Page 71 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“You need not answer to my peculiarities your whole life,” Gabriel replied, feeling a little lighter for James’s admission. “This church need not be cursed for you just because it is cursed for me. It is a fine church. It will serve you and Tiffany well enough, whatever ghosts it holds for me.”

“Thankfully, I like to think that curses can be lifted,” James said. He studied Gabriel for a moment, and something in his expression softened. “Might I suggest a truce today? I would prefer not to spend my own wedding morning arguing with my oldest friend... These things that were shared at the club, between us... I would not bring them into this, the first day of my marriage.”

“No, you should not,” Gabriel agreed. “A truce then, until at least the vows... At the wedding breakfast, I make no promises.”

“Very generous of you.” James clasped his shoulder. “Though I meant what I said at the club—however badly I said it. I do want the best for you, brother of mine, who is not my brother at all. I have never once wanted anything else for you, whatever it sounded like at the time.”

“And I do know it.”

“Do you?” James’s eyes stayed steady on his. “Because I sometimes think... Oh, I should not start now, but I will. I think you believe I asked you about Miss Winthrop to hurt you. But that was not the case. I have been thinking, since then, that what I really should have said was this: you must not decide on her behalf what she deserves.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I told you to cut her off or to devote yourself to her. But what I should have asked was whether you had any inkling of what she desired. Even though you said the whole thing was a performance, there must have been something more.” When Gabriel scrutinized him, James smiled. “Yes, I talked the matter over with Tiffany. And yes, it was she who set me on this path, considering the female perspective.”

“Your future wife is much more sage than you and much more inquisitive.” Gabriel straightened his silk vest. “But to answer your question, yes. It has occurred to me a great many times what she wants. Frankly, I cannot recall a time in the last month when I have not considered what she wants. For too long, I thought I knew.”

“And now?”

Gabriel thought back to the night, a week prior, when she had arrived unbidden at his home, and she had kissed him. There had been a confession of love in there. Maybe she had not been fully conscious of what she had voiced herself. Maybe she had not even meant to say it.

But Gabriel knew what his reaction had been: cruelty to hide the fact that he loved her more than he thought possible to love a woman, and that he had loved her for some time. He had never loved someone who had not learned to love as a child. His family, James. This felt the same and altogether different. The comfort of her, the excitement of being around her, the physical draw toward her, the ache. He had spent the last week trying to figure out how, and if, to tell her.

“Do you not think...” Gabriel broke off, considering how best to word things. “That if you cared for someone truly, you would do the best for them regardless of their wishes?”

James smiled and shook his head. “No. Because I care for you truly, but I am not escorting you by the ear to the Winthrop house to declare yourself for Miss Winthrop. You must come to that decision on your own. And whatever it is Miss Winthrop has decided, which you seem disinclined to share with me, must be accepted by you, if you care.”

“Very well-dressed,” Gabriel joked. “Your advice, your low opinion of me.”

“My opinion of you is not low and never has been. But what I said at the club still stands.”

Gabriel nodded. The receipt sat in his coat pocket, a little vulnerable at the fold from a week’s worth of handling. He was urgently aware that he needed to tell James the truth about his plans before the day went any further. He could not bear betraying someone else he loved the way he had betrayed Rosalie by concealing the truth.

The church doors opened with a groan before Gabriel could say anything more. A churchwarden exited, murmuring about the liturgy and begging James’s presence indoors.

James was already moving toward the door when he said, “We are not finished with this conversation, but it shall be over before the day is over. I will see you later.”

There was still some time before the wedding. Gabriel remained outdoors and greeted the Warwicks as they arrived, awaiting the arrival of the rest of the guests. Before long, the outside of St. George’s swelled with aristocrats. Through the crowd, he saw his aunt—accompanied, to his surprise, by Lady Winthrop. Making his excuses to James’s school friends, he followed after them as they walked, arms linked, away from the church.

When he found them, they had entered St. George’s Gardens, and they stood at the edge of the Ashcroft family plot. A small bundle of lavender and violets had been laid fresh against the newest stone, his mother’s stone.

“Gabriel?” came his aunt’s voice. Elisabeth had turned, blinking at him through the mist. “I had not noticed that you had noticed us... I wanted to show Lady Winthrop where they rest. We have grown close over the last few weeks. I thought she ought to know this part of me too, before...”

She stopped herself and smiled, returning her attention to the stones while Lady Winthrop watched, barely noting Gabriel’s arrival. Elisabeth pressed a kiss to two fingers, touched them to his mother’s stone, murmured something in French too quiet for him to catch, and excused herself toward the plot of her late husband, leaving him alone with Lady Winthrop among the graves, either by accident or by design.

“Lady Winthrop.” He inclined his head and approached her, the grass soft underfoot. “I had not known that you meant to come to the wedding. I doubt any would have held it against you, if you’d wished to remain home.”

He could tell she had sighed by the fall of her shoulders. His stomach tightened. Was Rosalie here too?

“I did not fully know I was attending until this morning. But circumstances have changed, and I do not wish to abandon my life because it would be simpler than to learn how to live it under new circumstances.” She turned and looked at him steadily, with none of her usual warmth in her face. “My husband is recovering slowly. I love my husband very much, Your Grace. It is not always easy, loving someone that much.”

He wondered what she meant. “No doubt.”

Conflict was written plainly on her face. “I only say this... because Rosalie told me everything about your arrangement.”

Gabriel reeled back a step, feeling like he had been punched. That explained Lady Winthrop’s uncharacteristic coolness at least. But it did not explain why Rosalie was not with her.

“I do not think you are wicked, Your Grace,” Lady Winthrop said, walking toward him. “I think you are frightened. Though, I confess, it is difficult to tell a tragic hero from a villain when he makes her daughter cry.”