Page 11 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)

“How was dinner with the Conners last night?” Lucia asked as she and Gabby began their second circuit around the narrow promenade deck.

They had wandered outside after a late breakfast of poached eggs and sausage, and Gabby had eagerly soaked up the warmth.

She’d had a fitful sleep the night before, once again stressing over the reception she would receive once she arrived in Altamira.

Gabby had thought she’d successfully convinced herself that regardless of what her parents, or more specifically her father, thought of her return, she was not beholden to them once she arrived.

Isabel had offered Gabby a home with her and Sirius, and Gabby was more thankful than she could say.

Yet Mrs.Conner’s questions during dinner had started the wheels of anxiety churning in her mind once again.

Had she made the right decision to depart for Mexico without telling her parents?

Ana María had cautioned her to at least send a letter to their mother, but Gabby had refused.

María Elena Luna could be more stubborn than her husband, and would have insisted upon her obedience.

Besides, Gabby was four and twenty years old, and did not need permission to make decisions in her own life.

It was a mantra she repeated to herself on a loop, although the message had not quite sunk in.

A shoulder bumped into her own, and Gabby jerked her head around to find Lucia staring at her with a bemused expression. “Did you hear me?”

“Lo siento,” she murmured, bumping Lucia’s shoulder in turn. “Your question actually sent my thoughts spiraling into a replay of dinner.”

Lucia frowned. “Oh. I hope it’s not an unpleasant reflection.”

“Not at all.” Gabby adjusted the set of her hat as they stepped out from under an awning and directly into the sunlight.

“Mrs.Conner was gracious and asked interesting questions. And Mr.Conner was intent on learning everything he could about the political landscape in Mexico, especially since the troop withdrawal announcement.”

“That announcement is the only reason my father allowed me to even consider traveling to live with my abuela,” Lucia said, a crinkle in her nose.

“It’s the only reason my sister Ana María let me leave, as well.” Gabby toyed with the strings of her hat. “Although my parents will argue that despite the French departing, the troops are still a threat.”

Lucia turned to look at her, her eyes wide. “Are you worried for your safety?”

Gabby immediately shook her head, although unease swirled under her ribs. “No, not really. When my sisters and I first arrived in London, my tío Arturo was late in collecting us from the docks. We were set upon by footpads.”

“You were not,” Lucia exclaimed, smacking Gabby’s arm.

She laughed. “We were. Isa stabbed one of them in the arm, and I was prepared to stab another in the eye, but my uncle’s men arrived just in time.”

Clutching at her chest, Lucia shook her head. “Well, I am relieved you and your sisters were rescued, but now I wonder if I should have asked for more people to collect me from the docks than just my cousin José.”

Gabby wrapped her arm around Lucia’s and leaned into her side. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to get you safely to your abuela’s house.”

“Gracias,” the other woman murmured, squeezing her arm.

Turning the corner in the circuit, both women pulled up short, because there across the deck was the Duke of Whitfield surrounded by a group of noisy, laughing children.

Her gaze focused on Whitfield, who was perched on the balls of his feet.

He seemed to be sketching out something in chalk along the deck, with five or six children in a semicircle around him, inspecting his work and calling out instructions in turn.

The children spoke over one another, the pitch of their voices competing with the shrill calls of the seagulls swooping overhead, and Gabby could make no rhyme or reason of what they said.

“He’s drawing them a hopscotch court.”

Swallowing back a gasp, Gabby and Lucia spun about to see Mr.Brodie leaning upon the rail, a delighted smile on his face.

“He is?” Gabby asked dumbly.

Brodie gestured to Whitfield with his chin. “His Grace challenged the moppets to a game of hopscotch.”

“He did?” Gabby and Lucia said in shocked unison.

Mr.Brodie brandished a hand. “Just because he’s a duke doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to play hopscotch.”

“I thought that was exactly what it meant,” Gabby confessed, smiling when the older man coughed a laugh.

“Nah, His Grace has always been good with children. Hosts a fishing day at Whitfield Manor, and makes sure the local schoolhouse is fully stocked with books and supplies.” Brodie considered Whitfield as he dutifully drew a square to the exact specifications of a girl with red pigtails.

“I believe he respects their bluntness.”

Gabby snorted. “I can’t say I blame him.”

Lucia had wandered closer to the duke and his gaggle of friends, and Gabby hastened to catch up.

“Tell me, Gabby—” her friend began.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to like this,” she interjected with a sigh.

Lucia smirked, before she gestured with her chin to Whitfield. “Will you add this to your list of the duke’s faults?”

Annoyance rang in Gabby’s ears, and she fought the urge to walk away.

She knew Lucia was not being rude, and yet Gabby so disliked her opinions and viewpoints being challenged.

Whitfield was very much an unrepentant rake who had provoked her more times than she could count.

Unfortunately, it would seem that he was also quite good with children.

Gabby didn’t know how to feel about such a revelation, and she scowled openly as she observed the duke stand and dust the chalk from his hands. His large, graceful hands—

Blast it, what was the matter with her?

“Miss Luna, what have I done to upset you today?”

Gabby stiffened, her gaze flying to Whitfield, who stared back at her with his brows raised.

“I—uhh, I—” She bit her tongue when the duke snorted.

“You were scowling as if I stole the last biscuit on the tea tray.”

Doing her best to project blithe indifference, Gabby lifted a shoulder. “Come now, Your Grace, I never scowl. I am cheerful at all times.”

“Except to me,” he pushed, his voice becoming more animated the more she argued. “Are you upset because you were not invited to play?”

The children all turned to look at her as one, and Gabby rocked back on her feet. Even Lucia glanced at her with a grin.

Gabby immediately shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“Come now, miss,” Brodie interjected, sauntering from his spot on the rail to stand beside her. “Surely you’re amenable to play a simple game of hopscotch with the children.”

The glare Gabby shot him should have reduced him to ashes. As it was, it merely made Brodie cackle.

“You must have played when you were a girl,” Whitfield said, watching her closely.

Not willing to admit anything, Gabby looked down at her feet. “I’m not exactly dressed for it. No doubt my skirts will get in the way.”

Gabby was not prepared for the way her stomach swooped when Whitfield dragged his gaze down her body…before sliding it slowly back up to meet her eyes. “Yes, they would probably be a hindrance. Perhaps your friend would like to play instead. Her skirts aren’t nearly as voluminous as yours.”

Reluctantly, Gabby pivoted to Lucia. It was true that the profile of her friend’s gown was much less pronounced, and if Lucia’s wide grin was any indication, she would be more than happy to accept the invitation.

After taking a pause to calm her annoyance, Gabby placed a hand on Lucia’s arm. “Whitfield, this is Miss Lucia Moreno. Lucia, this is His Grace, the Duke of Whitfield.”

Gabby clamped her teeth together as Lucia and the duke exchanged greetings and then when Lucia stepped forward to join the children in the game.

She tried to look unbothered as the group all but forgot her when the marker was thrown and play began, twirling her hat ribbon around her finger and politely following the action.

But she was an outsider to the fun, watching as Lucia lifted her skirts and successfully hopped over the marker Whitfield’s team threw.

Her teammates roared with delight, even while the duke and his followers booed and hissed good-naturedly.

She did not like being left out, and a sour taste filled her mouth.

It reminded her of being a young girl, and watching as Ana María, and sometimes Isabel, were dressed in their finest gowns and brought out to meet their father’s guests.

They were his perfect, lovely daughters whom he wanted to parade about like dolls, and Gabby had hated not to be invited.

Her mother claimed it was because she was too unruly; too brass, too incorrigible, too much.

It wasn’t until she grew older that Gabby learned if she wanted to capture her father’s attention, she needed to play by his rules.

It certainly helped that her beauty matured as she aged, and her company was sought after by suitors and her father’s allies alike.

Yet the sting of being excluded, of being ignored, was a phantom pain that sometimes struck her without warning…as it did now.

“I must say, Miss Luna, I’m surprised you didn’t play,” Brodie said from her side, his eyes trained on the hopscotch court.

Gabby shrugged. “I probably would have, if not for my skirts.”

“Were you worried you would lose to His Grace?”

Swiveling her head, she pinned the older man with a glare. “Por supuesto que no.”

Brodie hummed in the back of his throat, and Gabby knew he did not believe her. His doubt sparked her anger.

“You know what,” she growled, pushing her parasol into his hands. “I will play.”

Hefting up the bulk of her skirts, Gabby marched to the court, her eyes narrowed on the duke.

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