'You are all in, Gabriel. A wreck. Come home with me, and let Barnstable give you a drop of laudanum and put you to bed. You need to rest and clear your thoughts.'
'I cannot. Anything can happen in the few hours I am asleep. I want to be out searching.'
She rested her head on my shoulder, the spice of her perfume touching me. 'I will spread the word. All of London will turn out and hunt for her, every servant, every coachman, every errand boy. I know kind people. We will turn London upside down and shake it until Gabriella drops out again.'
Part of me was touched by her concern and generosity but that part was buried under a blanket of fear. 'She might have been taken to a bawdy house. Or even out of London. A fast carriage could get far by this time.'
Lady Breckenridge squeezed my hand. 'I have many connections. I will use every one I can. I promise you that.'
I turned, my view of her rather obscured by her peacock feathers. I touched the headdress. 'Take this off.'
She smiled and complied, as though she'd known how ridiculous it looked but waited for me to say so. She unpinned the headgear and dropped it to the seat opposite, where it lay like a misshapen bird.
'I prefer your tresses long and loose,' I said.
'That is a bold thing to say to a lady.'
I slid my arms around her and pulled her close. 'It is only the truth.'
Lady Breckenridge held me quietly. I had grown to care for her deeply, my feelings a far cry from those I'd had the first day I'd met her, when she'd directed cigarillo smoke and sardonic comments at me in the home of a rather tasteless baron in Kent.
Since then I'd come to know her as a fond mother, witty observer, steadfast friend, and vulnerable woman whose hopes for happiness had been dashed early in life. She was a comfortable person to talk to, even when she was cutting a member of the ton to ribbons with her pointed humor. She was my lover without drama, taking and giving without rancor. I wanted to do nothing to lose what I had with her.
We reached her house in South Audley Street, and I managed to enter the very modern, monochrome dwelling without breaking down entirely. She called Barnstable, her butler, who seemed to live to administer to my aches and pains. He had massaged balm into my injured leg when I'd hurt it deeply this winter and helped heal my wounds after I'd fought with a French officer during the Berkeley Square affair.
This time, he led me upstairs to the spare bedroom in which I'd slept before, bustling about to fetch me a nightshirt, tea, and laudanum.
I let him light the fire and warm the blankets for me-or rather, he gave sharp orders to Lady Breckenridge's maids and footmen to do so-but after he departed, I poured the laudanum-laced tea into the fire. I did not want to risk that Gabriella would turn up hurt or dead while I slumbered too deeply to wake.
I did realize that I needed to rest. I could only push myself so far, and I had to be ready to take up the hunt for her again. I also knew that Donata would be as good as her word. If she said she'd stir her friends and neighbors to join the search, she would.
I decided to rest a few hours in the bed Barnstable had prepared for me, the same one in which I'd lain months ago when I'd strained my knee. The room was small but elegant, in pale green with tasteful plaster medallions on the walls and a candelabra lending a warm glow to the night. I lay down in the bed, pulling the blankets over me because the air had cooled, and closed my eyes.
I was still awake half an hour later when Lady Breckenridge joined me. She snuggled against me under the blankets, as though perfectly prepared to stay all night.
'I sent word to Lady Aline,' she said. 'She promised to pass the news along. She is sending word to Sir Gideon Derwent, who will know some likely places to look, being a reformer. I also sent word to your Mrs. Brandon, though she has already retired for the night.'
'Louisa. Dear God, I forgot all about her.'
Donata rose on her elbow and sent me a speculative look. 'Surely not.'
I scrubbed my face, noting the stiff bristles on my jaw. 'She was to have come to my rooms this afternoon, so that I could take her to meet Gabriella. She never turned up. She might have missed us when we went out searching, but she would have waited.'
'Perhaps she simply could not come,' Donata said.
'She would have sent word.'
'Well, she is home now and in any case will know what has happened. Call on her when you wake up.'
'I will never sleep. I poured away the laudanum.'
She lay down again, draping her arm across my chest. 'You will break Barnstable's heart, you know. But you must sleep. I will stay until you do.'
I knew what she meant. Felicity had offered me the same thing, except that Lady Breckenridge did not offer out of pity.
I laced my hand through her hair, wanting to tell her no, but instead I found myself pulling her to me. In the darkness, she slid her body over mine.
She gave me comfort in that high tester bed, and when she lay beside me again, I fell quickly asleep.
As morning brightened, I made ready to visit Louisa. Barnstable shaved me as well as any valet; he'd procured a razor to have ready for my visits, seemingly delighted that his mistress had taken a paramour. Barnstable approved of me. Perhaps, I thought with wry humor, because I gave him a chance to practice his remedies. My humor wronged him; he was an excellent butler and took fine care of Lady Breckenridge.
Lady Breckenridge, awake and dressed in a morning gown of ecru silk, her hair under a small cap, announced her intention of accompanying me to the Brandons'.
'You hate rising early,' I said, surprised. And yet, she was on her feet, her eyes as bright as though she'd slept all night instead of snatching a few hours between dawn and full light.
She gave me a faint smile as her maid draped a shawl over her shoulders. 'I am a jealous woman, Gabriel, and I know how fond you are of Louisa Brandon. I will go with you.'
I could have argued, but I saw no purpose in it. I was grateful for Donata's help. She could have had many reactions to my daughter's disappearance, but she'd chosen worry and compassion. And further, she'd chosen action. Not for Donata Breckenridge a fit of the vapors and retiring to the country until it was all over.
She had her carriage readied to take us on the journey from South Audley Street to Brook Street. As we rolled through clean morning sunshine and cool air, the streets rather empty except for servants on errands, I said, 'You have no need to be jealous of Louisa Brandon, you know. We have always been friends, but nothing more, and since Brandon's troubles this spring, she has been quite attendant on him.'
Donata chuckled. 'You are so very literal, Gabriel. I know that you are not slipping off to her bed under the colonel's nose, but you have known Mrs. Brandon for a very long time. You and she share a deep friendship, and you exchange secret smiles when any subject is mentioned about which you and she have a common memory. I feel a bit left out.'
'I beg your pardon,' I said, heartfelt. 'I had no idea I was being so rude.'
'You cannot help it. I imagine my mother and I do the same thing.' She raised a delicate brow. 'But do not try to tell me that you regard Mrs. Brandon as you would a sister, because I will not believe you.'
I stretched my game leg, moving the tendons so they would not stiffen. I thought of the night Donata and I had just shared together and the scent and feel of her on me. I nuzzled her cheek. 'You have no need of jealousy,' I repeated. 'None whatsoever.'
Lady Breckenridge turned her head and met my lips in a kiss. The carriage bumped hard over a stone, and we broke apart, smiling a little.
I had not quite banished the trepidation in her eyes. By nature of life in the army, Louisa and I had shared circumstances both happy and dire, had seen what men and women living sedately in London would never see. Louisa had been exposed to the full horrors of battle and death, the heat of India and Spain, bitter winters and roasting summers, disease, dysentery, dismemberment, and parasites. She had weathered it all with aplomb, the only thing destroying her peace being her marriage to her stubborn and turbulent husband.
Lady Breckenridge was correct-Louisa and I had shared much and had comforted each other whenever the need arose. Donata was also correct that I would never regard Louisa as a sister. I had been half in love with her most of my life, needing her, at least, until I'd stumbled upon the compelling attraction of Donata Breckenridge.
