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Her eyes flicked down to her perfectly functional hand, and an understanding smirk crept across her face. She recalled how he had brought himself off with a few strokes and wished he wasn’t so many blasted steps away.
“I see,” she said.
“Good.” His shoulders relaxed. “So you will have mercy on me for a few more days?”
She licked her lips. “No.”
“Vixen.”
“Dowager.”
“I will see you at dinner.”
He threw up one hand and walked away.
Twenty-Eight
Christopher paused in the entryway of the dining hall and straightened the knot of his cravat. Gabriel and Violet stood apart from the table, their heads bent together in conversation. The room was otherwise empty. Nora and Zachariah’s absence was … odd. They were always the first ones seated at the table because they were always hungry. Even more remarkable was the total absence of footmen. At least Sofia had heeded his wisdom and remained abed.
Christopher delayed his greeting, tarrying in place instead, his body aware of some wrongness that his mind had yet to identify. Gabriel smiled down at his wife in reaction to something she’d said, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Noting Christopher’s arrival, he nodded, and his eyes were free of distress. Still, the hairs on Christopher’s arms rose on end. Violet drifted closer to her husband, leaning into his shoulder, then remained absolutely still in a way Christopher had scarcely ever observed of her.
“What’s wrong?” Christopher strode towards the pair. “Are you well, Violet? Is it the baby?” He thought it unlikely anything was amiss with Violet’s pregnancy considering Gabriel’s relaxed demeanour, but he couldn’t ignore the rising disquiet in the pit of his stomach.
Her eyes crinkling at the corners, Violet’s hand drifted across her still-flat abdomen. “No, the baby is fine.”
“What then? Something is wrong.”
Gabriel laid a hand on Christopher’s shoulder and met his gaze with a lifetime’s worth of gratitude and affection. It was like looking into time itself and living all those moments again. All the triumph and jubilation, the uncertainty and despair.
Christopher heard the words before Gabriel spoke them.
To spare his friend the anguish, Christopher gave them voice. “Oliver is the legitimate eldest son.” Christopher shook his head in disbelief. “He’s the eldest son and you are going to make that information public.”
Gabriel remained still, his breaths even. He’d fought tirelessly to become a duke more compassionate than his father, had spurned sleep to navigate land disputes and scrutinise bill amendments, had loved his people and toiled so that they might thrive. And now he would accomplish one last impossible feat, sign his name to one final love letter. He had lived for this dukedom, and now he would lift up his brother as the rightful fifth Duke of Northam.
“Don’t be a fucking martyr, Gabriel. I told you I don’t want your title.” Oliver stood in the entryway with Sofia on his arm. His response cracked through the silent communication occurring between Gabriel and Christopher.
“Sofia,” Christopher said, “you’re meant to be resting.” He clung to the distraction, however temporary. “Oliver—”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why Oliver had let his sister out of her bed, but of course no one let Sofia do anything. If Oliver hadn’t assisted her to the dining room, she would have stumbled there on her own. “Never mind,” he sighed.
Oliver strolled to the table and helped Sofia into a chair. “Can we eat before we argue about this?”
“We can eat while I listen to your concerns, but you cannot argue your way out of being a duke any more than I can argue myself into the position.” Gabriel poured glasses of water for Violet and himself and began distributing food onto everyone’s plates. “You have in your possession a certificate of birth dating before mine, an out-of-date will from our sire’s retired solicitor in France, and a letter detailing your birth. Any number of papers in my study will confirm his signature. You could have saved yourself the trouble of espionage all together as your name is undoubtedly listed in Debrett’s, which can be found in any common bookshop. You already had everything you needed before you arrived.”
Oliver stabbed his pheasant with his fork. “But no one knows Oliver Anson is alive, and no one needs to. It’s in literally everyone’s best interest for that poor sod to remain dead. Even if we completely disregard the interests of the servants at this estate, your tenant farmers—”
“Your tenant farmers.”
“Stop that!” Oliver caught himself and checked his anger, then continued. “Your tenant farmers, and the whole of England. If I am the duke, it puts Zachariah at risk, Nora’s marriage prospects decline, and …”
“And?” Gabriel invited him to continue.
“And Oliver Anson’s existence renders you illegitimate.” He paused as the sheer horror of the situation rippled across the expressions of everyone at the table. Everyone except Gabriel, that is, who remained placid. “The dowager’s status would be made invalid,” Oliver continued, doling out calamity as if it was a helping of mashed potatoes. “I haven’t yet met the woman, but I hear she’s terrifying. The threat of her retribution alone is enough to dissuade Oliver Anson from resurrection.”
Gabriel chuckled, and Oliver looked at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.
“She is terrifying,” Violet agreed.
