Page 30 of Unmask Me My Love

“How will I ever find another modiste as skilled and creative as you to design a stunning trousseau for my wedding?” Celinda asked as they emerged from the linen-draper’s, the footman following with their purchases. She peered at the long afternoon shadows reaching the edge of the sidewalk. “Shall we go home for tea and venture out tomorrow for the ribbons?”

Gabriella nodded. “We have, perhaps, done enough for one day.” She climbed in after Celinda, and the carriage started them home. “How many clothes could you possibly need for your trousseau? We have chosen fabrics enough for ten gowns.”

“Don’t forget the wedding gown itself, and all the undergarments, and accessories. Lady Mary Burford, now Lady Carstairs, had sixteen trunks of clothes sent to her new establishment when she married. Of course, she wed an earl from the north country, so I suppose she had to lay in a large supply of clothing in case they didn’t return to London for a year or two.”

She would miss her friend sorely once she left. “I believe what we have planned so far will almost be sufficient save for your wedding dress itself.” Gabriella smiled ruefully at Celinda. “However, it must be bad luck to make the wedding gown before the gentleman has even proposed.”

“Well, I suppose there is something in that.” Celinda made a moue, but then the carriage hit a bump and both ladies squealed.

“You will see Lord Finley tonight?”

“I hope he will be at Almack’s, although he was not last week.” Celinda’s brow knitted into an unbecoming knot. “I have not seen him for nearly a week.”

“It is très difficile, the waiting, n’est-ce pas?” Gabriella patted her arm. She wished Celinda’s dreams of the handsome viscount would come true. She’d all but given up on her own.

“Terrible,” Celinda agreed. “I did see him at Mrs. Beaton’s rout, but only managed a brief conversation before he was quite carried away by his friends.” She scowled. “Some gentlemen do not know when to desist in their revelry.”

“Some men do not know how to communicate at all.” Gabriella had ceased asking about the post each morning. The perpetual “No, miss,” almost brought her to tears. She had been steeling herself for the possibility that she would never see Lord Halford again. “I despair of hearing from him.” She prayed nothing bad had befallen him.

Of all her dreams, he had been the hardest to give up. At last, she had decided that when the time came, she would leave a note for him, thanking him for everything he had done for her and forgiving him for jilting her.

“I don’t think you should give up on Hal quite yet, Gabriella. He is eccentric in the way he thinks. He will focus on a problem and ignore the whole world until he solves it.”

“Unless you have knowledge I do not, I fear he has simply grown tired of me and my problems. His father refuses to allow us to wed, so he has moved on to another woman who is not objectionable to the Duke of Brixham.” Gabriella clamped her teeth together. The thought of Lord Halford—she could not quite bring herself to call him Hal—courting another woman set her whole body on edge. Should she see him with another lady, she feared the ton would have much to talk about the next morning.

Celinda shook her head, a serene smile on her face. “You have too little faith, my dear. Hal hasn’t been seen anywhere in public these two weeks. He is off hunting down proof you are the Duke of Rother’s daughter. If anyone can find it, he’s the one. Just you wait and see.”

The carriage pulled to a stop, and they disembarked slowly. “Please put the packages in my room, Thomas,” Celinda said, stripping off her gloves as they entered the foyer.

“This came while you were out, my lady.” The butler held out a note on a silver tray.

“Thank you, Tillby.” Celinda picked it up and turned it over. “Oh, gracious, Gabriella. It’s from Hal.”

The strength went out of Gabriella’s legs with the suddenness of a lightning strike. She dropped the reticule she’d been setting on the table. The coins fell out, hitting the floor with a clatter she barely heard. She clutched Celinda’s arm. “What does it say?”

Her friend had already broken the seal and unfolded the note, which contained a brief two lines, scrawled in a hurried hand. “Please bring Gabriella to the Duke of Rother’s house at four o’clock today. Hal.”

Gabriella read the words over and over, seized with happiness that he had resurfaced, but filled with foreboding at the message. What did it portend? Had he actually found some sort of proof of her birth? She looked around for the clock. “What time is it?”

Celinda tugged on her gloves again. “Time to leave. George,” she called to a passing footman. “Tell Connors to bring the carriage back around front.” She arched her eyebrows at Gabriella before they hurried down the steps. “See what I mean?”

* * * *

The Duke of Rother’s house reminded Gabriella of an island, set off from the other houses on the square by wide expanses of manicured lawn all around it—almost like a moat, seeking to isolate the duke from the rest of the world. Still, it was the largest and most beautiful house in Mayfair. They swept up the front steps and were admitted by a stern, gray-haired butler. Gabriella held her breath, trying not to stare at the foyer that was larger than her grandfather’s entire wine shop. Stone-tiled floors, gleaming walnut molding, and exquisite paintings on the walls spoke of the opulence afforded by the duke.

Gabriella hurried behind Celinda as the butler led them deeper into the labyrinth of corridors and rooms. They walked forever, it seemed, her hands trembling even when she clutched them together or held the folds of her pelisse. What would the duke say to her this time?

At last, the wizened little butler showed them into a rather small room lined with books, a library with a gleaming table at one end, behind which sat the duke, frowning.

“Lady Celinda, Miss d’Aventure.” He rose, although his scowling countenance didn’t change. “Do you know the meaning of this?” He thrust a note, on the exact notepaper Celinda had received, out to them.

“No, Your Grace.” Celinda curtsied.

Gabriella, following her lead, curtsied a little late. She could not think past the duke’s forbidding presence.

“I received a similar note from Lord Halford not a quarter of an hour ago,” Celinda continued, “requesting me to bring Miss d’Aventure to your house. Is he not here?” She managed a smile, but Gabriella could tell she was rattled by Halford’s absence as well.

Gabriella couldn’t summon the courage to look the duke in the eyes. She stared instead at the polished table before him, a starred pattern inlaid in the wood. Why had Halford brought them here? And where was he?