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Dewland cannot sit until you do. My ayah told me that English gentlemen never, ever sit down in the presence of a lady. I mean, if the lady is standing up.”
Gabby’s face turned rosy. “I am so sorry, Quill!” She whisked around the side of a couch and plumped herself down. “I’m afraid I shall make many mistakes of this nature. My father did not believe in what he called aristocratic flummeries, and so I know almost nothing of English customs.”
“Please think nothing of it,” Quill replied, sinking into a chair, with a silent breath of relief.
Phoebe sat primly on a small footstool at Gabby’s feet. To Quill’s amusement, Phoebe and Gabby presented an image of precise opposites. Phoebe’s hair fell into meticulous curls that looked as if she had just brushed them. As she sat down, the little girl instinctively twitched the folds of her dress so that they spread evenly on either side. Her hands were clasped on her lap, and her ankles were neatly crossed.
But Gabby! It wasn’t that there was anything precisely unladylike in her posture—but she simply didn’t look groomed. For one thing, most of her hair had fallen down again. When she handed her bonnet to Codswallop, her hair tumbled with it. Her gown had a very odd look to it as well. Clearly it had been designed to hang from just below her breasts, the way women’s clothing did these days. But instead it was rather stiff, and it puffed out around her hips almost as if she were wearing starched undergarments.
Codswallop entered the drawing room and said, “Tea will be served directly.” He held forth a silver salver, graced with one card. “Mr. Lucien Boch has called. Are you receiving, sir?”
“No.”
Gabby looked at Quill sweetly. “Please do not deny your friend simply because of my presence. Surely Mr. Boch could join us for tea?”
Quill frowned. “I think it would be best if we do not receive guests.” His tone sounded pompous even to himself, but how in the world could he politely mention the state of her hair?
Gabby wrinkled her nose at him. “I may not know English customs, but I do know how irksome it is to travel all the way to a friend’s house and then find that he is out!”
When Quill nodded reluctantly at Codswallop, Gabby continued sunnily. “After all, we are family and need not stand on ceremony. I would be very happy to make my first London acquaintance.” She hesitated. “Will Peter be joining us for tea, do you think?”
Quill’s stomach tensed. “I doubt it. Peter rarely returns home before late in the evening.”
“Oh.”
Quill felt as if he had told a baby chick that his favorite dish was roast fowl. His future sister-in-law looked suddenly disconsolate, biting her lip.
“Is he in London at the moment? Does he know that I have arrived?”
A delicate question, Quill thought to himself. Undoubtedly, Peter had been chased to the ground by a footman and informed of the Plassey’s arrival. But that particular piece of news was likely to make him stay out all night.
“No,” he replied brusquely. “If he had known of your arrival, he would have met the Plassey himself. When the message arrived, I was alone in the house. In fact, I should have informed you that my parents will be most sorry to have missed your arrival. They are in Bath at the moment.”
Gabby instantly glowed again. “Well, of course, I should have guessed that Peter didn’t know that I have arrived! Do you think a footman could send him a message?” For a moment she looked adorably confused. “If it’s not presumptuous?”
“Impossible,” Quill barked. “I don’t know where he is.” Something about this whole conversation was making him irritable as a wet cat. The girl didn’t sound as if she was talking about a man she’d never met, nor was she acting as if this was a marriage of convenience. A marriage between strangers .
Codswallop reopened the doors and announced, “Mr. Lucien Boch.” An elegant man dressed in black strolled into the