‘I know you worry. And there is no need. Kiss me goodnight, Gray.’
It wasn’t fair to ask him to kiss her and leave her, but Gaby knew, with sudden clarity, that this would be a final kiss. None of this was fair and she was the one who had to make the break. Gray thought she was strong, thought, perhaps, that she was ruthless.
How wrong he is.
It was a sweet kiss, a gentle, quite unsexual kiss. A caring kiss from a man who wanted to love her and cherish her and she broke it as soon as the carriage came to a halt.
‘Goodnight, Gray. Don’t call tomorrow. I think I will rest.’ It was wrong to lie in the last words she’d speak to him. It was wrong that a letter would have to serve as both goodbye and apology. But perhaps it was best. Safest. It would take so little to push her into surrender, into doing what her heart pleaded for her to do, not what her head told her was right. Sensible. Wise.
* * *
Jane was in bed when Gaby arrived back in Half Moon Street, but light showed under her bedchamber door. Gaby blew her nose and dabbed under her eyes before she tapped on the panels.
‘Are you awake? May I come in?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jane put down her book and peered at Gaby over her spectacles. ‘I did not expect you home so soon. Was the ball a disappointment?’
‘It was lovely, but I felt rather tired and a little faint. Jane, I know I said we would stay longer, but I need to go home, I cannot manage with seeing Gray any longer. There is no need for you to come and break your own commitments—I will hire a respectable maid for the journey and you can keep this house and the staff on for as long as I have committed myself.’
‘Nonsense. I will come, too. I have seen and talked quite enough, I promise you.’
‘Thank you, I do appreciate it more than I can say.’ Gaby’s eyes were beginning to water again and she dabbed at them. What was the matter with her? She was turning into a positive watering pot.
Oh, to the devil with being wise, to hell with being prudent, I just want this to stop hurting.
‘What does your aunt say about this sudden departure? And Lord Leybourne?’
‘I haven’t told either of them. I will write just before we leave. There is a ship for Lisbon in six days’ time, I saw it advertised in the Morning Post yesterday.’ She only had to hold out for less than a week and then she would be beyond the temptation to yield and spend the rest of her life regretting her decision, making Gray regret his, betraying her inheritance and her family. For love.
‘I will tell the staff that I am not at home to callers—that I have a severe head cold. We can make the booking, do our final shopping—even if I have to do it veiled in case anyone recognises me.’
She would have to write to Gray and her aunt, organise the balance of payments on the house and make sure the servants received references with an explanation for their short period of service. But it could be done in the time available. She would be busy, but that would help. And if it didn’t... No one died of a broken heart, did they?
Chapter Twenty-One
‘I regret that the first post has been delayed, my lord.’ Fredericks delivered the news in much the same tone as he might have used to announce the downfall of civilisation as he knew it.
Gray told himself that it was ridiculous to be anxious over a late delivery. The ladies at Half Moon Street were confined to their beds with heavy colds, apparently. The footman who had answered the door had regretted that he had no information other than that Miss Frost and Miss Moseley felt unable to receive visitors, but that their affliction was nothing to cause their friends concern.
He had sent flowers and fruit, of course, and an offer to assist in any manner required, but had received nothing in return but brief notes of thanks, and not even that yesterday. Surely by today a cold, even a heavy one, should be yielding to bed rest? It would be just like Gabrielle to make light of a more serious illness, he thought, if it would stop people making a fuss over her.
‘What is the problem with the delivery?’ he asked.
‘I sent James to ascertain, my lord. A carriage accident on Piccadilly has jammed the streets around. It is quite outrageous that it should cause the postman, who is on foot, to be delayed. Doubtless he has been gawping at the scene which James tells me is one of significant disorder. That does not excuse the delaying of your lordship’s corr
espondence. I shall make a complaint—’
‘Yes, thank you, Fredericks. I am sure it will arrive sooner or later.’ And I must develop some patience. Muffled sounds penetrated from the hall. ‘Someone is at the door now. That is probably the post now.’
‘Mr Pickford, my lord.’ James, the footman, opened the door on Henry, who strode in, face grim.
Hell. On top of everything else he had been unfair to Henry, Gray knew that. He should have written and apologised after the ball, but it had slipped his mind in his general anxiety about Gabrielle. His cousin had presumably had enough and wanted to have it out and he couldn’t blame him. Only not just now.
‘You damned idiot! What have you done to drive her out of the country?’ He brandished a crumpled sheet of paper under Gray’s nose.
‘My lord,’ Fredericks said urgently. ‘Perhaps Mr Pickford—’
‘It is all right, Fredericks. You and James may leave us.’ Whatever Henry was ranting about he did not want it spreading round the entire household. ‘What are you talking about?’ As the door closed behind the butler Gray took the letter and smoothed it out.