Page 65 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Gabriel swallowed and his heartbeat began to speed up.

The letter that lay upon it had been well folded into what appeared to be a small missive, and sealed in a somewhat amateur fashion with red sealing wax. Whoever had left it had clearly not wanted anyone but him to see its contents.

“Thank you, Owens.” Gabriel picked up the letter. “That will be all.”

He waited until Owens had gone, then sat back down again on his chair, mainly because his legs had turned suddenly weak, and drew in a steadying breath. Could it be? He didn’t want to allow himself to think that after all this time it might be the very thing he’d wanted, finally come to him. Doubt assaulted him. What if it was something he didn’t like? What if she’d been transported to Botany Bay? What secrets might be about to unfold? Whatever they were, opening this letter would let them out of the bag never to be put back in again.

For want of a letter opener, he used his breakfast knife, having wiped it first on his napkin. The sealing wax fell away, and he unfolded the letter with fingers that trembled.

It had been written on rough paper on the back of which someone had written a short list in pencil that seemed to have no bearing on the contents of the letter, which had been written in dark ink. Reused paper. How frugal. The hand was neat and intimated a decent education having been had by the writer.

Gabriel read it once, then read it again.

My Lord,

With Reference to the Task you requested me to undertake, I am writing to inform you that I have located the Lady in Question. She is employed as a Seamstress at number ten, Little Crompton Street, an Establishment belonging to a French lady, a Madame Brunet, and has Lodgings in the small Courtyard behind her place of Employment. As you probably know, this is an Area where many French Immigrants are to be found, so I was not in the least surprised to locate Her here. I have not approached Her personally, but have observed Her under cover of buying lace for my Wife. I ascertained that She is also French and observed for Myself that her Eyes are the required Violet. As I have come across no other possessor of such unusual Eyes, I feel it safe to assume She is the Woman you seek. Pray take advantage of my Discovery and make some Overture to the Lady. If She is the One you seek, I am to be found in the Brown Bear from Midday most days.

Your servant,

Abraham Coolidge

Coolidge had found her. Or rather he’d found a woman who satisfied the meager details Gabriel had been able to give him. That was all. This might be a false alarm, a mistake. Or…this might be his real mother, working as a seamstress on the outskirts of the St Giles Rookery, just where he’d expected to find her.

Goosepimples rose down his back and he shivered. This could be it.

He found he’d screwed his napkin into a tight ball, so laid it back on the table and made an effort to smooth it out. It was perfectly possible she would be able to tell him nothing of what had happened twenty-three years ago. There might well be more than one Frenchwoman with eyes of that color, for all he knew. Now he was faced with the reality of the discovery, he found he wasn’t sure what to do. This was a huge step to take and one from which there would be no return. Once he found her, he would be her son forever, the son of a seamstress and not a duke. And Phoebe would be even more out of his reach, no matter what she said. Her family would never allow her to marry a nobody whose mother worked in a humble shop in St Giles.

But he had to know or he’d go mad. Well, perhaps not mad, but he would be left with no sense of who he was, a thing that had grown in importance to him over the years until it had reached epic proportions. He couldn’t deny that his whole self needed to know the answer to this mystery. If he didn’t go and see this woman for himself, he would remain in the limbo of not knowing who he really was. Right now, he was a foundling with no true identity. He had to face the fact that he wasn’t the son of a duke and duchess. He was a nobody with no mother and certainly no father. If he didn’t go and see this woman, how was he supposed to go on with just blank pages in his past?

And he needed to go now, before he could talk himself out of it. If he did, instinct told him he would regret it for the rest of his life.

An image of Phoebe’s sensible face leapt into his head. He needed her. She’d come this far with him, and he couldn’t exclude her from this most vital part of his search. He’d go round and call on her straightaway, despite the early hour, and offer to take her out in his carriage. They’d go to Little Crompton Street instead.

But it had been a whole week since he’d seen her. She would understand why he’d not called, but her aunt would be wondering what was going on. Gentlemen showing interest in a young lady generally didn’t ignore them for a week. But what did that matter? He could brazen that out with a handy excuse. A man who’d dared the well-guarded homes of the rich in order to finance his orphanage need not be scared of facing a fierce matron. Well, probably not.

Determination seizing hold of him, he folded the letter back up and stowed it in the inner pocket of his coat. Hopefully Ambrose had chosen to walk round to White’s, as it wasn’t far off, and the landau and grays were still in the stables.

*

In Hill Street, Phoebe, Mattie, and Aunt Fanny were together in the parlor. Aunt Fanny was reading an uplifting book of sermons, no ridiculous novels for her, Mattie was playing the pianoforte and humming to herself, and Phoebe was supposed to be embroidering a handkerchief, but really, she was daydreaming. She’d chosen her usual seat in the window, for better light, but also because that put her at a good distance from Aunt Fanny’s eagle eye. And not much sewing was going on.

She was thinking about Gabriel. He’d been much less excited about having engaged Mr. Coolidge than she’d expected, and even somewhat morose about it. A little part of her had to wonder what it was that was driving him to his search when he could have just forgotten all about it and continued letting everyone think him a duke’s son. Hard to understand why he would want to throw all that away just so he could know the truth.

She’d been struggling with these thoughts all week, and even attempts to put herself in his shoes had produced no further understanding. Yes, it was an intriguing mystery, and yes, the insatiably curious part of her wanted to solve it. The fact that it might lead him into further conviction that he wasn’t good enough for her lurked, but she nurtured a somewhat naïve faith that this could all be sorted once the mystery was done and dusted.

However, not having seen Gabriel at all for a full week, she was becoming more than a little worried. Could Mr. Coolidge have already discovered something and informed Gabriel? And had Gabriel gone off to meet the woman by himself, without telling her, and discovered some terrible secret? She itched with the temptation to walk round with Atkins to Half Moon Street and call on him, but calling on a gentleman was not at all the done thing for a young lady to do by herself. Although, she’d had the idea she could call on his brother’s wife, perhaps with a small gift for the long-awaited baby as a pretext. She might even have produced it by now, which would be fortuitous. But she was hampered by the fact she’d never met the woman, and Gabriel had not made her sound the friendly sort.

She’d had a busy week herself, as Aunt Fanny had forced her to attend both the Audley House ball and a soiree at Lady Rucker’s, both of which had proved to be the ordeal she’d feared. Mostly because Viscount Evesham, luckily in a less inebriated state than the last time she’d met him, had taken it upon himself to pay ardent court to her. Trampling on his toes and spilling her glass of sticky lemonade all over his fine silk breeches, twice, had done nothing to put him off, and he’d even called at Hill Street to see her on two occasions. Luckily, as so had several other eligible and presumably impecunious young gentlemen, she’d been able to steer clear of any time alone with him. And when he’d asked to take her walking in the park, she’d handily come down with a megrim, to Aunt Fanny’s fury.

Instead of walking in the park, she’d lain in the dark with a cold compress on her forehead and dreamed of Gabriel kissing her again. Her dreams went little further than that, although she wasn’t so innocent as not to know more was required of a young lady after marriage. It was just that his two kisses, in particular the last one, had been the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. She couldn’t imagine anything surpassing them, so her imagination took her no further.

She stabbed her needle into her finger, an act which brought her back to the present with a jolt. One really shouldn’t attempt to sew while in the midst of a daydream about a handsome gentleman kissing one. A daydream about the man she loved. A bead of blood dripped onto her handkerchief, but as that only joined a number of others already there, it hardly mattered.

Sure Aunt Fanny wasn’t looking, she sucked the end of her finger to stop it bleeding, and resumed her reverie about Gabriel. If he didn’t call or send a letter soon, she was going to have to gird up her loins and call to see him. She’d have to take Atkins and pretend she was going to do a little shopping in Bond Street. Poor Atkins. She was involved in her mistress’s subterfuges whether she liked it or not. And, as she hadn’t revealed Phoebe’s visit to Bow Street to anyone, Phoebe thought she could be relied upon to remain silent. This sounded like a perfect plan.

It was at this point that the parlor door opened and Bowles announced Gabriel’s arrival, as though Phoebe’s thoughts had conjured him out of the ether.

He was here! Phoebe promptly stabbed herself again in her excitement, but schooled her face to calm with an effort. She must give nothing away.