She made a helpless gesture, as if the fact stymied her every bit as it did a stranger. “My father was first and foremost a businessman. Indeed, he was one of the few noblemen that noted the decline in landed estates early on. He used my mother’s dowry to purchase a shipping company that he ruthlessly built into an empire. At first, the idle aristocracy jeered at and mocked him for becoming a tradesman. But then he became so obscenely wealthy, our family rubbed shoulders with the upper echelon of the ton, dining with earls and marquesses who were grudgingly glad to add my father to their ranks. Better one of their own than the upstart merchant men gaining social and political power these days.”
Gabriel knew all this, of course; he’d used criminal means to exploit said shipping company for his smuggling enterprise a few years back. It was that decision that led him to where he sat today.
“Any idea why he left it all to you?”
She nodded. “He so much as said so in the amendment to his will. After Nora’s disastrous marriage to a viscount, she ended up with an orphaned stable boy. Granted, Titus had become the most celebrated doctor in the empire, but that didn’t matter to Father. A murder occurred at Pru’s wedding, and she was first arrested for it, and then ended up wed to the chief inspector on the case. And then Mercy…” She sighed, glancing down at her lap. “There is not enough time for that story.”
He did his best not to wince at the rueful note in her voice as she continued. “My father wrote that he’d always appreciated my sense of duty. That he believed me the last hope to save the face of the Goode name. He and my mother were so shattered by the scandals wrought by my sisters, he ran away from England. Nothing was quite the same after they left.”
“You miss them?” He couldn’t imagine why.
“I barely knew my mother, and I admired my father, but no, I do not miss his influence in my life. He was a hard man, critical and tempestuous, and his presence caused me no end of distress. He and my mother were devout in their faith. Zealots, some called them. He allowed us no joy or ease or freedom, and, if I’m honest, I’ve come to appreciate those things in his absence.”
She blinked a little, her features arranging into a mask of worry. “How terrible of me to speak of the dead thus. You must think me a monster.”
He caught her gaze and held it. “I know monsters. You are not one.”
Mrs. Winterton cleared her throat, and Felicity started, seeming to have forgotten her presence just as much as he had.
Schooling an uncomfortable look from her features, Emmaline visibly pushed a brightness into her eyes. “I did retrieve your gown and your haberdashery for tomorrow night,” she said, making an obvious appeal for a change of subject. “It’s as stunning as I thought it might be for your debut back into society.”
“How kind of you, Emmaline.” Felicity beamed a smile at her that had too many teeth.
“And Mr. Severand will be joining us?” Winterton lifted an eyebrow in his direction.
“He will.”
“Do you dance, sir?” She tucked into her soup, sipping it whilst looking at him with rapt attention, as if more than vaguely interested in the answer.
“Not if I can help it.”
She made a dismissive noise before turning back to Felicity. “Do not forget you have a stroll in the park with Lord Bainbridge before luncheon.”
Felicity put a palm to her forehead. “Oh, that’s right. I think he means to declare some intentions before the ball… I haven’t any idea what to say.”
Winterton’s wide mouth shouldn’t have been comely on anyone, but when she smirked like she did, with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, Gabriel could appreciate how her features were arranged. They didn’t touch the perfection of Felicity’s, of course, but most men would find her handsome, he imagined.
“Let Bainbridge talk about himself,” she advised with a bitter edge to her voice. “That’s what men most prefer anyways. They’ll think you have the most delightful personality so long as you have none at all.”
Felicity gave an unladylike snort and a giggle, then tucked her lips together, casting him a conciliatory glance. “Forgive us, Mr. Severand, for maligning your sex. Emmaline is endlessly unkind.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Unkind as it may be, Mrs. Winterton speaks the truth.”
That earned him an approving look from the woman in question.
And a scowl from Felicity as she glanced from him to her companion.
Through most of dinner, Mrs. Winterton and Felicity spoke of schedules and events, of gossip and the garden. Gabriel didn’t eat his stew, but found the lamb superb and the dessert uncommonly good. After the meal, his lids threatened to droop, his muscles untangled, and he found himself quite content to lounge at the table sipping his port until they’d quite finished their discussion.
He might not have many manners, but he knew to stand when the ladies did. He trailed them up the grand staircase and bade Mrs. Winterton good evening when she broke off to a second-floor bedroom. As a companion, she was another member of staff who didn’t sleep with the servants.
He tried not to notice as Felicity stepped a couple of stairs above him, though her bustle was quite at eye level.
How strange that women changed their shapes thus.
What did Miss Felicity look like unclad? He’d seen her in her nightrobe, a billowy cream confection that left much to the imagination. And only then from a distance, backlit by a dim lamp through a window.
Christ, he was a mangled pervert. Good thing he wasn’t staying. He couldn’t look at her like this for long without going mad.
He trailed her down the third-story hall and was surprised when she stopped in front of his room, turning to address him. “Are your
