Page 37 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Mrs. Hawkins’s brown furrowed deeply. Then she nodded with decision. “Yes. She had the most beautiful violet eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like that either before or after. They were her most noticeable feature.”

“Not blue like mine?”

She shook her head. “No, not like yours at all.”

He sat back. So he was looking for a tall woman who’d once had dark-auburn hair but who might, after the passage of twenty-three years, now be gray, or even white. But she would still have her unusual violet eyes. That was something useful to go on.

He rose to his feet. “Thank you very much for your clear recollection and help, Mrs. Hawkins. I’m sure my mother would consider you have fulfilled your part of the bargain. As you might imagine, I am keen to see if I can find this woman.”

Her hand shot out. “Be careful what you wish for, my lord. You may discover more than you intended.”

“You mean you think she might have been a part of the underworld in that part of London? Or a woman of loose morals?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea. The duke certainly thought so, for he sent agents into the St Giles Rookery to search for her.”

Gabriel nodded. “He told me he’d done that. And I do know that’s dangerous.”

She let her hand drop. “I would not be doing my duty if I didn’t warn you to be careful. Your mother loved you very much. As far as she was concerned, you were her child. Her gift from God.”

He nodded. “And I loved her as my mother.”

*

Upstairs once again, Gabriel went in search of his stepmother in the pink drawing room. His father’s second wife, Dorothea, Duchess of Sherborne, lay prostrate on the chaise longue with the curtains drawn, while her oldest daughter, Lady Cecilia, was reading aloud to her from a book of poetry she’d no doubt fetched from the library.

Cecilia stopped reading and turned her head, but the duchess kept her eyes firmly closed. A cold compress rested on her forehead. “Who is it?” she asked in the most feeble of tones. As she was currently expecting yet another contribution to the Wycliff family tree, Gabriel supposed it was not out of the ordinary to find her like this. Although of course it was early days yet.

“Gabriel,” Cecilia said, with a smile. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here, brother?”

He executed a perfect bow. “Stepmama, Cecilia, how lovely to see you both. I hope this isn’t inconvenient.”

The duchess sat up. She had once been a pretty woman, although she had the misfortune nowadays to possess a rather sour face. But, as she came from a very large family, no doubt that was why the duke had chosen her as his second wife. Having already produced four daughters, now aged from three to fifteen, she was, he supposed, fulfilling her obligation to produce children. Just not a boy. No doubt she was praying this new child would be the longed-for boy. And at the same time ill-wishing poor Isabel back at Wentworth and hoping her and Ambrose’s offspring would be a despised girl.

“Gabriel, how nice to see you. Do you bring news of your brother’s wife?”

He shook his head. “Nothing as yet, I’m afraid. Waiting for an accouchement is a tedious business.”

“Your brother is amusing himself well, I gather.”

She obviously knew about the mistress. No point in denying that, so he didn’t. “But inside he’s very worried about his wife.” Probably not true at all.

He perched on the edge of a chair. “I came to find out the day of your next tea party.”

Her thin eyebrows arched. “Might we count upon your presence?”

“You might. But only if I can persuade you to invite Lady Brockwood and her daughter and niece.”

Cecilia had laid the book down. “Why, Gabriel, which one of those two young ladies has aroused your interest?” She was a far prettier girl than her mother, without any of the sourness about her.

He grinned at her. “That will be for you to divine, fair Cecilia.”

She pouted. “Have no doubt, brother, that I shall discover the truth. You are an open book where I am concerned.”

It was to be hoped that he wasn’t.

He returned his gaze to the duchess. “Will you invite them for me?”

The duchess wrinkled her overly long nose. “Well, as you have asked so nicely and promised to attend, I can think of no reason to deny you. I will send out an invitation promptly. Cecilia, my cards. You can write it for me and we’ll send one of the footmen round with it forthwith.” She looked up at Gabriel again. “Should we invite Ambrose, do you think?”