"Did they tell Phoebe?" Gabriel asked dryly.
Clarington nodded. "Certainly they told Phoebe. Told her she would have to take care not to exert herself. Told her she would spend the rest of her life as an invalid. Told her she must live a quiet life."
Gabriel smiled fleetingly. "But Phoebe, being Phoebe, refused to listen, I suppose."
Anthony looked at him. "1 walked into her bedchamber one day three months after the accident and found her on her feet, clutching the bedpost. After that, there was no stopping her."
"Nevertheless," Gabriel said grimly, "you should have done a better job of protecting her. Devil take it, Oaksley. Do you realise she almost got kidnapped by a man who intended to force her into marriage in order to acquire her fortune? Her life would have been ruined if the ruse had worked."
Anthony raised his brows. "Now you know how it feels."
Gabriel stared at him.
"It's enough to make a man want to commit murder." Clarington was clearly still shaken by the news of the near-disaster. "God knows it's a terrible feeling to discover one has failed to protect one's own daughter."
Gabriel could think of nothing to say. It struck him quite forcibly that the anger and fear he was experiencing at that moment were undoubtedly the very same emotions Clarington and his son had felt eight years ago on the night he had attempted to run off with Meredith.
For the first time he looked at the situation from their point of view. He acknowledged with grim honesty that he would probably have reacted in the same fashion as they had if he had been in their place. Clarington and his family had had no way of knowing that Gabriel had not been after Meredith's inheritance. To them he had looked as evil as Kilbournc now appeared.
"I take your meaning, Clarington," Gabriel finally said.
Clarington's eyes met Gabriel's. Understanding and a curious expression that might have been approval gleamed for a moment in the earl's piercing gaze.
"I believe you finally do comprehend my feelings at the time, sir." Clarington nodded, as if satisfied. "I also begin to believe you have some genuine affection for my daughter."
"I must confess my affection for her is somewhat tempered by the overriding fear that she will one day drive me mad," Gabriel said.
"A fate I have barely escaped myself." Clarington smiled slowly. "I gladly turn the responsibility of looking after her over to you, sir. I wish you the best of luck."
"Thank you." Gabriel looked at Anthony. "I shall need seconds."
Anthony studied him for a moment in silence. "You've challenged Kilbourne?"
"Yes."
"I'm Phoebe's brother. It is my place to handle this."
Gabriel smiled wryly. "You have already done your duty by one sister. I'll deal with this."
Anthony hesitated. "I'm not certain I should allow you to do so."
"As her future husband, it is most definitely my right," Gabriel said.
"Very well, I'll be one of your seconds," Anthony said. "I can arrange to find another. But you must be careful. If Kilbourne dies, you will be obliged to leave England and, knowing Phoebe, she would probably insist on going with you."
"I have no wish to leave England again," Gabriel said. "Kilbourne will live. Barely."
Anthony eyed him closely. Then his mouth curved ruefully. "Just as I did?"
"No," Gabriel said. "Not quite. I fully intend to put a bullet into the man. He will remember in future not to kidnap young ladies."
Three hours later, Anthony returned to the club to report back to Gabriel on the arrangements for the duel.
"You're out of luck," Anthony said. "Kilbourne has left London."
"Damn." Gabriel slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair in sheer frustration. "Are you certain?"
"His butler says he has gone north and no one knows when he will return. It certainly won't be anytime soon. The servants have instructions to close Kilbourne's town house. The word is all over Town that he is virtually penniless. Lost everything in a series of bad investments."
"Hell and damnation."
"Perhaps it's for the best." Anthony sprawled in a nearby chair. "It's over. There will be no duel and Kilbourne is out of the way. I, for one, am grateful."
"I am not."
"Trust me, you're luckier than you know." Anthony grinned. "If Phoebe had ever discovered that you intended to fight a duel in her honor, she would have been furious. I don't believe you have ever dealt with Phoebe when she is very angry. It's not pleasant."
Gabriel looked at him, aware that he and Anthony were forming a bond based on their mutual concern for Phoebe. "Thank you for agreeing to act as my second. I only regret you will not have the opportunity to perform your duties."
Anthony inclined his head. "As I said, it's over. Kilbourne has been well and truly humiliated. Let it go at that."
"I suppose I shall be obliged to do so." Gabriel was silent for a moment. "I know now how you felt eight years ago, Oaksley."
"Yes. I can see that you do. But I will tell you something, Wylde. I like Trowbridge, and Meredith seems quite happy with him. But I will admit that if I knew then what I know now about you, I would not have chased after you that night. I would trust either of my sisters in your care."
Gabriel raised his brows. "Because you have learned I am not penniless?"
"No," Anthony said. "My reasons have nothing to do with your financial status."
There was silence for a moment between the two men. Then Gabriel smiled. "Allow me to tell you that I am exceedingly grateful you did come after Meredith and me that night. The match would have been a mistake. It's Phoebe I want."
"You're certain of that?"
"Quite certain."
At three the following afternoon, Phoebe sat uneasily upstairs in her bedchamber and waited to be summoned to the library. The household had been so subdued since yesterday's events that one would have thought there had been a death in the family.
Phoebe knew full well what was happening. Her mother had told her earlier that Gabriel was going to offer for her and that Clarington would accept. It was clear her family's objections to Gabriel had been dropped.
Phoebe was grateful for that, but she could not seem to sort out her own conflicting emotions. A part of her rejoiced at the thought of being married to the man she loved. She longed to seize the opportunity. She wanted him as she had never wanted anyone or anything in her life.
But another part of her was extremely uneasy. She had no indication yet that Gabriel truly loved her. She was very much afraid he was making his offer out of a desire to protect her from the sort of incident that had occurred yesterday.
It was highly probable that Gabriel was marrying her out of a misguided sense of chivalry.
True, he was rather fond of her, she was certain of that much. He gave every indication of being physically attracted to her. And they did have interests in common.
But there had been no talk of love.
Phoebe glanced at the clock. It was almost three-thirty, What on earth was there to talk about that took half an hour? she wondered.
She got to her feet and began pacing the room. This was ridiculous. A woman had the right to be present when her future was being discussed.
This business of waiting meekly upstairs in her bedchamber while the men dealt with something as important as marriage was aggravating in the extreme. Men did not have a good grasp of such things.
They would not understand, for example, that she had no wish to be married because Gabriel's lofty notions of chivalry demanded it.
She had vowed long ago that she would only marry for true love, the sort of love that guided the knights and ladies of medieval legends. Nothing less would do for her.
At three forty-five, Phoebe decided she had had enough of playing the dutiful daughter. She marched out of her bedchamber and went downstairs to the library.