him exceedingly well. Gabriel wishes you to accompany us. And my dear Jessica, there will be no pistols. No bullets. He assured me of that, and he asked me to assure you. He advised me to tell you that I do not lie. And he is right. I do not.”
Jessica sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
She was the Countess of Lyndale, Mary had reminded her. More to the point and from long experience, she was Lady Jessica Archer. Mary did not tell lies. But perhaps Gabriel had lied to Mary. No. Surely, surely he would not have done that if there was any risk that someone—Avery? Alexander? Anna?—might have to come here later to tell her he had been shot through the heart in a duel.
But he was without any doubt up to something. Something he did not want her to know about, or he would not have dashed away in such a hurry before she could question him. But it was not that. He would not be so rash anyway, for it must have occurred to him—and to all her family members who had been here for breakfast, and even to Mr. Vickers—that if he died in a duel, Manley Rochford would become the Earl of Lyndale after all. It would have occurred to Gabriel that it was his duty to remain alive at least long enough to beget a son.
She would kill him anyway with her bare hands the next time she saw him.
Unconsciously she adjusted her posture and raised her chin.
“You will love the Tower of London, Mary,” she said. “And Westminster Abbey. So will I. I have not made a visit to either for at least a year or two.”
As for the tearoom . . . Well, she would think of that when the time came. At the moment the very thought of food or even a cup of tea made her want to vomit.
“You are a very dear and brave young lady,” Mary said. “Gabriel is a fortunate man.”
Gabriel had spent a busy few hours, though it was not easy to keep his mind off Jessica. He had tried to keep her from attending that meeting, but of course she had insisted. The last thing he had expected her to do, however, was faint. And she had been out cold. Some chafing of the wrists by Anna while one of her uncles had fanned her face with a napkin had done nothing to bring her around. Gabriel had scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to their suite.
His first instinct had been to send for her mother. When Horbath had gone to fetch Ruth, however, Mary had come with her. Leaving her with Mary was leaving her in very safe hands indeed. And leave he must, before Jessica had recovered enough to interrogate him on his intentions. He waited just until she was stirring back to consciousness and both Ruth and Mary assured him that she would be perfectly fine after a little rest. Mary had come out to the sitting room with him and told him that the Dowager Countess of Riverdale and her sister had very kindly offered to show her some of London today.
“I could cancel the outing without suffering any great disappointment,” she said. “But I believe it would be better, Gabriel, to go and to take Jessica with us.”
“An excellent idea,” he said after a moment’s thought. “I will call upon the dowager and inform her of the slight change in plan and the reason for it.”
“Gabriel,” she said as he took his hat and gloves from Horbath, “you will remember, will you not, that all life is sacred, even that of a miscreant?”
“I will remember,” he told her, looking steadily at her. “He will not die at my hands, Mary, and I cannot take the risk of dying at his. Much depends upon my staying alive, at least for a while.”
No, he could not challenge Manley to a duel. As had been pointed out at breakfast, that would give Manley the advantage of having choice of weapons. And Manley had grown up with a gun in his hands. Gabriel, on the other hand, had not. Anyway, a duel was an affair of honor between two gentlemen. Manley did not deserve a duel. Gabriel regretted even mentioning it now, but it had been in the heat of anger.
He called upon Jessica’s grandmother and great-aunt and gave them a brief summary of the morning’s meeting.