"What about Lord Andrew? I've heard nothing of him since the ball."
"He was certainly in high dudgeon when he stormed out of the house that night—the lad is so bloody cocksure of himself. Now that he's had time to cool off a bit, I think he sees her as more of a challenge than ever. He'll be waiting at her door the instant Captain Tanner departs for Spain."
Gabriella scooted up against the ornate ivory headboard, propping herself against the pillows. "And Nash?"
"Jon isn't the sort of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, but I'm certain he was very disappointed. Of all her admirers, Jon is the only one sincerely concerned with Lee's well-being." He cast Gabriella a glance. "He knew she was a virgin, you know."
Gabriella straightened. "What? He couldn't possibly have known."
"He knew because I told him."
"For heaven's sake, Dylan, why on earth would you do something like that?"
"Because I wanted her to be happy. I knew her innocence would appeal to Jon and that if she chose him he would treat her very well."
Instead of getting angry, Gabriella's expression softened. Leaning toward him, she brushed a light kiss over his lips. "You're a good man, Dylan Sommers."
"But you still won't marry me."
She only shook her head. In the light of the whale oil lamp next to the bed, her hair looked more silver than gold, and the pink of the draperies made her skin glow like roses. He couldn't remember a time he hadn't loved her. Before he had met her, he had loved her in his dreams.
"You know how I feel about marriage," she said. "Besides, it would hardly be fair to you. Your friends and family would spurn you. You would be banned from polite society."
"My true friends would be happy for me. As for Society… I'm an earl. You'd be amazed what a man of my wealth and position can do."
"We're happy, Dylan. If we married, things would change. We might lose the closeness we've shared all these years."
"Or we might grow even closer." But he knew she wouldn't relent. He wasn't exactly sure why. She had never said she loved him and perhaps it was as simple as that. Or perhaps she was afraid, as she had said, of destroying the special bond between them. Either way, he wouldn't press her. He wouldn't do anything that might cause him to lose her.
"I hope Vermillion will be all right," Gabriella said fretfully. "Perhaps after the captain leaves, she should move back in here for a while."
"She's in love with Tanner, you know."
Gabriella rolled her pretty blue eyes. "Don't be ridiculous." He noticed fine lines in the corners, knew how much she feared getting older, though to him she remained as lovely as she was the first time he had seen her.
"I'm afraid it's true. As much as you might wish your niece were more like you, she is different."
"She's infatuated with him. I don't believe she is in love with him. And if she were, how would you possibly know?"
Dylan gave her a tender smile. "I know, my love, because Lee looks at Caleb the way I look at you."
The evening was dark, the cobbled street slick with mist. On the corner, the sign for Wilton Street creaked in the wind sweeping in off the Thames. Somewhere in the distance, Lee heard the clatter of carriage wheels. Inside her suite at the Purley, Caleb sprawled in the comfortable bed across the way, naked beneath the sheet and sleeping soundly.
Lee glanced at the mound formed by his big body and thought of the hours they had spent making love, the several times he had brought her to fulfillment. Caleb was a skillful, considerate, extremely passionate lover, the sort of man her aunt would have wanted her to choose. He was kind and caring, solicitous of her wishes, and wildly protective of her.
He would have been the perfect choice—if she just hadn't fallen in love with him.
Her heart twisted painfully at the thought. How much longer did they have? Weeks? Months? Whatever time it was, it wouldn't be enough. She was deeply in love with him. She had never thought it would happen, worked to guard her heart, but it had happened just the same. She was in love with Caleb Tanner and more than anything in the world, she wanted him to love her in return.
I would marry you, Lee.
For an instant when he had said the words, her heart had simply turned over. But marriage had nothing at all to do with love—she knew that far better than most—and Caleb had spoken out of duty, a sense of responsibility that was completely and utterly Caleb and had nothing at all to do with whatever he might feel for her.
She told herself not to think about it and most of the time she succeeded. But not tonight.
Lee returned to her vigil at the window, gazing down at the mist-slick streets, wishing there was a way to change the way she felt, wishing Caleb didn't have to leave, wishing any number of things that hadn't the remotest chance of coming true.
The notion weighed her down and a feeling of hopelessness settled over her. Tired for the first time that night, she started to turn away from the window and return to bed when a movement below caught her eye.
In the shadows at the side of the building next to the hotel, she spotted the figure of a man. He was staring upward, toward the very place where she stood by the window, illuminated by the glow of a single burning candle.
Stepping back behind the curtain, she told herself she was mistaken, that the man was simply passing along the street and his presence had nothing to do with her, but an icy wariness trickled down her spine.
Lee blew out the candle. In the darkness, she inched nearer the window, looked down where the man had been standing, but there was no one there.
She should have been relieved that he was gone. She wasn't quite sure why she was not.
It was the afternoon of the following day that Lee returned to the house in Buford Street. Instructing the coachman to await her return, she waved a greeting to Helen Wilson, who stood on the front porch beside the open door. It was Lee's second visit to the house this week, but Helen's son, two-year-old Robbie, had come down with a pleurisy, an inflammation of the chest that kept him coughing all night, and Lee had returned to see if he had improved.
"I'm afraid he's the same," Helen said, her plump face lined with worry as she closed the door behind them. "He coughs and coughs. I'm just so worried about him."
"You mustn't fret, Helen. I stopped at the apothecary shop in Craven Street where my aunt usually trades. Mr. Dunworthy says there is some sort of illness going round. He says it is nothing to worry about. He sent some powdered mustard for a poultice along with these herbs." She handed Helen a small muslin bag. "It's a mixture of horehound, rue, and hyssop, combined with licorice and marshmallow roots. You're to place the herbs in a quart of water, boil it down to a pint, strain off the liquid, and give Robbie half a teaspoon of it every two hours."
Helen took the items with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lee. It's hard when you're a mother. You worry about them constantly."
"I know it must be frightening whenever your child falls ill, but Mr. Dunworthy says he's seen a number of children lately with the same affliction and it doesn't last very long." She walked over to where the child lay sleeping beneath a soft woolen blanket on the sofa, his fat cheeks a little rosier than they should have been. "Is he running a fever, do you think?"
"I think he might be."
"Mr. Dunworthy says that's to be expected. He says the sickness seems to last about a week. Robbie should be better by then. Send word to me if he isn't and I'll get a physician to come round."
Helen took her hand. "You've a good heart, Lee. You always seem to be here when we need you. You'll never know how much your friendship has meant to me—to all of us." In a spontaneous moment, Helen leaned over and hugged her.
"You all mean a great deal to me as well."
Annie walked into the room just then. There were only four women now in the house and though it should have made things easier, Mary's presence was sorely missed.