Miss Notley’s tone was almost idle. “I remember a brooch there once, diamonds forming a larger diamond, something dark at the center, onyx, perhaps. I never looked closely.”
The casual remark struck like a pebble against glass, rippling through Leticia. Her mother’s brooch, hidden away for years, shared the same arrangement.
Gabriel shifted subtly, his shoulder brushing hers. His fingers brushed hers, steady, deliberate, before falling away, a silent reassurance or warning.
Miss Notley’s smile did not falter. “Funny how some things find their way back, even after all this time.”
“Others are best left where they belong,” Leticia returned, her reflection in the glass meeting Miss Notley’s.
Gabriel straightened. “If you will excuse us, Miss Notley.” His tone was courteous. The meaning final.
“Of course,” she said lightly, though her eyes followed them as they turned away.
They moved toward the far end of the gallery, their steps unhurried. “There’s a teahouse around the corner from here,” Gabriel said quietly. “A pot of Darjeeling and a quiet table might suit after this crowd.”
The suggestion was simple enough, yet it carried the undertone of something more, a small withdrawal from the public stage, and perhaps the chance to speak without so many ears nearby.
Lady Westcott intercepted them near the exit, her smile gracious. “I trust you have enjoyed the afternoon, Lady Salisbury. Lord Ashcombe.”
Gabriel inclined his head. “An impressive collection.”
They exchanged farewells and stepped outside. The air was cool with a salty scent from the harbor. Leticia took his arm, aware of the warmth of his earlier touch and of the questions crowding her thoughts about the brooch, Mr. Denholm, and the ease with which Miss Notley had threaded herself through the afternoon. Too many threads. All too neatly tied. And one of them, she was certain now, was Erica Notley.
Chapter Seventeen
The Rostov Tearoomwas a study in polished comfort, mahogany paneling, tall windows draped in soft green, and the scent of fresh bread mingling with tea. The low hum of conversation wrapped the room like a warm shawl. Two women sat at the center table, speaking in low tones over plates of seed cake. A couple occupied a small table near the hearth, while in the back, Felix Townsend looked up from his tea and gave Gabriel a brief nod. By the door, a man sat with a newspaper held high, the print rustling now and then as he turned a page.
Gabriel guided Leticia toward a small table tucked in the corner, away from the main flow of the room. A server came over with a polite bow, leaving menus and promising to return with the day’s selection.
“The Historical Society does draw a crowd,” she observed, glancing around. “I suspect Lady Westcott would have been disappointed if it had not. Our presence, yours especially, will give her something to remark upon the next time the ladies gather for tea.”
“She was especially pleased at meeting you,” Gabriel said, his tone mild. “Tolliver also tells me the ladies of the houses are already speaking of a love match.”
Her brows rose. “Are they?”
“It seems they enjoy imagining the shape of other people’s futures.”
She smiled faintly. “And do you?”
His gaze met hers, deliberate and steady, and her toes curled in her slippers before she could stop them.
“Only when the imagining is worth the time.”
The server returned with the teapot and two delicate cups. As he poured, the fragrant steam curled upward, warm against her cheek. She lifted her cup, the warmth sinking into her hands. “Earlier, when we were in the gallery, what Miss Notley said about the brooch. It looked very much like one in a picture in your hall. My mother’s brooch has the same arrangement of stones.”
Gabriel’s expression did not shift, but his eyes sharpened. “You remember it clearly.”
“Only from childhood,” she said lightly. “It is the sort of thing one notices without understanding why.”
He studied her a moment longer, as though weighing what had been said—and what had not.
“Patterns like that are rarely accidental.”
“No,” she agreed. “They are usually chosen.”
Gabriel leaned back, studying her with a gaze that measured more than her words. “And yet some pieces remain exactly where they should.”
Her lips curved faintly. “Yes.”
