daughter was to be the first truly grand entertainment of the Season, and Jessica was pleased that she had arrived in time to attend it. There had even been time to have the first of her new ball gowns finished and delivered to Archer House, Avery’s home on Hanover Square. It was also her favorite, its narrow yet flowing lines both elegant and flattering to her figure, she believed, its color a deep shade of rose pink she had been looking for in vain for years. Her hand had already been engaged for three sets of dances—the opening set with Mr. Gladdley, who could always be relied upon to make her laugh; the second with Sir Bevin Romley, who for all his large girth and creaking corsets was light on his feet; and the first waltz with Lord Jennings, who despite having no conversation whatsoever beyond his horses always performed the steps with flair.
Jessica had kept all other sets free. There was always the hope, after all, that a new Season would bring new people to town—specifically new gentlemen. And there was always the chance that one of them would be tall, dark, and handsome. And eligible. And interested in her. This year in particular he would be very welcome indeed, this mythical man who would sweep her off her feet and rescue her from sensible plans.
Besides, if she did not keep at least a few sets free until the ball was already in progress, she would never hear the end of it from her disgruntled group of admirers, who would collectively feign heartbreak and heartache and any number of other silly woes. She derived great amusement from them all. It was impossible to take them seriously when they tried so hard to outdo one another in their ardor—most of it deliberately theatrical and not really meant to be taken seriously anyway. Which left the question: Were any of them serious about her? Was she in danger of being left on the shelf after all? But she would not believe that any such ghastly fate awaited her.
She looked forward to the Parley ball with some eagerness, just as she always did at the start of a new Season.
Gabriel arrived in London two days after disembarking from one of his own ships in Bristol. He was unfamiliar with England’s capital, having spent a total of perhaps two weeks there during his growing years. He expected, moreover, that he would know absolutely no one, though there was Sir Trevor Vickers, his father’s friend and his own godfather, who had been a member of Parliament at one time and might still be. Regardless of any reluctance on his part, however, he had chosen to come to London rather than set out immediately for Derbyshire and Brierley Hall. There was business to be done here.
He took a suite of rooms at a decent hotel and spent a busy week interviewing and engaging a good lawyer and a land agent. He was obliged to be frank with them about his identity, of course, though he did not want it generally known yet. He wanted first to get a feel for the situation he might find himself in when he was no longer merely Mr. Gabriel Thorne. He spent many more hours transforming himself into a respectable-looking English gentleman. He endured a tedious time with a reputable tailor and a barber the tailor recommended, along with a boot maker and a haberdasher and a jeweler. He interviewed a number of men sent him by an agency and chose a superior sort of individual named Horbath—no first name was provided—to be his valet. He acquired a horse after being directed to Tattersalls. And he discovered that Sir Trevor Vickers was not only still a member of Parliament but was also a senior member of the cabinet now.
Gabriel called upon him and Lady Vickers one morning and was fortunate enough to find them both at home.
“Rochford?” Sir Trevor said when he and his wife joined Gabriel in the salon where he had been put to wait. The baronet gazed at his visitor in open astonishment. “Gabriel Rochford? But bless my soul, you must be he. You look just like your father.”
“I go by my mother’s name of Thorne now,” Gabriel explained as he submitted to a very firm and prolonged handshake, though it was the name Rochford he had sent up with Sir Trevor’s butler. “But yes, sir. I am Gabriel.” He bowed to Lady Vickers, who had