lead her to Russel Street, and from there, while she wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, to the bakery below my rooms in Grimpen Lane.
Mrs. Beltan raised her brows high when I pulled Gabriella inside, her hair straggling and her face swollen with weeping. I handed Gabriella my handkerchief, sat her down at on a bench in the empty shop, and asked Mrs. Beltan for coffee.
She brought it, still staring curiously at Gabriella. But Gabriella could not be mistaken for anything but a respectable miss, and Mrs. Beltan said nothing.
'What has happened?' I asked gently, once Mrs. Beltan and her assistant had returned to the kitchen.
Gabriella glared at me with red-rimmed eyes. I pushed the mug of coffee toward her, but she ignored it. 'My mother told me that you were my father,' she said, her words filled with rage.
I drew a long breath. 'Oh.'
'She did not mean to tell me. She and my father…' Gabriella faltered on the word, tears welling from her eyes and running silently down her face.
I sat still, wondering how to proceed. I wanted her to know the truth, but truth was a delicate thing. One wrong word, and I could shatter anything I wanted to build with her. 'I spoke with your mother and Major Auberge this morning,' I said. 'Were they discussing that?'
'Yes.' She bit off the word. 'They did not know that I could hear them. But I wanted to hear them. I asked them what they meant about divorce and you wanting me with you. And so they explained.' Gabriella balled her hands and stared at me in fury. 'It is a lie. It must be a lie.'
'I married your mother twenty-one years ago,' I said slowly. 'You were born four years later, in India. Carlotta Lacey is still married to me.'
'That cannot be.' Gabrielle stared at me as though she'd hoped I'd laugh and agree that her parents and I had decided to play a cruel trick on her.
'I regret that she never told you,' I said. 'I regret so many things, believe me, Gabriella.'
'Stop calling me by my Christian name.'
'You were named for me.'
Fresh tears ran down her face. 'Stop. Please.'
I closed my mouth, mostly because I had no idea what to say. I wanted Gabriella back, I wanted her to know about me, but it hurt me to watch her hurting. My anger grew at Carlotta, and also Auberge, for keeping the truth from her too long.
Gabriella cried silently for a time, and then sat still, as though too exhausted to rise and leave the shop. The coffee cooled, untouched between us.
Two customers came in, plump matrons in mobcaps with a maid listlessly trailing them. Mrs. Beltan bustled out to serve them. I leaned to Gabriella. 'Come upstairs and talk to me.'
She nodded, not because she wanted to particularly, but because the two ladies and Mrs. Beltan were throwing curious glances at her. She pushed her loosened hair out of her face and followed me out, her breathing uneven.
I opened the door next to the bakery and took Gabriella up the stairs to my rooms. I wished I could take her to better accommodation, but she did not seem to notice the faded paint and the shabby surroundings.
Bartholomew was sprawled on the straight-backed chair in my sitting room, polishing a boot and reading a newspaper spread on my writing table at the same time. He glanced up when I came in, closed the paper, and jumped to his feet. 'Afternoon, sir.' He caught sight of Gabriella and stopped in surprise.
'Bartholomew, go and fetch us some dinner. Not from the Gull, bring us some good bread and perhaps fruit and a decent cut of beef. And wine, not ale.'
'Right you are, sir.' Bartholomew set the boots by my bedchamber door and departed. Gabriella remained in the middle of the room, staring about her as though she did not know what to do. I suspected she did not yet want to return to her parents, but at the same time, she did not wish to remain with me.
'Some food in you will help.' I gestured to the wing chair. 'Please, sit down.'
Gabriella might have been furious and confused, but she was still a gently bred miss, trained to obey her elders. She sat gingerly on the chair, resting her hands in her lap.
I wet a handkerchief in the basin in my bedroom and brought it to her. 'Wipe your face.'
Sniffling, Gabriella took the cloth and dabbed her eyes. Then she unfolded it, pressed it to her face, and inhaled a long breath.
'I am truly sorry you had to find out like this,' I said. 'You were born after your mother and I tried to have a child several times. Nothing happened for the first few years, and then at last, we had you. I was pleased and proud of you; you were such a lovely thing. A year later, the Thirty-Fifth Light Dragoons, my regiment, left India for England. We were to train in Sussex, in case we were needed in the war with France, which was heating up on the seas. Then came the peace of Amiens, and we went to France with the Brandons, ostensibly as part of the party negotiating the peace between France and England.' I smiled. 'Really, I think Louisa and your mother had a hankering to see Paris and insisted we go. Colonel Brandon and I obliged. There, your mother met Major Auberge and eloped with him. I had not seen you nor your mother from that day until yesterday morning, when I came upon you in Covent Garden. We never properly divorced, and your mother and Auberge never properly married.'
Gabriella did not move during this lecture, breathing deeply behind the handkerchief, shaking once in a while as her body wound down. Quiet filled the room, punctuated only by the slam of a door below and the shrill voices of the matrons as they left the shop, one snapping at the maid to stop lagging.
At last, Gabriella lowered the handkerchief. She delicately wiped the hollows under her eyes, her eyelashes still wet. 'So he is not really my father.'
I realized that she was grieving. She was losing the man she'd always believed had sired her, the man who'd raised her and looked after her, who'd kissed her goodnight and paid her dressmaker's bills when she grew older and bought her little gifts when the whim took him.
Auberge had done all the things I should have done. 'No,' I said. 'Do you love him?'
She gave me a fierce look. 'Of course. He is my papa.'
'I never want to take that away from you, I promise you, Gabriella.'
'Then what do you want? You sent for us. Mama said so.'
'Not exactly. Mr. Denis did, although I did not tell him to do so. He knew I wanted to find you, and he brought you here.'
'Why?' Gabriella balled the handkerchief in her hands, her anger erasing her compliance. 'If you are my father, why have I not seen you all these years? Why did you let me grow up believing I was French, believing that my papa was my papa, that they were married to one another? Why did you never write me a letter?' She met my gaze with a furious one. 'Why did you never come for me if you are truly my father?'
'I never had the chance,' I said as patiently as I could. 'I did not have the income to make a thorough search for you, and for much of the time, England was at war with France. I spent years on the Peninsula, up to my neck in mud and dust, fighting. When it was over, I was still too poor to try to find you, and I had thought it hopeless.'
'You ought to have tried.'
'I know.' I looked at her limply. 'I know, Gabriella. It hurt me so much when Carlotta took you away from me. I have never recovered from it. You do not know how much it hurt to lose you.'
'That was a long time ago. I am not a child any longer.'
'You are the same.' I studied her mussed golden brown hair, her soft dark eyes, the nose and cheekbones that were pure Lacey. 'You used to hug my boot, and I'd walk with you clinging to it, and make you laugh. You kissed me good night when your mother put you to bed. You used to sit on my lap and pull at the braid on my uniform.' I touched the silver cords that crisscrossed my deep blue jacket. 'When you were ill or restless, I carried you about all night so you would not cry.'
Her hands tightened. 'I do not remember.'
'I know. But I remember.'
Gabriella drew a breath. 'It is not the same thing. You know nothing about me.'
'I want to know about you.' I leaned forward, put my hand on her clenched ones. 'I want to learn all about you. I want you to learn all about me. You are my daughter.'
'I do not want to be your daughter.'
Her answer cut me to the heart, but I did not give up hope. She was upset now, but when she grew used to
