Is it true?”
Gabriel looked at the man in question, as if careful study would somehow help answer her question. The war hysteria? He supposed it was possible. Visel had fought for over a decade, and Gabriel knew the toll war could take. While he’d not engaged in the vast battles on the Continent, he’d lived with war for almost a year after his father died. His desert campaign against his brother had been on a small scale, but the strain of around-the-clock conflict wore on men—it had certainly worn on Gabriel.
Was that what was wrong with Visel and why he mindlessly persecuted Gabriel? Was the man suffering some mental trauma and Gabriel just happened to be the unfortunate individual his fixation had settled on?
“Look. He’s staring at you, Gabriel.”
Visel had left his hosts and come into the ballroom. He was indeed turned in their direction although he was too far away to see his eyes.
“Perhaps he is staring at you, Eva. You are quite beautiful, even though you refuse to admit it.”
She didn’t seem to hear the compliment. “Are you sorry he apologized?”
“Of course, I’m not sorry. Did you think I wanted to fight him?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
He would like to beat the man black-and-blue, but he didn’t want to kill him. Eva didn’t need to know that. “No.”
She made a skeptical humming sound, which he ignored.
“I’d like to fight him myself,” she said when he failed to comment. “With swords rather than pistols so I could make it last a good, long time.”
Gabriel could believe it; his little stepsister was fierce. She would have made a good man, and he’d often thought it was a pity she’d been born a woman. And such a beautiful one, at that.
“Are you angry at Drusilla?” he asked, not interested in discussing the subjects of Visel, war-induced hysteria, or duels.
She held his gaze for a long, stubborn moment before speaking. “Not really, not anymore.”
“Well then I do wish you’d patch up whatever it is that is bothering you, Eva. Haven’t we all endured enough emotional turmoil these past days to last us the rest of the year?” He recalled too late that ironic sarcasm was not the best approach to use with Eva.
Her body stiffened under his hands, and she glared fire up at him. “You aren’t my father, Gabe, so quit behaving as if you are.”
“I would if you’d quit behaving like a child,” he retorted.
“Look who’s talking. You still engage in duels.”
Gabriel took a deep breath, counted to ten, and tried again. “Drusilla has had a difficult time of it, and I’d prefer not to have her upset yet again.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left her alone on your wedding night to go gallivanting about town.”
Gabriel gaped.
She didn’t look away, but a red stain was creeping up her neck.
“What the devil are you talking about, Eva?”
“You were obviously at White’s, since Visel found you there and apologized to you—didn’t he?”
Her reasoning was unassailable, but somehow he thought that was not the whole of it.
“I don’t wish to argue with you, Eva.”
“Then don’t.”
He studied her beautiful, rigid profile and sighed. When she was in one of these moods, it didn’t matter how much a person cajoled her: she wouldn’t leave her irritation behind until she was ready. Luckily the music indicated the dance was about to end, so he could drop the matter, telling himself a dance floor was hardly the place for a discussion of such a subject—and certainly not with his mercurial sister.
They returned to where Lady Exley sat with several other married women. Gabriel thought his mother was looking rather pale and cursed the need to drag her out in such a condition. Although she would deny it, each pregnancy seemed to be harder than the last. But she’d insisted on being here and also attending the theater tomorrow night.
“I can offer my support for these two appearances, Jibril,” she’d said when he’d tried to argue. Gabriel had looked to the marquess, but Exley had, surprisingly, agreed.
“I don’t like it, either, but we need to provide a unified front. And these are the two events you’ve discussed with Visel. We should all be there.”
So, here she was, wan and exhausted, but at least she was sitting.
“Can I get you something to drink, Mama?”
Her gaze flickered over his shoulder, and she smiled. Gabriel knew who was behind him before he even turned.
“Thank you, Jibril, but you may see to your wife and sister.”
Drusilla went to