one night if indeed they were to stay longer in London. Either way, she would not be coming back here. She might visit Archer House any number of times in the future and perhaps even stay here occasionally. She might and probably would visit Morland Abbey. But after a lifetime of thinking of both houses as home, she could no longer do so. She did not belong here now. She belonged wherever Gabriel belonged.
And where was that?
Brierley Hall? He had lived there for only ten of his thirty-two years. And they had not been happy years. By contrast, the thirteen he had spent in Boston had been happy. But duty and his concern for a lady who was about to be turned out of her home had brought him back—to stay. Yes, they would live at Brierley Hall, Jessica thought. A house she had never seen, in a part of the country with which she was unfamiliar. Far from either London or Morland Abbey. Far from her mother and Avery and Anna. Far from Abby and Camille and Harry. Far from everyone except perhaps Aunt Mildred and Uncle Thomas.
She would make it into a home. For herself. For Gabriel. For any children they would have—oh please, please, dear God, let there be children. At least one son for the succession and a few other children just because. She would make it a happy home. It was what she had been raised to do. It was what she could and would do. She was Lady Jessica . . . Thorne. She was the Countess of Lyndale.
There was a light tap upon the door of the bedchamber and it opened before Ruth could reach it. Gabriel stepped inside, and Jessica’s breath caught in her throat at the realization that he now had every right to do so. She had sacrificed privacy an hour ago as well as name and home and the little freedom she had insisted upon asserting since her twenty-first birthday.
“Everyone is awaiting the bride,” he said.
“And that would be me.” She took a few steps forward and linked her arm through the one he offered and stepped out of the room that was no longer her bedchamber without looking back.
There was feasting and conversation and laughter. There were speeches and toasts and more laughter. There were stories told of Jessica’s childhood, some touching, some funny, a few embarrassing to her. There were stories told by Sir Trevor and Lady Vickers of the week they had spent in the small vicarage where Gabriel’s father had had his living, celebrating the christening of young Gabriel. They had told about how the baby had smiled sweetly and widely and toothlessly in Lady Vickers’s hold, waving his little arms about as he did so, and how she had threatened to take him home with her and never return him.
“I believe that was the moment when he vomited all over your best dress, Doris,” Sir Trevor said, and everyone laughed again.
“Oh, it was not, Trevor,” she protested. “That was a different time. You were very well behaved at your christening, Gabriel.”
Gabriel smiled at her. He knew so little of his early childhood. He had had no one after the age of nine to reminisce about it.
“He lived up to his angelic name, did he?” the Marquess of Dorchester said.
“Don’t I always?” Gabriel asked, and Jessica touched the back of his hand.
“I just wish,” her grandmother said, “you were not taking my granddaughter so far away, Gabriel. And so soon. Tomorrow is too soon.”
“It is,” Jessica’s mother said with a sigh. “However, it is what happens when a woman marries, Mama.”
Some of the laughter had faded from the gathering.
“Perhaps you will be happy to know, then, ma’am,” Gabriel said, addressing the dowager countess, “that we will not be leaving tomorrow after all. Or even the day after. We will be remaining in town for a while. I do not know for quite how long.”
A few faces noticeably brightened.
“Oh,” the dowager duchess said. “That is good news. What made you change your mind, Gabriel?”
He got to his feet and looked down briefly at Jessica beside him. She nodded almost imperceptibly. “Something happened last night that I learned of this morning,” he said, “and it is time I shared some information that only a few of you already know. I am aware that most if not all of you have been curious about me and have wondered why, even though his permission was not necessary, the Duke