the hour. They already are. Edith and I will call upon them on Monday.”
“Charles and I will call too, Mama,” Aunt Matilda said.
“And Marcel and I,” Aunt Viola said. “With Estelle, if she is willing. She will be an inducement for the man to come to the masquerade, after all, and to bring his son with him. Not that Mr. Anthony Rochford has ever been reluctant to attend any entertainment, though he may be nursing a broken heart if he has discovered that Jessica has married Gabriel. It will be in the morning papers on Monday, I suppose?”
“I am almost as grand a prize as Jessica, however,” Estelle said. “Daughter of a marquess and all that. Yes, I will go with you and Papa, Mother. I would not miss going for worlds.”
“I believe,” Anna said, “we will all wait upon the Rochfords on Monday. Avery normally avoids morning or afternoon calls rather as he would the plague, but I can dare predict he will make an exception on this occasion.”
“And when we go, we will all express the fond hope that his future lordship will be at the masquerade with his wife,” Wren said. “Before his cousin is declared officially dead, that is, and his grief keeps him from all grand entertainments.”
Grandmama made a sound of contempt that was not quite a word, but she seemed to sum up everyone’s feelings. They subsided for a few moments into a satisfied silence.
Oh, Gabriel had indeed married into a whole family yesterday!
Gabriel! For a moment Jessica’s thoughts wandered. He had gone to find his lawyer, even though it was a Saturday and the man might not be amused to have his day off disturbed. Then they were going to dine together and compare notes and . . .
Well.
Gabriel had been looking forward to getting back to his hotel and to Jessica returning from her meeting with the women of her family. He had looked forward to dining privately with her and to retiring early to bed with her. Last night had been one of broken sleep. Not that it was just to catch up with missing sleep that he hoped to retire early tonight, of course.
Bedtime did not come as early as he had hoped, however. Neither did they end up dining alone.
Jessica was in the middle of telling him all about the meeting at her aunt’s house while he removed her bonnet and kissed her throat, and she accused him of trying to distract her, when they were both distracted by a knock on the door.
They waited for Horbath to emerge from the bedchamber to open it. They listened to the discreetly hushed murmur of voices.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Horbath said with a deferential bow, leaving the door slightly ajar while he came to report to Gabriel. “There is a Mr. Simon Norton belowstairs wishing to have a word with you.”
Norton? Here? Not back at Brierley? He must have assumed that his job there was completed now that Manley had come to London. Or perhaps he had come to bring that news.
“Have him shown up,” he said. He smiled ruefully at Jessica. “I am sorry. Will you mind? He is the man I sent to Brierley to find out a few things for me. I will get rid of him as soon as possible.”
“Of course I do not mind,” she said.
But when Norton was admitted, he did not come alone.
He had Mary with him.
Nineteen
So this was Mary Beck.
The woman for whom Gabriel had come back from America, leaving behind him the life he had made for himself there, his home and his business, his friends and his neighbors. For more than six years he had resisted the allure of an earl’s title and all the honor and respect it would bring with it as well as a stately home and estate and a fortune. He had not been interested. He had been happy where he was.
She was tiny, perhaps not even quite five feet tall. She appeared to have a bit of a hump on her back and one twisted arm. She limped heavily. She wore a long, shapeless coat and no hat. Her hair, a drab mixture of faded brown and gray, was scraped back over her head and sat on her neck in a small, tight bun. She had a long, plain face. She was probably in her fifties, though that was only a guess.
And Gabriel had spoken her name with warm affection and bent over her to