would be thrilled by the discovery of a grandson. She might not, however, be so thrilled with her son for hiding the truth for so long.
But when the marchioness met Samir, she would forgive Gabriel everything.
Drusilla pulled on her gloves as she considered Samir. Gabriel might not be sure whether the boy’s mother had spoken the truth, but Drusilla now was. Samir not only resembled his father, but he was also as sunny, sweet, and loving as Gabriel. Whatever other traumas had marred his early life—the bombing of his home and the tragic loss of his mother and the man he believed to be his father—Samir had been raised with a great deal of love.
In truth, she did not think it mattered to Gabriel if the boy was his or his brother’s. She could see he’d loved his brother greatly. Perhaps raising his son was something he could do to ease his conscience about leaving his people and what he’d done for the navy.
Drusilla checked her appearance in the mirror. Her walking costume was one of the new garments she’d purchased at the encouragement of her husband. She’d discovered that it was far more enjoyable to go shopping with one’s husband than with one’s maid. Gabriel not only seemed to like helping her choose her clothing, but he had exquisite taste. The walking dress was a deep teal blue-green that made her eyes an almost silvery gray. The fabric so rich and vibrant it practically glowed.
And the hat she wore was a tiny fluff of a thing she never would have purchased for herself. It was not to cover or protect, but to display. The peacock feather that jutted out over one eye made her look sophisticated beyond anything she’d ever worn.
Fletcher appeared in the doorway. “You rang, madam?”
“Yes, we are going for a walk.” Drusilla would tell her maid the true destination once they were away from the house.
What she was doing was . . . well, there was no word for it other than outrageous.
Would Gabriel be angry? She thought back to his irritation about her questions regarding the duel with Visel and grimaced. Surely there was no subject more private than a man’s mistresses?
She should turn around and go back immediately.
Instead, she turned to Fletcher when they were two streets over and stopped. “Will you hail a hackney cab for us?” She felt foolish asking, but she’d never done such a thing. Did one merely stick out one’s arm and wave?
“You want a hackney?” Fletcher said.
“Yes, Fletcher. That is correct. I wish to go somewhere.”
“We are not far from the house—shouldn’t we just—”
“A hackney, Fletcher.”
Her maid’s forehead wrinkled with concern, but she nodded before glancing up the street to where several carriages were approaching. She raised her hand and just as quickly dropped it. An oncoming carriage pulled up a short distance ahead of them.
So that was how it was done. Not so difficult.
The driver, a remarkably handsome young man, grinned down at her, his eyes bouncing from Fletcher to Drusilla. “Where can I take you two lovelies?”
Drusilla’s jaw dropped at his familiar greeting. Before she could speak, Fletcher edged her much smaller body in front of Drusilla.
“You mind your manners or I’ll climb up there and box your ears.”
The driver laughed and touched his cap. “Aye, missus. Where may I take you ladies?” he repeated, mockingly stern.
“Number twelve Alder Street,” Drusilla said.
Fletcher opened the door and lowered the steps, pulling them up once they were both inside.
“Miss Drusilla—”
“I am going to visit the two women who have been taking care of Mr. Marlington’s son.”
Her maid’s face reddened. “But—”
“You won’t dissuade me, Fletcher. But I can understand if you do not wish to visit with me. I can have the driver set you down at the next corner. Do you have money enough to take yourself home?”
Fletcher’s expression settled into martyrish lines. “I shan’t let you go alone, Miss Dru.”
Relief flooded her at her maid’s words, and she sat back against the worn squabs of the carriage, watching the busy afternoon streets flicker past. Discovering where the well-known actresses lived had not been as difficult as she’d feared. But making the decision to visit them had been exceedingly difficult.
She and Gabriel had taken Samir out dozens of times in the preceding weeks, and one of the things she noticed with every visit was how much Samir spoke about his “aunts” Gigi and Maria. He’d only been with the two women for a few months but he’d grown