Page 11 of Unmask Me My Love

A shiny black curricle with the ducal crest emblazoned on the side gleamed in the sunlight. Yellow wheels and the tiger on the back in blue and gold livery completed the glittering picture. The townhouse door opened, and Lady Chalgrove strutted forth on the arm of a tall man in blue and buff. The countess laughed and squeezed his arm as he handed her up into the curricle. He jumped into the seat beside her and took the ribbons then, with a touch of the whip, started the horses at a trot, and the carriage sped off down the street.

Gabriella waited until they were out of sight then turned back into the room, determined to speak with Monsieur Carpenter as soon as possible. The last thing she’d expected was the duke actually wooing her employer. Whether this development would impede her plans she couldn’t tell; men were so unpredictable. However, she doubted it would help her in any way. She must therefore press Monsieur Carpenter to arrange the meeting with the duke before he became enamored of Lady Chalgrove. There was too much at stake to leave anything to chance now.

* * * *

Hal stood in front of his father’s gaudy black lacquer Chinese desk—decorated with gold figures, pagodas, and landscapes—as he’d done countless times in his life, thinking that his first act as Duke of Brixham would be to resign this monstrosity to the uppermost floor of the house, family heirloom or not, and bespeak a solid mahogany desk from Gillows. This one dredged up too many unpleasant memories every time he saw it.

Today’s visit had no sinister implication, however. He’d come to Black Hall this afternoon of his own accord, rather than being summoned as usual, to spy out the lay of the land, so to speak, regarding how his father might take the news his son wished to marry a woman who was not their social equal. Not that he’d made his mind up about Miss d’Aventure. No, he still wanted to become better acquainted with her. However, he’d spent the night tossing and turning, haunted by the memory of Gabriella’s body pressed close to his, her warm lips, and charming manner. No other woman had affected him this way. He’d risen at dawn and gone riding in the hopes that fresh air and the dew-speckled grass in Hyde Park would break the spell the little maid had cast upon him, but hope had melted like ice in a furnace as the sun climbed the sky. He could not get his thoughts of Gabriella to abate. Hence, his desperate call on his father. At least he would know how deep the malice toward him would extend should he do the unthinkable and marry a lady’s maid.

Hal gazed longingly at the decanter in his father’s hand. The man never stinted on the quality of his liquor.

“What brings you here this time of day, Halford? Or here at all, I should say. You’ve not darkened my door since the year began.” The Duke of Brixham, a tall, distinguished man, poured a measured splash of French brandy into a tumbler and handed it to his son. “I hope this means you are acceding to my request that you marry and set up your nursery in the next year.” His father poured a rather more sizeable portion of the spirit into his own glass and motioned for Hal to sit. “I wouldn’t think it too arduous a task for a young man in your circumstances.”

“Not too arduous, Father.” Hal sipped the brandy, savoring the rich flavor as much as the surprised expression on his sire’s face. “I have been seriously thinking about it.”

“Splendid.” The duke had raised his eyebrows but nodded. “I appreciate your willingness to indulge me in this matter. Eight-and-twenty may seem young to some to find a wife, but mark me, Halford, if the fates align against you, you will be happy you secured the succession in a timely manner.”

Hal understood that quite well. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father’s second wife had remained barren for many years and when she had conceived, had miscarried.

The doctors told them another pregnancy would likely be the end of her. He’d loved his stepmother, Frances, for she’d been kind to him all during his boyhood and had remained fond of him during his years away at school.

In recent years, however, she’d become more aloof, remaining in the country year-round. In one of her rare letters, she’d confided to him that she believed the ton whispered about her shortcomings as a wife. Her solution, therefore, was to remove the topic from view and hopefully lessen the fodder for the gossips. Hal doubted the situation was so dire but didn’t press the issue. Her presence at the London house might’ve created a whole new set of tensions. As he’d never been able to fathom how his father felt about her, he let the subject strictly alone.

Hal raised his glass, unsure how to broach the issue of Gabriella.

“Who is she?”

He stopped, brandy untasted. “I beg your pardon?”

“The girl. Who is this girl you’ve come to ask my blessing for?” The duke chuckled and poured another round into his glass. “That has to be the reason for this visit. I know you better than to believe this a purely social call.”

Damn, the old man wasn’t going to make this easy. Best go slowly. “Well, I haven’t actually found the proper lady yet, Father.”

An immediate frown darkened the duke’s face. “What exactly do you mean ‘the proper lady,’ Halford? You haven’t gone and proposed to the wrong lady, have you? Some ballet dancer, perhaps?”

“Oh, no.” Hal shook his head. A lady’s maid might be more respectable than a dancer, but neither would be an acceptable bride according to his father.

“Good.” His father’s stern face relaxed.

“The only woman I’ve proposed to is Lady Celinda Grantham.” Damn. The words were out before he thought.

“Lady Celinda?” The duke sat up, face abeam with smiles. “Old Ivor’s daughter? Oh, well done, Halford.” The old man’s eyes held a predatory gleam. “She’ll come with at least thirty thousand.” The pleased expression looked odd on the usually stern visage. “Why would you not think her a proper lady?”

Hal peered at the floor, wanting to look at anything other than his father’s face. He should have known better than to speak without thinking. Now he’d gotten his father’s hopes up, it would be twice as hard to give him the truth. Never disappoint a duke.

“The thing is, Father…” He stalled, rubbing the back of his neck. “The thing is she turned me down.”

“Turned you down?” The duke rose, his glass clinking on the polished surface of the desk. “She turned you down? You’re the Marquess of Halford. You will one day be Duke of Brixham. And she refused your suit?”

“Afraid so.” Hal set his empty glass down, wishing it would fill itself magically. “She’d just met a chap, a Lord Finley, who’s lately returned from America. She’s got a tendre for him at the moment, it seems.” He shrugged. Perhaps he could play this off to his advantage. “That’s what you hear these days. Love reigns with all the ladies. With the fellows as well. Both Jamison and Pettigrew told me not a week ago that they’d married for love.”

The duke sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed.

Hal forged on. “That’s why I think it best that I take my time to find a love match. Like you and my mother.”

“What gave you the idea my marriage to your mother was a love match?” Father’s gaze didn’t waver from Hal’s face. He tapped the tips of his fingers together.

“Well, I just assumed…”