"I would advise against waiting longer than next Tuesday."
"That soon?"
"We can't risk Crowley calling in his notes, and I'd wager my bays he'll do it late next week." Gabriel glanced at Alathea, then continued, "The petition's all but ready. Wiggs's clerk should have finished it-as far as we've gone-by tomorrow. Wiggs will bring it to me. If we have no more to add, with your permission, I'll ask my solicitor to make an appointment for Tuesday morning with one of the judges of the Chancery Court to submit our case. We don't dare wait longer-fighting a rearguard action once the promissory note is executed and the call on funds made will leave us in a considerably worse position legally."
Alathea grimaced. "If that's how it must be…"
"I'll alert Devil, and Vane, too. He'll bring Gerrard up to town when he's needed." His gaze on her face, her profile, Gabriel opened his mouth on the words: "Thea, it's a big risk," but left them unsaid. If he had considered all the dangers and alternatives, she would have, too. There was no danger to her-he would marry her in an instant, and rescue both her and her family from penury-she knew that without his stating it. But what of Morwellan Park, and the title, the long unbroken line of Morwellans stretching back through time? What of her family's pride? That was what she'd set out from the first to protect, and it wasn't something that could be rescued other than by risking all.
Her motives needed no explaining to a Cynster. All he could do was stand by her shoulder and do whatever he could to bring about her victory.
And, perhaps, provide a distraction. "Actually, the reason I came looking for you wasn't to tell you all that. I've tickets for Friday's performance of The Barber of Seville. I thought you and your family might like to attend."
Alathea stared at him. "Friday night's the last night-it's to be a gala performance."
"So I understand." The production had taken the ton by storm. The management had decreed the final performance would be a gala event, to thank both cast and patrons.
"But… the gala was sold out within hours of the announcement last week. How on earth did you manage to get tickets for us all?"
"Never mind how I got the damned tickets! Will you come?"
"Speaking for myself, of course I'll come! As for the others, you can ask them yourself." Alathea waved ahead to where the group were gathered about the Morwellan barouche.
Gabriel was glad to see that his sisters had already said their good-byes and were heading for his mother's landau, drawn in to the verge a little way along. Celia saw him and waved but did not beckon him to attend her. Nor did she evince any surprise at seeing him again strolling with Alathea. Those facts declared that Celia, at least, understood his intention and approved; Gabriel knew he could rely on her for support should the need arise.
Joining the others before the Morwellan carriage, he smoothly issued his invitation, specifically including both Esher and Carstairs. Alathea looked at him curiously but said nothing. She didn't have to-everyone was eager to attend the gala performance of The Barber of Seville.
When she arrived with the others at the Opera House on Friday night, Alathea discovered Gabriel had not just secured tickets, but one of the two most sought-after private boxes overlooking the stage. He met them in the foyer, then with her on one arm and Serena on the other, led the way up the stairs and down the plushly carpeted first floor corridor to the gilded door giving onto the box overhanging the left of the stage.
Eyes swivelled as they took their seats, the tonnish occupants of the less-favored boxes craning to see who had commanded prime place on this, the most celebrated evening of the season. Whispers abounded as, head high, her expression serene, Alathea regally sat in one of the chairs at the front of the box. Serena sat beside her, turning to murmur her thanks to Gabriel as he settled in the chair behind and to the side of Alathea's.
Alathea would gladly have boxed his ears, but not in public. As it was, all she could do was smile and return the gracious nods of the ton's matrons. Mary and Alice, wide-eyed, took the other front-row seats beyond Serena. Esher and Carstairs sat behind them. His lordship leaned forward and engaged Serena in some discussion. Alathea turned to Gabriel, intending to inform him she would box his ears later, only to find him leaning closer, a frown in his eyes.
"My apologies. I didn't realize we'd attract this much attention."
Alathea grimaced, absolving him of intent. She refrained from acidly informing him that this was the degree of attention he, a Cynster, should expect in declaring his hand. "I take it," she whispered, glancing briefly at Serena
to make sure she was occupied, "that you haven't heard anything of the captain."
"No." His gaze lifted to her forehead. The frown in his eyes intensified. "Stop worrying. One way or another, we'll see this through."
Willing away all external evidence of her state, Alathea sighed. "I've done all I can to be beforehand, just in case…" She gestured helplessly. "I've paid all the accounts from the ball-the caterers, the milliners, the modistes-even the musicians. They all thought I'd run mad, demanding they submit their accounts immediately."
"I dare say. If you've paid them all outright, the Morwellans will be the only family in the ton to finish the Season with a clear slate."
"I thought it would be better-more ethical, in a way. I'd rather our honest creditors were paid before Crowley and his schemes lay claim to all we have."
Gabriel's fingers closed on her hand. She only just had time to brace herself against the sensation of his lips caressing the backs of her fingers.
"Relax. Forget the Central East Africa Gold Company. Forget Crowley, at least for tonight." With a nod, he indicated the stage; the curtain was rising to building applause. "I've brought you here tonight, and the only thanks I want is for you to enjoy yourself. So stop worrying, and do."
Turning her hand, he brushed her inner wrist with his lips, then released her. Alathea faced the stage as the house lamps were doused, and did as he asked.
It wasn't difficult-the production was a tour de force, the singers superb, the sets and orchestra unsurpassed. She had fallen in love with musical performances in those few short weeks when she'd first come to London. She'd felt starved ever since; the efforts of provincial theatres could not compare with the extravagantly superior London events.
Because of the additional scenes and special arias to be presented as part of the gala, there was to be only one interval, occurring after the second act. When the curtain swished down and the lamps flared to life, Alathea sighed contentedly and glanced back at Gabriel.
He raised a brow, then stirred his long frame. "Time to stretch our legs."