the idea, she would accept the situation.
Deep down, I knew I was being a bloody fool, but I so wanted her that I would make myself believe anything.
'But I want to be your father,' I said. 'I wish you to stay here with me for a time, so that we can learn about each other. I want to show you London, take you to Egyptian house and the theatre and the menagerie at Exeter 'Change. I have a friend who has traveled the world, and his house is filled with amazing curiosities. He would be happy to show them off to you. He likes an audience.'
I tried to smile, but Gabriella gave me an appalled stare. ' Stay with you?'
'Not here, of course.' I glanced at the arched ceiling, from which flakes of plaster were wont to fall if the door was slammed too hard. 'I will look for larger rooms in a better house. You would need a chamber of your own in any case.'
'I will not stay with you,' she said quickly. 'I am returning to France with my mother and father.'
I shifted. 'I'd like you to remain here. Not for long, a few months only. The summer perhaps. I have another friend, a viscountess, who has invited me to her country estate this summer. I imagine it is quite fine. Apparently people come for miles to pay a shilling to see the gardens.'
I hoped she would smile, but she only sat silently, digesting the information. I had seen the same look on the faces of soldiers on the Peninsula upon learning that the surgeon would have to saw off one of their limbs.
'I do not want to stay,' she said.
I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my patience. What had I expected, that Gabriella would brighten with joy and eagerly drag me out to look for rooms of our own? She was angry and confused, and she had decided to direct the anger at me.
'Gabriella, losing you nearly killed me. It left an emptiness in me that has never gone away. Please, let me know you.'
A flicker of surprise crossed her features. In her anger, she probably had not realized that the situation caused me pain as well.
She spoke haltingly, as though choosing her words with care. 'I have always been obedient as a daughter. I have always done what my mama and papa have asked me.' She hesitated, her eyes darting sideways, and I almost wanted to smile. If Gabriella was anything like me, she'd have learned how to evade obeying when it suited her. 'Will they ask me to do this as well?'
I had to shake my head. 'Carlotta does not want you even to speak to me. I am sure Auberge does not either.'
'But you will ask it.'
I could force Carlotta to let me have her if I wished, but I hardly thought Gabriella wanted to hear that I could do that. 'I do ask it.'
'I must say no.'
I fell silent. I did not want to tell her that I could simply not let her make the choice. In any case, she would be in London for a time while I sorted out what to do about divorcing Carlotta. I could use the time to persuade her to stay with me. As much as I chafed, I sensed that forcing her now would do me no good.
Bartholomew opened the door and came in briskly, not looking at us. I wondered whether he'd waited outside the door for our voices to die down before interrupting. He banged a tray to the writing table.
'Best bread I could find, sir, courtesy of Mrs. Beltan, and sweet butter to go with it. Roast from the Pony and some potatoes Mrs. Tolliver said were best of the barrel today.'
So saying, he clattered the plates onto the table and forks and a sharp knife beside each one, all borrowed from the Rearing Pony. At the smell of the roasted meat and fresh-baked bread, Gabriella lifted her head and gazed at the repast with the hunger of a young girl.
'Eat until you feel better,' I said. 'And then I'll take you back to King Street.'
Gabriella reached for the hunk of bread Bartholomew had dropped on her plate and lifted the knife to smear it with butter. 'No need,' she said. 'I will go by myself.'
'Best not, miss,' Bartholomew broke in. 'Covent Garden's not the place for a lone young lady. Pickpockets at best. Robbers and procuresses at worst. Very unscrupulous ladies and gentlemen they are.'
Gabriella nodded, as though heeding his wisdom, and began chewing the bread. Bartholomew poured a glass of wine for me and lemonade he'd brought from Mrs. Tolliver for Gabriella.
I, too, was hungry after our emotion and fell to eating. The two of us dropped the subject while we consumed the beef and bread and potatoes, and Bartholomew bustled about cleaning the place, humming a buzzing tune in his throat.
'By the bye, sir,' he said presently. 'Mr. Grenville sent word around with my brother asking would you please call on him. If it is not too inconvenient, he says, and if you can bother to remember.'
Bartholomew's neutral tone betrayed none of Grenville's sarcasm, but I knew it had been there.
'Mr. Grenville is not gifted with patience,' I said.
'No, sir. But he's interested in this new problem.' Bartholomew grinned at Gabriella. 'The captain solves crimes, miss. Him and Mr. Grenville. Better than Bow Street Runners.'
Gabriella eyed Bartholomew in curiosity, her eyes still red with weeping. 'What is a Bow Street Runner?'
'Only the best in crime investigators in England,' Bartholomew answered. 'But Mr. Grenville and Captain Lacey, they've uncovered criminals when the Runners and the magistrates were baffled. They've solved murders and kidnappings and fraudulent activities. I was shot once.'
He spoke proudly. Whether he was trying to bolster my standing in front of Gabriella or boast of his own accomplishments, I could not tell.
'Were you?' Gabriella asked with flattering interest.
'There.' Bartholomew pointed to his thick leg. 'And there,' pointing to his left biceps. 'Laid me low a long time. But we got the murderer. Crazy devil, he was.'
She flicked her gaze back to me, as though reassessing me. 'Why do you catch criminals?'
'To help people,' I said, sawing at my beefsteak. 'Most were crimes that the magistrates ignored or did not know about.'
'Bow Street's calling him in now, to help them,' Bartholomew said.
'Oh?'
'Some young-ah-ladies have gone missing from Covent Garden,' he went on. 'That's why it ain't a good place to go walking alone.'
'I see.' Gabriella looked at me again. 'How will you find them?'
I shrugged, relieved we'd found a neutral topic, one not charged with drama. 'I am speaking to others who knew them. Once I know their daily habits, I will follow what they did until I find more people who saw them. Then I will simply look everywhere.'
Gabriella sipped her lemonade and carefully set the glass back on the table. 'Why should you? I mean, why should you dash about London, when you have an injury, to find these young ladies? They are not respectable ladies, are they?' She'd been intelligent enough to discern that.
'They do not deserve to be hurt or lost,' I said. 'I dislike seeing anyone abused.'
'He is a friend to the downtrodden,' Bartholomew put in.
'All right, Bartholomew. You may cease now.'
Bartholomew grinned. 'He is that humble; he don't like to be praised.'
'Enough,' I said.
Bartholomew subsided, but his grin did not diminish. Gabriella, on the other hand, continued to study me as she finished her food, as though I'd suddenly become a human being, much to her surprise. She ate with good manners, using the knife in the French way to push things onto her fork.
She finished quietly and seemed to wait for my direction. She was not happy, but she was resigned and likely tired from her outburst.
Leaving the remains of our repast, I took Gabriella back downstairs, out along Grimpen Lane, and through Covent Garden toward King Street.
Evening was approaching, although with summer, daylight could linger until well past ten o'clock. Stalls were closing, and maids and cooks hurried to buy the last vegetables for supper. Flower sellers, their posies wilting,
