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‘No, he’s fine. I was thinking about something else.’ He found he could smile. This was, after all, Giles, Marquess of Revesby, his oldest friend. ‘Good to see you. When did you get to town and how is Laurel?’ Laurel was Giles’s wife, another childhood friend, despite a residual tension between them ever since the events which had led to him marrying Portia.
‘She is flourishing, although she really ought to be back home in the country with her feet up, if you follow me.’
‘You are anticipating a happy event? Congratulations.’ Gray shook Giles’s hand with genuine feeling. ‘I’d say come down to the club and we’ll drink to it, but I’ve got to track down a doctor I’ve had recommended to check Jamie over.’
‘Couldn’t anyway, tempted though I am.’ Revesby cast a harried look at his pocket watch. ‘I’m supposed to be collecting Laurel from the dressmaker’s in five minutes. But come to dinner tonight if you’re free. Relax before the family descends upon you, which your Cousin Henry tells me is likely tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do that, with pleasure.’ They shook hands, restrained by the location from anything more demonstrative, and Giles strode off northward while Gray took a moment to give himself a mental shake. This was not the time to be bloodying his knuckles or wasting ammunition on harmless targets. He should be calling on Dr Templeton and arranging for him to call and examine Jamie, then he should be reviewing the arrangements the staff had made for his mother and the children. Giles mentioning Henry had given him a telling insight into one of the reasons he was feeling so unsettled: he had a strong desire to hit his cousin, knock out a few teeth.
Henry had acted in good faith in offering to help Gabrielle, he knew that with the rational, sensible part of his brain. His suggestions would have helped keep her safe from discovery, would have kept her from encountering men far less honest than Henry. And his cousin could have had no idea that Gray’s feelings for her were any more genuine than the pretence they were making for her aunt’s benefit. None of which reasonableness stopped the desire to pulverise the man. Henry had kissed her, he had put his hands on her, even if her torn gown was not his fault, as she insisted.
Mine, something primitive and fierce snarled inside Gray as he changed direction yet again and made his way towards Brook Street and the doctor’s residence. He could have sent a note, but a personal call would give him time to get his thoughts into some sort of order. Mine. It was no comfort to realise that Gabrielle was never likely to be anyone’s, now or in the future. He didn’t want her lonely and celibate, even if that meant there was no one to be jealous of. He wanted the impossible.
It must be love, he concluded grimly as he let the knocker drop on the imposing front door. So cope with it. Bite your lip and keep it to yourself. Learn to live with it and without her, and focus on what you can control, like finding the best man for Jamie.
If Templeton could afford this house his practice was profitable and fashionable. It remained to be seen how effective he was, although the replies he had received from his hasty notes to fellow officers who had suffered head injuries in combat and who were now recovered and home in London had produced two direct recommendations and a mention of this man’s name.
He handed his card to the butler who answered the door. ‘I have no appointment, but I would be grateful if Dr Templeton could spare me a few minutes.’
‘My lord.’ The man bowed him inside. It seemed a title gave immediate access here. That did not particularly impress Gray. He didn’t care whether Jamie was examined by the king’s doctor or a slum physician, provided the man knew his business, he thought as he took a seat in an elegant waiting room. The local doctor had been reassuring, had almost convinced him that nothing was wrong, but he would not be satisfied without a second opinion.
* * *
‘You look charming, Gabrielle.’ Aunt Henrietta gave an approving nod towards the new evening gown revealed as Gaby handed her cloak to an attendant. ‘And Gray is not here to see you. I do not understand the man.’ She sounded a touch smug. ‘How long is it since you last saw him?’
‘Oh...three days, I think.’ Three days, six hours, twenty minutes... ‘He is sure to be anxious about his son and I doubt he wants to leave his mother just two days after she has made that long journey,’ Gaby said, following her aunt towards the receiving line for Lady Carsington’s reception.
‘You are sure and you doubt? Are you not talking to him?’ Aunt Henrietta gave her a searching look. ‘Do I detect a little rift between the pair of you, dear?’
‘Not at all, Aunt.’ Gaby produced a smile. ‘We try not to live in each other’s pockets. So unfashionable, don’t you think? And besides, we are not ready to make our understanding known—too obvious a degree of attention would betray it.’
‘And why are you not ready?’ her aunt demanded.
‘Because, as Gray said, we cannot agree on the venue, or our wedding trip or any of the practical details and until we do there is no point in advertising the matter. I suppose we are both strong-willed people who have been used to having our own way. I am sure we will manage to compromise in time.’ Gaby saw with relief that they had arrived at the end of the receiving line. That, at least, was sufficient to silence her aunt for a few minutes and once they were inside the reception she could surely escape her.
‘Henrietta! Cooee, Henrietta!’
Even better, one of her aunt’s bosom friends, rushing across the room, all flying ribbons and bobbing plumes, to pass on the latest titbit of gossip. Gaby ducked neatly to one side behind a large gentleman and his larger wife and emerged on the other side of two potted palms.
‘Oh, excuse me.’ A lady came from her right-hand side suddenly and almost knocked into Gaby. ‘Did I tread on your toe? I do beg your pardon, but I was trying to avoid catching the eye of Mr Parsons, who is convinced I want to hear him recite his latest poetry. I made the mistake of admiring some out of sheer politeness last week and now he haunts me.’
‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ Gaby said and the other woman laughed. Her hair was dark and glossy, her eyes a deep brown, both like Gaby’s, but her skin was the roses and cream that English ladies seemed to specialise in.
‘I am Laurel, Lady Revesby. My husband is that improbably handsome blond creature over there looking politely interested while having his head talked off by Lady Jersey. I haven’t met you before, have I? Are you new in London?’
‘I live in Portugal.’
Lady Revesby dropped her fan, fumbled a catch and stared. ‘Portugal?’
‘Yes, the Douro Valley. I am Gabrielle Frost.’
‘Frost’s port?’
‘You have heard of us? Ladies so rarely have—their menfolk guard the wine buying, and certainly the port drinking, so jealously.’
‘I have heard of you.’ Gaby could not interpret Lady Revesby’s tone. ‘Lord Leybourne was a neighbour when I was growing up. So was my husband. My godfather’s daughter was Gray’s first wife.’
‘So you are aware that I know Lord Leybourne?’ She knew and she sounded distinctly wary about the fact, Gaby realised. ‘I presume you also know that he is my aunt’s godson and was kind enough to escort me from Lisbon.’
