to some things.”

“How good are you with a pistol, Lyndale?” Molenor asked.

That was when Jessica’s forehead thumped onto the table, narrowly missing her coffee cup. She had fainted.

By the time Jessica returned to full consciousness and convinced Ruth that she had no intention of being an invalid for the rest of the day or even for one more minute, Gabriel was no longer in their suite of rooms. Apparently the breakfast meeting was over and everyone had dispersed.

It seemed a little suspicious to her that neither Anna nor Wren at the very least had insisted upon coming with her when Gabriel apparently had carried her unconscious form upstairs. It was also very suspicious that he had not remained himself to hover at her bedside. Instead he had disappeared the moment she stirred but before her mind was clear enough to allow her to do anything constructive with her consciousness—like make him swear upon his most sacred honor that he would not be fighting any duels.

When Ruth had finished tidying her dress and repairing the damage to her hair, Jessica stepped into the sitting room and found Mary waiting quietly for her there.

“Mary! Do you know what’s happening? Gabriel has gone out to find Manley Rochford and challenge him to a duel and shoot him,” Jessica cried in a voice that sounded frantic even to her own ears. “But instead, he is the one who will end up shot. I have to go out and find—”

“Now, dear, calm down. Gabriel had to go out on some quick business,” Mary told her, sounding infuriatingly calm. “Just some very tedious business of the sort men always have to see about. He will be back here before we are, I daresay.”

“Before we are?” Jessica asked, determinedly ignoring the buzzing in her ears. She was not going to faint again. How very humiliating that she had done so earlier, and in front of half her family, who would by now have carried the delightful news home to the other half. Anna and Wren had behaved like warriors during that meeting, while she had . . . fainted. But it was not their husbands who were about to have their brains blown out.

“Well, Jessica,” Mary was saying, smiling, “your dear grandmama and her sister are taking me out to show me the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey, and then we are going to a tea shop, which is apparently very fashionable. And you are to come with us. This is such a treat for me. Who would have thought I would ever be in London and attending a masquerade ball and visiting the Tower of London with the Dowager Countess of Riverdale? All my animals will be very impressed indeed when I tell them about it.”

“Mary,” Jessica said, sitting down on a sofa before she could fall down. She knew just what was going on, of course. There was no way on earth Mary could be this insensitive while smiling so very placidly at her. “I cannot go.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “You can and you will, my dear. You are the Countess of Lyndale. You are the sister of the Duke of Netherby—and what a very formidable gentleman he is, by the way. I like him exceedingly well. Gabriel wishes you to accompany us. And my dear Jessica, there will be no pistols. No bullets. He assured me of that, and he asked me to assure you. He advised me to tell you that I do not lie. And he is right. I do not.”

Jessica sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.

She was the Countess of Lyndale, Mary had reminded her. More to the point and from long experience, she was Lady Jessica Archer. Mary did not tell lies. But perhaps Gabriel had lied to Mary. No. Surely, surely he would not have done that if there was any risk that someone—Avery? Alexander? Anna?—might have to come here later to tell her he had been shot through the heart in a duel.

But he was without any doubt up to something . Something he did not want her to know about, or he would not have dashed away in such a hurry before she could question him. But it was not that . He would not be so rash anyway, for it must have occurred to him—and to all her family members who had been here for breakfast, and even to Mr. Vickers—that if he died in a duel, Manley Rochford would become the Earl of Lyndale after all. It would have occurred to Gabriel that it was his duty to remain alive at least long enough to beget a son.

She would kill him anyway with her bare hands the next time she saw him.

Unconsciously she adjusted her posture and raised her chin.

“You will love the Tower of London, Mary,” she said. “And Westminster Abbey. So will I. I have not made a visit to either for at least a year or two.”

As for the tearoom . . . Well, she would think of that when the time came. At the moment the very thought of food or even a cup of tea made her want to vomit.

“You are a very dear and brave young lady,” Mary said. “Gabriel is a fortunate man.”

Gabriel had spent a busy few hours, though it was not easy to keep his mind off Jessica. He had tried to keep her from attending that meeting, but of course she had insisted. The last thing he had expected her to do, however, was faint. And she had been out cold. Some chafing of the wrists by Anna while one of her uncles had fanned her face with a napkin had done nothing to bring her around. Gabriel had scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to their suite.

His first instinct had been to send for her mother. When Horbath had gone to fetch Ruth, however, Mary had come with her. Leaving her with Mary was leaving her in very safe hands indeed. And leave he must, before Jessica had recovered enough to interrogate him on his intentions. He waited just until she was stirring back to consciousness and both Ruth and Mary assured him that she would be perfectly fine after a little rest. Mary had come out to the sitting room with him and told him that the Dowager Countess of Riverdale and her sister had very kindly offered to show her some of London today.