“True. So we are dealing with a shoddy affair then? Someone from the Weatherby Ball, I presume? Of course it is. Another tally mark for Dorothea and her preposterous scheme to bring out the worst in people. So, who is she? Anyone I know?”
“Only by name. You’ve never met her, that I know of. Nora Blasington. George Blasington’s daughter.”
She took a deep breath, her gaze down, her thoughts turning inward. “Hmm. There is a name I had hoped to never hear again. Are you sure this is a wise decision?”
“I had no choice really. We were caught in a rather compromising position.”
Mother shook her head. “A rather compromising position with the Blasington girl? I thought you were my intelligent son.”
“It was a masque ball. I didn’t know it was her. In all of England, she would have been the last person I would have ever suspected of being behind that mask,” he said, a little defensive and yet happy to forget he had indeed strongly hinted he would not oppose marriage to such a mysterious creature. Now exposed, she was still mysterious, and he was revealed to be a capital dunce. He would argue with anyone that Nora was a desirable woman, and no one should fault him for being a bit dazzled by her. But to throw his hat in the ring for the most idiotic dupe to have every fallen under the Weatherby Ball curse? Well, he deserved to be excoriated.
He pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to remember anything Father had ever said about Blasington or his family. And trying to align what he knew with what Nora Blasington asserted. “How would I know her?”
“But she knew it was you? That seems the more important fact.”
“Obviously.”
“To what purpose?”
“She believes I should return Henbury Hall to her family since we acquired it illegally.”
“And you listened to her request? What balderdash!”
“Don’t you think it strange that Henbury Hall has been nothing but an albatross?”
“What a tangle. How much did you tell her?”
“Well, nothing really. Unless there is something you need to tell me about Father’s less savory business dealings. There are things he said, things he implied, but never enough for me to know for certain what he did with his extra time.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t you? There may come a time when only the truth will do.”
“I don’t know a thing. Your father thought I was burdened by any discussion that involved thought. Unfortunately. And what will you do about Miss Talbot?”
“What about her?” Should he read anything into Mother’s willingness to change topics so quickly?
“Her family has expectations.”
“Which will be shattered when they hear I’ve been a naughty boy during the Carnival of Venice. And with Nora Blasington, no less.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about something so serious.”
“Honestly, Mother, I cannot help but find the humor in all this. And with regard to the Talbots, you know we have discussed a connection with the family exactly once.”
“Henbury was a beautiful estate at one time,” Mother said.
“It really is unfortunate, what happened.”
Henbury Hall was a disaster, one Gabriel was going to pour money into and then sell. He didn’t want the reminders. Father had been driven mad by the rumors of Blasington’s hoard—a fictional quest that had blossomed because of George Blasington’s reputation as a thief.
What was he to do with Henbury now that he’d promised Miss Blasington the opportunity to win the return of her property?
He wasn’t going to tell Mother any of the specific details of his tryst with Miss Blasington. That was between him and Nora. His soon-to-be wife. “I would like you to be at the ceremony, if you don’t mind.” His brother was in Scotland for the summer. His sister and her husband were expecting their third child in a few weeks. At least one family member ought to be present.
“Is she a beauty?”
“Stunning. And sharp as a knife.”
“Not two-edged, I hope. She has been with Lord and Lady Fortenay since her father died. A bluestocking and the odd bird who married her. They attempted to pour knowledge into those children as if they were empty vessels. That was the gossip from years ago.”
He laughed to himself.
“Why are you smiling?” Mother asked.
“She’s so damn witty.”
“That’s no reason to marry. Oh, and don’t do anything so foolish as to fall in love with the girl.”
“I’m marrying her. While it is not a prerequisite to a ton marriage, love seems the natural progression.”
“She’s the daughter—”
“Of London’s most notorious charlatan. I know.”
“And she’ll be cut from the same cloth.”
“I accused her of the same thing.”
Mother sighed. “What time am I to make an appearance at this sham ritual?”
Mother would naturally take Father’s side. Gabriel was a little more sanguine about the family secret. Nora, as a child, was an innocent victim in all this. And naturally, she would take her father’s side. Could Gabriel safely thread the needle?
“Let’s say ten. I need to change. If you’ll excuse me, Mother.”
“If I don’t see you before you leave…”
“You’ll see me at my wedding!”
He hurried to his second-floor room at the end of the hallway. Most of the household still slept so he didn’t wake his valet. He threw the cape on his bed and washed at the water bowl.
As he loosened the tie around his neck, Gabriel had to wonder what the minx was up to. Was she peacefully sleeping now that she was close to reaching her goal? Or was she pacing in the library, wondering at his return? He dispatched his shirt, found a freshly ironed neckcloth and then mulled over the white shirts hanging in the closest: too tight, too big,
