Page 21 of Unmask Me My Love

“Done.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “I shall do everything within my power to help you in the leg-shackling of the Viscount Finley.” He drew a cross over his chest. “So help me, God.”

“Very well. So, what role will you play in all this?”

“Unfortunately, none whatsoever.” Hal groaned when her frown returned. “It cannot be helped, my dear. Miss d’Aventure still believes me to be my valet. I can hardly then be present at the meeting. Rother knows me.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Celinda stared at him, her narrowed eyes indicating her displeasure. “What does my mother have to do with this?”

“We need Lady Chalgrove to have so many callers that they distract her from wanting Gabriella for anything. If your mother and perhaps some of her friends stayed a bit longer than the normal fifteen minutes, it would keep the lady occupied until you and Gabriella can meet Rother and return. It will also keep your mother out of the house so she won’t wonder what’s going on between Rother and a lady’s maid.”

“How do you propose we travel to our house? We cannot take Mama’s carriage. And neither can we sprout wings and fly.” Celinda was looking at him quite skeptically.

Why did women never have any faith in him? Well, most women. Gabriella seemed to be the only woman who believed he would prove good as his word. “I will hire a carriage to pick you two up at one o’clock. So you and your mother must arrive no later than five minutes to one.” Hal paused, trying to think what else might need to be done. “Once your mother has begun her call, sneak upstairs and whisk Gabriella out to the carriage.”

She patted his hand. “You are sorely out of your element, aren’t you, Hal? Don’t worry. Once you have a wife, she will take care of everything for you.”

“Can you promise me that?”

Celinda laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. But the odds are in your favor. Now, tell me about this subterfuge. What do you have in mind?”

****

Hal stood once more in front of the dreadful chinoiserie desk in his father’s study, dressed in a manner that would’ve done Brummell proud. Hands clasped behind his back, he stood stiffly, his plea to his father chasing round and round his head. Hopefully, his appearance and sober mien would impress upon the duke how seriously he took his request.

“So have you found this young woman’s family at last, Halford?” His father held several sheets of paper, staring at one through his monocle then abruptly tossing it onto the table and perusing the next. “You seem quite engaged in finding her antecedents. Didn’t I see you less than a week ago? Never known you to be so bullish about a woman.”

“I love her, Father. I want to marry her.” Hal put every ounce of determination into his voice. No doubt, no wavering, only strength and determination. His father would respect that.

“That may be. However, if she’s not of good family, you won’t be marrying her in my lifetime.” He dropped the monocle to stare at Hal with glassy blue eyes. “And I mean to remain above ground for a very, very long time to come.”

“Fortunately, her parentage is not an issue. As it turns out, she’s the daughter of a duke.”

The look of surprise on his father’s face would’ve been comical had Hal’s guts not been gripped by an iron fist.

“Is she indeed? A French duke, I take it.” The old man nodded, though his countenance didn’t soften. “They’re scarce as hen’s teeth since the revolution.”

“An English duke, Your Grace.” Hal stared straight at his father. If he showed weakness now, he and Gabriella would be lost.

“Ah, an English duke. Even better.” His father continued to peruse the documents in his hands in a maddeningly slow fashion.

Drops of sweat trickled down the back of Hal’s neck, but he held his pose. Let his father make the opening move.

“You are aware that I am conversant with the progeny of every duke in the Peerages of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Great Britain?” At last, his father raised his gaze to Hal’s. “As I turn over the names of marriageable young women of the correct age whose fathers are, in fact, dukes, I find the list extremely short. Two females only come to mind. Lady Margaret Seaton, the Duke of Starkland’s daughter, who is actually six months older than you, and Lady Anne Kerwick, the Duke of Polden’s daughter.”

Hal knew both ladies, although he’d not seen Lady Margaret for some years as she'd ceased to show herself during the Season. She was more taken with gardening in Cumberland. Lady Anne he’d seen last at Lady Hairston’s ball a week ago, in the arms of the Marquess of Canterbury. He’d wager his father knew these facts as well. “Neither of these ladies has caught my eye, Father. I’m certain you know that.”

“I do. Indeed, I do, Halford. When last we spoke, you astounded me with the statement that your bride-to-be was French. The only way either of those ladies have French blood is if it came over with William the Conqueror.” The duke’s voice rose, rattling the glasses beside the crystal decanter. “What the devil are you playing at?”

“Believe me, Your Grace, I do not play. My future bride is Gabriella d’Aventure—daughter of the Duke of Rother.” He stared at his parent evenly, awaiting the firestorm.

“Halford, I have given you too much leniency in your short life. You will cease these games and give me a straightforward answer.” The vein in the duke’s forehead popped up like a thin, purple snake.

“I am sorry to make this hard for you, Father, but I have given you the truth. I have good reason to believe that Miss d’Aventure is indeed the daughter of the Duke of Rother and his paramour Veronique Dubois. Mademoiselle Dubois subsequently married a wine merchant and Miss d’Aventure was raised as his daughter in France. Rother knows nothing of this—yet.”

The Duke of Brixham sat back in his chair, twirling the monocle by its chain. “Why do you believe this girl’s story? Does she have proof? Does she resemble Rother?”

“Not a bit. She must take after her mother. And she has no proof, per se, but her information about where and when the affair took place is consistent with Rother’s movements that year. Have you heard him speak of a carriage accident during his Grand Tour? Or that he spent time in the Aquitaine during the summer of 1800?”

The duke shook his head. “Rother’s much younger than I. We’ve met socially and in Parliament, of course, but rarely otherwise.” The duke’s stare rested on him so long that he shifted in his highly polished boots and looked away. At last, his father leaned forward. “You didn’t say why you were inclined to believe her.”