Page 37 of Gabriela and His Grace (The Luna Sisters #3)
Dropping his voice, he gestured to the ship behind them with his head. “Miss Luna needs to be escorted to the cabin without being seen.”
Brodie’s expression immediately turned serious. “Of course. I can take her through the servant passages.”
“Excellent.” Sebastian allowed himself a free moment to consider Gabriela. “Do you have a dark cloak or pelisse?”
Her brow furrowed for a second before understanding lit her face. “I do. In my carpetbag in the carriage.”
“Make sure to put it on. We want you to blend in as much as possible, and even your travel ensemble speaks of quality.”
She pivoted back to the hired carriage.
To Brodie, Sebastian asked, “Is there anyone on the passenger list I should be concerned about?”
The Scotsman shook his head. “I reviewed it, and didn’t see any familiar names.” He rubbed the side of his nose. “Not that I know every toff in London, of course.”
“Of course,” Sebastian murmured, watching Gabriela as she flung her dark brown cloak over her shoulders and brought the hood up to cover her head. “It’s imperative that we do what we can to protect Miss Luna’s identity. Her reputation could depend upon it.”
“And what about your reputation?”
Sebastian flicked his fingers. “A man of my stature will recover from any social impropriety. Surely you’ve heard tales of my father.”
Brodie went still. “Here and there, Yer Grace. But I never presumed they were true.”
“Presume away.” Sebastian snorted. “He was guilty of every wicked, vile deed people have ever whispered about. And yet he was still welcomed into every drawing room in the United Kingdom. A disgrace—”
“Will this do?”
His gaze swung to Gabriela, who stood just behind him. Her gaze sparkled from within the depths of the hood.
Coughing into his fist, Sebastian nodded. “Brodie will escort you to my cabin. Please stay there until I arrive. It’s imperative you keep a low profile.”
“I understand.” She blew out a breath. “Thank you for your help, Mr.Brodie.”
The Scotsman’s expression softened. “It’s an honor to assist you, miss.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes, yet was also thankful for his valet because he knew Gabby was in safe hands. He stared after them as they disappeared into the crowd, the lump in his throat no longer threatening to choke him.
Squaring his shoulders, Sebastian grasped his cane and meandered up the gangplank. He stopped to exchange pleasantries with other passengers on the deck and in the first-class lounge, taking the opportunity to sniff out who was also traveling to London, and who might prove dangerous.
Yet Brodie’s estimations proved accurate, because Sebastian did not recognize anyone.
Most of the passengers had connections to the imperial government and were eager to return to Europe.
Sebastian sought out an introduction to Captain Brown, a crisply polite gentleman whom he instantly liked.
Yes, Sebastian thought, he and Gabriela may just make it back to London without being discovered.
The sun was a deep ocher descending into a pool of midnight blue when he finally spied Gabriela on the deck at the back of the ship.
She was staring at the ship’s rippling wake in the dark water.
He came to a stop beside her, his hand wrapping around the rail right next to hers.
Long strands of her mahogany hair had been pulled from her coiffure by the sea breeze, and danced about her face.
Her gaze remained locked on the distant horizon where Mexico lay.
“I know I was supposed to stay in the cabin, but I needed some fresh air.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but he heard her just the same. “I figured since most passengers would be at dinner, I might go unnoticed.”
“Are you hungry?” Sebastian could have kicked himself for not considering how famished she may be. It had been two hours since the ship left port in Altamira. “I apologize for not thinking of it.”
Gabriela held up a hand. “I’m fine, Your Grace. Brodie brought me a tray. There’s one in the cabin for you, as well.”
God bless his valet. He dropped his head to his chest.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing up at him. When Sebastian frowned, Gabriela continued, “Are you feeling seasick again?”
Oh. Sebastian’s face grew hot. “I’m slightly nauseated, but it’s manageable. I followed Senora Lopez’s suggestion to sip on hot water with a generous amount of lemon juice, and it has helped. She would be pleased.”
“She’d be delighted to know a duke listened to her,” Gabriela said, her lips twitching over a smile.
They stood quietly watching the waves for several moments, and the tension Sebastian had not realized he held began to ease from his limbs.
“I didn’t expect to be standing on a ship deck with you , saying goodbye to Mexico. Again.”
Sebastian propped his hip against the rail. “ I didn’t think we’d ever be able to have a cordial conversation.”
Her gaze darted to his. “And I didn’t think I would ever be able to look upon you without disdain, but I was mistaken.”
A fiery warmth sizzled through him…but was quickly extinguished when Gabriela’s face crumpled and she choked on a sob.
“I was mistaken about so many things,” she cried brokenly, covering her face with her hands.
Unsure of what to do but knowing he needed to touch her, Sebastian wrapped his arm about her shoulders, sighing in relief when Gabriela turned to cry into the folds of his coat.
· · ·
Impotent anger and heartache clawed at her chest and throat, and after containing them for the better part of a week, Gabby was desperate, so very desperate, to set them free.
That Whitfield was the one to hold her while she did it should have struck her as ironic, but instead all she felt was gratitude.
Over and over he had taken care of her, his solicitousness never cloying or overbearing.
The duke had been a calm, if occasionally wry, presence over the last two months, and his strong arm around her now, holding her close, made her feel safe and comforted.
When her sobs had turned to hiccups, Gabby pulled back to wipe at her cheeks.
“I actually thought I could be a new Gabriela here. A confident, intelligent, savvy woman my father would finally see. He’d finally feel compelled to listen to my ideas, understand how they’ve been shaped by the things I experienced in London… ”
The fight fled her on one long exhale. All it had taken was one disdainful look from Elías Luna, one arch of his brow, one sneer of his lips, for Gabby to feel as if she’d been left in a large ballroom alone with all the candles extinguished.
If that weren’t devastating enough, Whitfield bore witness to her father’s indifference.
The duke was a spectator to her great shame, and while she felt she knew Whitfield better now and didn’t think he would make snide comments at her expense, she would not blame him if he did.
Gabby had not been nearly as kind to him as he had been to her.
It was another source of shame.
“Do you believe you’re only deserving of your father’s approval if you do something grand or noteworthy?” he asked, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. The simple gesture chipped away at the armor she had wrapped around her heart.
Abruptly, Gabby remembered he’d asked a question. That sardonic lilt that accented the majority of Whitfield’s words was absent, and Gabby risked a glance up at his face. He was staring down at her, his spectacles slightly askew because of the crinkle in his nose.
Gabby pondered her response. “Look how he treats Isa. He used to ignore her, wanted to send her to a convent, but my clever sister had grander plans for herself. She saved the Juárez cabinet from capture, and now works for the rightful First Lady.” Gabby looked down at her feet, toeing her boot into a groove in the wood decking.
“She’s married to Sirius, who is obviously besotted with her…
as he should be, of course. And don’t even get me started on Ana María. ”
The duke rubbed a circle into her back. Dios mío, he was marvelous at this.
“Your sisters are lovely, accomplished women who have found happiness doing something they’re passionate about, with someone they love by their side.
” He paused, and when he continued, Whitfield’s voice was softer.
“Do you feel that if you don’t have what they have—success, recognition, love— that you’re a failure? ”
Yes. Her mind screamed the answer, but Gabby kept her mouth closed.
It seemed like a horrible thing to admit.
Her sisters were not just deserving of admiration and praise because they had accomplished great things for Mexico, but because Ana and Isabel were exceptional women.
Gabby, in comparison, had only ever deserved empty compliments to match the empty head so many people believed she possessed.
She couldn’t stop the helplessness, the despair that wrapped its insidious hands around her throat and squeezed it tight.
“Aren’t I?” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and weighed what she wanted to reveal to Whitfield.
Seeing as how she was already wrapped up in his arms, the linen of his waistcoat under her cheek, and his woodsy scent filling her nose, Gabby wagered she was in for a penny.
“A young woman of my position is expected to marry. Is expected to have children and care for her home. And here I am, with neither a husband nor children. Two times in as many months, I have fled a continent to escape being forced into marriage to a man I did not love.”
Gabby buried her face in Whitfield’s chest and whispered, “I wanted to be more than a pretty face. I wanted to matter because of the thoughts in my head and not my surname and the connections I offer. I want to be more than the children I could give my husband. Yet how can I be more if I don’t belong anywhere ?
Not here in Mexico, and not in England. I just… ”