Page 57 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

But talk of fences brought Abner and that horrid, smelly attic of her to mind. A different sort of fence altogether. “Goodness,” Phoebe managed, for want of something to say.

More enthusiastic nodding. “If only he were going to the ball tonight. I’d throw caution to the wind and give him every dance, no matter what Mama said.”

As this could never happen, and even if Señor Rodriguez did turn up without an invitation, Aunt Fanny would easily put an angry stop to it, this also required no comment.

Instead, and in an attempt to silence Mattie, Phoebe draped a gossamer shawl about her shoulders and picked up her jeweled reticule. “Hadn’t we better go downstairs?”

Mattie’s face dissolved into a scowl. “I suppose so. I’d rather stay here and dance the night away, all on my own, with Señor Rodriguez. With Felipé. He said I could call him that. Dance the waltz with him.” She shivered. “Now that would be my perfect evening.”

Certain that the evening was not going to be anything like perfect, for her at least, Phoebe led the way down to the parlor where Aunt Fanny was already waiting for them.

As Lady Radnor’s large house was situated not far off in the opulent St James’s Square, on the north side of course, where the biggest houses were, the use of the carriage could have been seen as superfluous. But ladies could not be seen walking to balls, especially not in the rain, so the carriage was waiting outside the house, four matched bays harnessed to it and poor Howden, the coachman, hunched on the driver’s seat in a voluminous caped coat. At least he’d be able to return home in between dropping their party off and returning to collect them.

The three ladies mounted swiftly into the carriage while their footmen held wide umbrellas over their heads, and, once they were settled, Howden clicked to his horses. The carriage rumbled off through the puddles, rain rattling on its roof.

Within just a few minutes it was drawing up outside Radnor House where more footmen, looking damp but as though this didn’t matter to them, were ready with more umbrellas.

Aunt Fanny led the way into the house. They were fashionably late, as she liked to be, which meant they could make their entrance to the best effect, allowing the guests already there to admire them. Not something Phoebe relished.

*

Gabriel had arrived some twenty minutes earlier in the company of Ambrose. Elliott, his valet, had made a herculean effort and adapted his second-best evening coat’s sleeve by sewing in a matching gusset to accommodate the splint on his right arm, and the only thing that gave away his injury was the thin black sling he was wearing and the tip of the splint poking out of his sleeve. He’d also taken a small dose of laudanum before he left and was feeling mildly euphoric as a consequence. He could quite see why it might be dangerous to take too much of it. The effect, even of a low dose, was far too pleasant. He’d already promised himself not to take any more if he could help it.

Of course, Isabel had not been able to accompany them. Thank goodness.

To be honest, she looked as though at any moment she might produce the longed-for heir and had the look about her of someone permanently on the brink of hysterics. Why she’d thought it a good idea to travel all the way up from Dorset in her condition was only for her to answer. Lack of trust for Ambrose seemed the most likely, and wisest, choice. That Ambrose was not in the least trustworthy where women were concerned was a fact Gabriel had grown up with. But perhaps Isabel had imagined she could change him with love. They’d both, it seemed, been misled about each other’s characters. And as far as Gabriel could tell, love didn’t enter into their relationship at all.

Oh well. He would have felt sorry for her had she not been such an odious woman. The fact that she so clearly disliked him helped. Let Ambrose do just what he wanted. He wasn’t about to try and stop him.

He was at present in the card room watching Ambrose playing Faro for frighteningly high stakes. His brother had always been a gambler and, as Papa’s heir, had the wherewithal, mostly, to indulge himself. Gabriel, as a younger son, was not nearly so well provided for. It would have been enough, had he not the orphanage to support and the next one to get up and running. But even had he enough money, he would not have gambled. He’d seen too many gentlemen ruined by injudicious betting, one or two of whom had been reduced to suicide attempts. He considered himself too wise to fall for that, and didn’t regard his own peccadilloes as containing the same risk.

Ambrose, who’d drunk the best part of a bottle of brandy even before leaving home, was well on his way to losing a small fortune. Deciding he’d rather not watch money being lost which he could have used to save God knew how many more children, Gabriel, holding his glass of lemonade, wandered through into the main ballroom, hardly daring to hope he might spy Phoebe there. Her absence, and his own jumbled feelings for her, had been the reason he’d gone into the card room with Ambrose in the first place.

No sign of her. But then, she was the epitome of a wallflower, and he wasn’t expecting to spot her straightaway. He scanned the room more carefully. There, wasn’t that her dragon-like aunt dancing with the rotund and balding Duke of Hexham? So if she was here, so must Phoebe be. And of course, her Amazonian cousin whom he’d thought the duke was interested in. It seemed he preferred his meat well hung.

Keeping to the edge of the room, Gabriel began to slowly skirt the dancers, who were participating in a lively Scottish reel. Someone, probably Lady Radnor, whose origins were Scottish, had provided the orchestra with a bagpipe player, and the skirling music rose to the chandeliered ceiling. Very rousing.

One or two people greeted him as he passed, but he was as short with them as it was polite to be. For some reason he couldn’t work out, he was sure he needed to find Phoebe as quickly as possible. His heart began to speed up in anticipation of seeing her lovely face.

As he passed a group of older ladies seated in conversation around a low table, one of them glanced up at him. Her face lit up for a brief moment as her eyes met his, only for her gentle expression to be replaced by one of deep sadness. He paused to bow to her, as was only polite. “Lady Mandeville.” The Earl of Mandeville’s widowed sister-in-law. Possibly she was thinking of her awful nephew. She bowed her head slightly and turned back to her friends. Perhaps she’d been looking for someone and mistaken his step.

But he forgot this immediately as he spotted Phoebe, a little further along and in conversation with the nephew himself, Viscount Evesham, the rather unpleasant heir to the equally unpleasant Earl of Mandeville. Not a nice family. Phoebe did not look happy. But then, at the ball where he’d met her, she’d not looked happy for most of the time, so nothing was that different.

Having deposited his lemonade glass on a table, he approached in full view of Evesham, whose gaze met his with a distinct air of hostility. Unfazed, Gabriel kept going. “Evesham, good to see you. Lady Phoebe, you look charming as ever.” He bowed to them both and was pleased to spot a flash of what might have been pleasure in Phoebe’s dark eyes.

If he wasn’t mistaken, she was happy to see him, but also a little confused.

“Wycliff,” Evesham said, a distinct coldness about his voice. Not that he and Gabriel had ever been friends. Evesham had been four years ahead of him at Eton and left within a year of Gabriel’s arrival at that hallowed institution. Which had been a relief, as he’d been one of the worst bullies in the school.

“Lord Gabriel.” Phoebe executed a decidedly clumsy curtsy. No doubt Evesham hadn’t yet experienced the pleasure of her trampling, or he might not be looking quite so proprietorial. Or maybe he’d decided her fortune worth the toe damage. That seemed more likely. Or maybe there was more to it than that. If there was, Phoebe did not look as though she was party to it.

Gabriel smiled benevolently on them both, no doubt partly thanks to the laudanum-induced euphoria. He let his gaze come to rest on Phoebe, who suddenly seemed to be glowing as though a fire burned within her, and said the first thing that came into his head. “I just saw your sainted aunt, and she asked me to fetch you to her if I were to find you. I believe she said she needs to tell you something. What it is, I have no idea, but she sounded as though she thought it quite important. Shall I escort you to her?”

“I thought I saw her on the dance floor?” put in Evesham, but Phoebe was already moving away from him.

“The dance will be over very shortly,” she said, with aplomb. “That will be when she needs me.”

Gabriel held out his arm, smug that he’d got his offer to escort her in before Evesham had time to do so, and his rival shot him an angry glare.