“Thank you for granting me some of your time,” Gabriel said, clasping his hand and shaking it firmly.
“Not at all,” the duke murmured, indicating a chair for his guest before resuming his seat behind the desk.
A man’s time was precious. It ought not to be wasted upon small talk except on social occasions. This was not one.
“I have asked Lady Jessica Archer to marry me,” Gabriel began, though he was still not sure he had asked. “She said yes. We plan to marry by special license within the week. She does not wish for a large ton wedding. Neither do I.”
If Netherby was shocked, or even surprised, he certainly gave no indication. “Congratulations are in order, then,” he said. “You may have a fight on your hands with her mother over the nature of the wedding. But that is no concern of mine. Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me?”
He was a cool customer, Gabriel thought, especially in light of what Norton had had to say in the report that had arrived from Brierley this morning.
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Is your secretary at work this morning?”
The ducal eyebrows rose, and for a moment Gabriel could see a faint resemblance between him and his half sister. Or perhaps it was just that they had both perfected that haughtiness of manner that froze pretension.
“Edwin Goddard?” the duke said. “I pay him to work during the mornings. I trust he is at it now and not playing truant.”
“Here at Archer House?” Gabriel asked.
A very brief smile curved the duke’s lips for a moment. “It is doubtful,” he said, “unless he can ride like the wind, which is extremely unlikely. He is a commendably efficient secretary, but in some instances he might be fondly described as plodding. He is not blending unnoticed into his surroundings, I take it?”
“Not as well as my man does,” Gabriel told him. “Norton is a gardener at the house by day and a frequenter of the local tavern by night.”
“Ah,” His Grace said. “For all his many talents, one cannot imagine Edwin wielding a scythe. Or, for that matter, blending. When I next see him, he will give me a pained look and not quite inform me that he told me so. He did tell me so. How was a stranger going to park himself for a week or more at a godforsaken inn in a godforsaken village in the middle of nowhere, he told me—actually he did not say it aloud, though his manner implied it—and discover a sudden and insatiable curiosity about its inhabitants without arousing suspicion from all and sundry, even the village idiot, if there is such a person? I advised him when I saw that look on his face to do his best. For once in his illustrious career it would seem that his best was not good enough. As a matter of purely personal interest, will Jessica’s name become Thorne or Rochford when she marries?”
“Thorne,” Gabriel said. “My name was legally changed in Boston when my cousin adopted me as his son.”
“Your mother’s cousin, I presume,” the duke said. “It was her maiden name too. Edwin Goddard is very good at many things, you see, though admittedly that was something I might have ferreted out even without his aid if I had chosen to exert myself. Edwin is bad for me. He enables me to be lazy.”
Gabriel very much doubted His Grace allowed anyone or anything to make him lazy.
“You see,” Netherby continued, “I would quite possibly have approved of your suit, Lyndale—I may call you that?—even if Jessica had needed my permission. An earl is a good match for her. I would, of course, have required detailed information about your American business and your personal fortune. Poor Edwin would have been very busy indeed. I would also have required—no, I would have demanded—a full explanation of certain events that happened just prior to your leaving for America. I trust you have been able to satisfy Jessica on those points?”
“I have,” Gabriel told him. “I am innocent of both rape and murder. I can offer proof on the first and a witness, or rather an alibi, on the second.”
“Quite so,” the duke said with a dismissive gesture of one hand. “Miss Beck, I assume. You need not proceed to bore me with all the sordid details.”
Gabriel did not doubt that he knew them already. But good God, his man had spoken to Mary, had he? Norton had spotted him in the environs of Brierley. And from the description he had given in his report, Gabriel had concluded that he and the majordomo who had been guarding Lady Jessica Archer at the inn on the road to London a few weeks ago were one and the same.
“Perhaps,” he said, getting to his feet, “I may have a word with my betrothed now?”
“I do not doubt she awaits you with bated breath,” Netherby said, also rising from his chair. “You may discover, however, that her mother will want more than a single word with you. You may expect to find her severely disappointed, since she and her sisters and their mother appear to have pinned their hopes upon another man who expects to be Earl of Lyndale one day.”
“Jessica informed me that you withheld your blessing from him when he asked for it,” Gabriel said, “because he has too many teeth.”
And he was suddenly treated to the rare sight of the Duke of Netherby smiling.
Jessica was sitting in the drawing room with Anna and her mother. Her mother had not given either her or Ruth any special instructions this morning. As a result, Jessica was wearing her favorite—but not new—blue morning dress and had her hair dressed simply, without any artfully wayward curls to trail her neck or temples. She sat with a book open on her lap, a ridiculous affectation, since she could not have read a single sentence if she tried. Indeed, she had to check to make sure it was the right way up.
Her mother was not pleased. The fact that she had not uttered a word since Jessica joined her and Anna in the drawing room proved the point. She had not said anything or looked up from her embroidery frame even when the door knocker sounded downstairs and the heavy doors could be heard opening a short time later.
Anna was holding her peace too, though she regarded them both with kindly smiles from time to time when she looked up from the bonnet she was knitting for Beatrice.
“Mr. Thorne?” Mama had said when Avery had mentioned at breakfast that Gabriel had requested an audience. “But whatever for?”
“If he had included that information in his note,” Avery had said, “he would hardly need to come here too, Mother.”
“It cannot be,” Mama had said, frowning. “He surely cannot be coming here to make an offer for Jessica, Avery?”
“I seriously doubt it,” Avery had said. “He must know he does not need my permission.”
“Avery!” she had cried. “You will surely say a resounding no, whether Jessica needs your permission or not. It is Mr. Rochford whose suit we must encourage. He has prospects. Viola is hoping Mr. Thorne will persuade Estelle to choose a husband at last, though she is perfectly well aware that Marcel may object to her choosing an untitled man about whom so little is known. She is bound to be upset nevertheless if it turns out he has set his sights upon Jessica. Perhaps we can avoid mentioning it to her.”
Avery had simply looked pained.
“Jessica?” Anna had asked. “Did you know about this?”
Finally someone had thought to include her in this conversation. “Yes,” she had said, touching the pink rosebud beside her plate.
“Jessica?” Her mother had looked at her in astonishment.
Jessica had got to her feet, set her napkin beside her plate, and left the room, remembering to take her pink rosebud and the card with her. This morning the card read simply Gabriel. Had the daily rose not been a warning to her mother? Had she really thought he was sending one to any number of women, perhaps Estelle included? Or had she merely assumed that Jessica disdained his interest as she had disdained everyone else’s during the past six or seven years?
Was Avery going to come to the drawing room alone this time too, she wondered now, as he had done after Mr. Rochford called, to explain why he had withheld his blessing though he could not refuse his permission? What had Gabriel told him? The full truth? They had not discussed it last night, though she believed he wished to keep his secret for a little longer, until he had somehow dealt with the problem of Mr. Manley Rochford and his son.
Jessica closed her eyes for a few moments. It was Manley Rochford who had raped the neighbor’s daughter and probably murdered her brother. Gabriel was sure on the first, almost sure on the second. If the murderer had not been Manley, then it had very probably been Mr. Philip Rochford, Gabriel’s cousin, his uncle’s son, who was no longer alive to admit or deny the charge.
The door opened suddenly—she had not heard footsteps on the stairs—and Avery ushered Gabriel inside before stepping in after him. Jessica’s stomach performed an uncomfortable flip-flop. The events of last night—all of them—seemed somehow unreal this morning. The fact that he was standing here now proved that they were not, however. But she had never been kissed as she had been last night. She was not even sure he had initiated it. She was the one who had stepped up close to him and set her hands over his chest—because the need to touch him had been overwhelming. It had felt . . . breathtaking. She had admitted to wanting him, and he had admitted to wanting her. Wanting—such an inoffensive word. But he had mentioned bed, and all sorts of shocking images had filled her mind, and far more than just her mind. And then he had kissed her . . .