Page 35 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)
Later that evening, long after Sebastian had seen Brodie off on his expedited trip to Altamira, he sat ensconced with Sirius in his study. They discussed the progress of the mine at length before the conversation turned to his own impending departure.
“It’s been almost eight weeks but feels as if you just arrived, and now you’re already returning to London.” Sirius took a sip of whisky and peered at Sebastian over his glass. “I’m glad you came.”
Swallowing a healthy mouthful of whisky, he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and said, “It’s done me good to see you happy here. Considering the condition you were in when you departed London, I’ve wondered if you made the right choice.”
Sirius snorted, although his gaze was a hundred miles away. “I was not in a good place when Isabel returned to Mexico, and I didn’t think I would see her again. But I have loyal friends who thankfully knocked some sense into me.”
“Someone needed to,” Sebastian grumbled.
Sirius had been in a terrible state after Isabel had left London, and Sebastian had been concerned he would fall back into the depressive hole he’d lived in when he returned from the Crimean War a decade prior.
Thankfully Fox had helped Sebastian convince Sirius that if he wanted to make a life with Isabel, he could do so in Mexico.
And what a life his friend had created. Sebastian took a moment to let his gaze drift about Sirius’s comfortable office, with its shelves filled with books of every size and language, to the window where the scenic and quaint town of San Luis Potosí existed.
Sirius appeared more lighthearted, more unfettered, more content living under the Mexican sun with his bride than he had ever been in London.
Sebastian was happy for him even if, once again, a longing throbbed against his ribs.
Rather than rub at the ache, he was reminded that much awaited him in England.
Now that Sebastian had toured the mine operations himself, his confidence in the venture had grown, and he finally allowed his thoughts to consider how he could use his returns to benefit the dukedom.
The manor was in dire need of renovations, and he planned to schedule them as soon as he set foot on British soil.
Sebastian was determined for it to be the comfortable, happy, and loving home that James and David had been denied thus far in their lives.
His chest swelled with resolve. After being indolent for so long, Sebastian welcomed the responsibilities he’d been given, and would see to them to the best of his ability…even if a certain Mexican siren would now be underfoot to distract him.
“So will you and Gabby successfully arrive in London without one of you trying to murder the other?” Sirius asked abruptly.
Blinking at the change of topic, Sebastian frowned. “I think Miss Luna and I have come to share a cordial regard. Surely you’ve noticed the difference.”
Sirius smirked. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”
His words felt like a trap, and Sebastian had no desire to fall prey to his friend’s innuendos.
“I am sure Miss Luna will daydream daily about pushing me head over feet into the Atlantic, but she is too well bred to actually attempt such a ruthless act.” Sebastian pointed a finger at Sirius. “Duke-icide is frowned upon, no matter how deserving the duke in question may be.”
“Duke-icide?” Sirius groaned. “Why am I not surprised you would coin such a term?”
“Because you know that I am clever and quick-witted.” Sebastian sighed. “Yet easily preyed upon by those who would wish me harm.”
Sirius barked a laugh. “If you don’t stop talking about yourself in such flowery terms, I may be charged with duke-icide myself.”
“It would be a memorable way to end this trip.”
“I’m glad you came, Sebastian.” Sirius raised his glass in a toast. “And I am in your debt for how you’ve helped Gabby.”
Sebastian tugged on his cravat, which suddenly felt tight. “You owe me nothing. And neither does Miss Luna. I’m in a position to help her, so I will.”
And he would, even if she did try to push him overboard.
· · ·
Saying goodbye to Isabel, again , was just as gut-wrenching as it had been the first time.
Gabby sat tucked in the corner of the carriage Whitfield had rented for the trip to Altamira, her eyes glued on the passing landscape.
They had departed from San Luis Potosí an hour earlier, and her emotions were still a raging storm.
The idea she would once again be separated from her older sister left her heartbroken, but knowing she had fled from her mother without so much as a goodbye devastated her, and it was all Gabby could do to keep from weeping.
Yet the knowledge that the duke sat across the cab from her, a week-old newspaper from Mexico City spread open in his lap, forced Gabby to swallow her tears.
No doubt Whitfield already considered her melodramatic, and she certainly didn’t need to reinforce his opinion by releasing the sobs that burned the back of her throat and singed her eyes.
“How long will we travel today, Your Grace?” Senora Lopez asked from next to her.
The older woman worked for Isabel and Sirius as a maid, and had agreed to accompany Gabby to Altamira as a chaperone.
Word had arrived the week prior that the older woman’s newest granddaughter had arrived, and as Senora Lopez longed to meet the new baby, she was only too happy to make the long trip to the coast.
Who would be Gabby’s companion on the voyage back to England had yet to be decided.
“Only five or so hours, depending on the horses,” Whitfield replied, glancing at the older woman over his paper. He didn’t smile, but his expression was genial.
Gabby wanted to ask him about their lodgings for the night, but couldn’t bring herself to shape the words for she was certain she would cry if she tried to speak.
“My man, Brodie, left before us, and will be securing rooms for us to stay in along the way.” The duke glanced at her. “Many of the inns and hostels will be ones we stayed in on our way to San Luis Potosí.”
Swallowing, Gabby nodded. Whitfield’s thoughtfulness no longer surprised her, and when she was fully in control of her emotions again, she would thank him.
The carriage bumped and dipped along the road, and Gabby was eventually lulled into a fitful sleep.
Her dreams were haunted by visions of her father, his stinging criticism ringing in her ears.
She kept reliving the night of the Ortiz party, forced to hear her father’s cruel words over and over.
No matter what she tried to say in reply, every defense she mounted, was trapped behind her stuttering tongue.
Worse still, Whitfield was not there to defend her when she could not.
Instead, her father had gripped her upper arm and jerked her toward the nameless, faceless man he demanded she marry, and Gabby cried out in panic.
“Miss Luna. Miss Luna.”
Struggling, Gabby shook her head back and forth.
“Gabriela, you’re dreaming.”
Gabby’s eyes flew wide, and she gasped as she blinked against the light. She gave a start when she noticed Whitfield kneeling before her, his hand on her arm.
“I’m sorry to scare you,” he murmured, his hand tightening for a moment. “We’ve stopped to switch teams, and I thought you might welcome the chance to stretch your legs.”
“Oh,” she responded, the edges of her vision still clouded by dreams. Turning, she found the space on the squab next to her empty.
“Senora Lopez has already disembarked,” he said, as if reading her mind. “She said this inn makes delicious pozole, and wanted to eat before we departed again.”
Gabby licked her lips but said nothing.
Whitfield’s eyebrows stitched together. “Were you hungry? I noticed you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”
She hadn’t. Gabby possessed no appetite, certain whatever she tried to eat would taste like wood chips.
Mindful the duke was waiting for her response, she cleared her throat, noting that it was raw from her unshed tears. “No, gracias. But I think a walk will do me some good.”
Whitfield climbed from the conveyance and extended his hand to help her down. Gabby exhaled a long breath and reached for it. When both of her feet were planted on the ground, however, Whitfield did not release her. She glanced up at him and raised her brows.
“The driver informed me of an arroyo that runs adjacent to the horse yard here.” The duke’s voice carried his signature bored tone, but his pale blue eyes traveled over her face with a familiarity that hinted he understood how tenuously she was holding herself together.
“I thought it might be an idyllic place for a quiet, private walk.”
“That,” she said on an exhale, “sounds lovely.”
Whitfield nodded but didn’t release her…
nor did Gabby pull her hand from his. Standing this close to him, with his woodsy scent seeping into her lungs, she felt her turbulent emotions ease.
Just a smidge, of course. But try as she might, it was impossible for her to deny that the duke was being sincere.
The Gabby of old would have assumed he was mocking her, but over the past eight weeks she’d learned, quite against her will, that the Duke of Whitfield was truly a thoughtful man.
It was hard to remember Whitfield was a scoundrel when he gazed at her as if his next breath depended upon whatever words her lips formed.
“Your Grace?” a voice said behind her.
Gabby sucked in a gasp as she stumbled back a step. Whitfield steadied her and then promptly released her hand. They both turned to see the driver standing several feet away, his hat in his hands.
“There are several teams available. Would you like to select which one you’d prefer?”
“I’d be happy to review the selections, but I trust your judgment.” Pivoting back to her, the duke dipped his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She stared after him, her stomach flipping when she noted how he flexed his hand, as if her touch were imprinted on his palm.
Whirling about, Gabby smoothed wrinkles out of her skirts before she adjusted the fit of her hat.
It had become askew while she slept, and Whitfield was probably staring at her so intently because she looked like an idiot.
Setting off in the direction he’d indicated, Gabby tried and failed to convince herself of that notion.
The terrain had become more verdant the closer they moved to the coast, and the arroyo was lined with anacua and texana trees, their boughs providing relief from the afternoon heat.
Gabby noted that the tavern’s proprietors had placed benches along the arroyo for guests and travelers to enjoy, and if she hadn’t been sitting for so long in the carriage, she would have happily found a spot under one of the shade trees.
Instead, she paced along the arroyo bank, her thoughts once again drifting to what she had left behind in San Luis Potosí.
Gabby knew now that she had returned too soon.
She may have matured in the years she was away, but with no outstanding accomplishments to her name, her father would always view her as a daughter to marry off for his own gain.
Isabel returned to Mexico after quite literally saving Presidente Juárez’s life and with a position working with the First Lady awaiting her.
Her sister possessed power that Gabby lacked, and she should have known better than to assume her reception would be anything like Isabel’s.
She’d been so eager to leave London. Excited to be present for the fall of the empire and Presidente Juárez’s triumphant return to Mexico City.
So desperate to flee the impending scandal of Lord Carlisle’s actions.
Word had already begun to spread that something untoward had occurred between them, and Gabby had no doubt about whose version of events the ton would choose to believe, for it was her word versus an earl’s.
Ana María’s letters had assured her that the gossip had ceased, but Gabby was still nervous it would rekindle upon her return.
But what choice did she have? Whether in Mexico or in London, it seemed Gabby had no safe place to land.
Slipping under the flowering boughs of an anacua tree, Gabby pressed her back to its rough bark and covered her face with her hands.
With only the calls of doves and the chittering of squirrels as they rustled through the foliage to serve as witnesses, Gabby let down her emotional guards and finally shed a few tears.