Chapter Five
Gibb inhaled as he touched his lips to Evangeline’s. Her scent surrounded him, teased every sense and tightened every sinew and muscle in his body. It would be oh so easy to sink into her and let himself be overwhelmed. She was everything he thought a woman should be. Without any deliberation whatsoever, he intensified the kiss and blocked any other notion out except there and then. Evangeline sighed and the noise reverberated through him. Gibb realized he’d growled in response, and deep inside him something almost forgotten stirred. He ran his hands over her back and down to the soft, rounded globes of her bottom, holding her in place, insisting she felt his body’s response to her.
To his delight Evangeline let her tongue mesh with his. Her lips softened and she sank into their kiss. His senses whirled as he deepened the caress, and almost dream-like swayed with her in his arms.
It was… ‘Gibb, Gibb, why are you not with me?’ Violently, he pushed Evangeline back and held her shoulders as he trembled uncontrollably.
“Oh god.” The words tore from him in anguish. “Why now, oh, why? It’s over. No more.” A sob escaped him as he saw Evangeline’s wide-eyed and hurt expression. “Not you, Evangeline, not you. Oh, bloody hell, never you.”
“Hush.” She kissed his cheek and rubbed his back like a mother comforting a child. “If not me, who then?”
He shuddered and it was her turn to embrace him and hold him close. “Tell me, Gibb, share your terrors with me. Let me help.”
“Will it never go away?” he asked in despair. His forehead was clammy and beads of sweat dotted his skin. “Will I never stop hearing her? Am I to be tortured forever for not being what she wanted? I told her what I was, she said it was fine. She said she wanted no more than I did. She lied and I couldn’t change. Why should I? I told her what I am. Told her, and she accepted it or so she said. She lied.”
“Who, Gibb?”
He took a deep breath and looked into Evangeline’s eyes. He wondered what she saw as she hugged him closer.
“H…Hester. My late wife.”
Did she see a shell of a man? A man who could not save his wife from killing herself? Someone not worthy of her attention? He hoped not, but he couldn’t blame her if that were the case. It was true.
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in her voice. She held him tight as if to transfer her warmth and vitality to him.
“You know,” he said flatly. “What happened.”
“No more than that she died, and since then you have turned inward and refused to contemplate remarriage,” Evangeline said. “I have neither asked nor been told any more.”
“I killed her.” He waited for her to pull back or shudder. She did neither. A featherlight kiss touched his forehead.
“No, you did not,” Evangeline said in a firm voice. “Stop thinking that. She died in a boating accident, even I know that, and that you were not there.”
“I as good as killed her. Hester wanted more of me than I could give. She needed attention and adoration and I had neither for her. I was told she took my boat out in a temper. My steward explained to her there was a storm coming and it wouldn’t be safe to put to sea and she told him to mind his own business. That if I couldn’t be bothered to pay her attention she would take something of mine I did care about. I…” He cleared his throat. “I believe she was going to leave me and go to Ireland. Where…oh, where she might have had a lover. She left, and I never saw her again. Even her body didn’t turn up for weeks and then…then she was recognizable only by the rings she wore. It was all my fault, I should never have married her.”
“You can’t say that,” Evangeline said fiercely. “She was the one who tried to change your agreement.”
“I know, but, but…”
“No buts.” She put her hand over his mouth again. “You made your intentions clear. She accepted them. She is the one to blame.”
“I try to tell myself that,” Gibb said, weary to the depth of his soul. “It is easier said than done.”
“Of course it is. It’s human nature to feel you have failed. That you haven’t given someone what they need. But did she give you what you needed?”
He shrugged. How could he admit such a thing? It would not be the conduct of a gentleman.
Evangeline nodded. “I take that as evidently not. My advice to you is for you to try harder. But, I also advise you to beware. You know the grand dames of the ton think it’s time you remarry and beget an heir,” Evangeline said. “And they intend to harass you until you agree.”
“Of course, they take every opportunity available to them to inform me of my alleged duty. And I suspect some would not be averse to aiding one of their protégées into a situation where a betrothal is inevitable. It will not happen. Forewarned is forearmed.”
It was no wonder he fled to his country estate whenever he could and left when he had to. This extended stay, due to Evangeline, must be like manna from heaven to them. “They can harass as much as they like. I have ignored them, and will continue to do so.”
“Do they not know of your anguish?” Evangeline demanded in a tone that made him yearn to see her on form with certain older members of the ton. “Misplaced torment, I must say, for as unpleasant as it is to speak ill of the dead, your late wife sounds selfish and spoiled.”
Gibb laughed hollowly. Evangeline had summed Hester up to perfection. “Yes, she was, but to them it matters not, and nor do my feelings about it all. To them it is over. To me it never, ever will be. Not just because I failed her, but also because no one seems to accept what is said. Why do people think they can change others?” he asked, bitter as he remembered some of the more unpleasant instances where he had been harangued. “Can one not be accepted for what they are, not what you can make them? Remarry? It’s not going to happen. Even if a potential wife swears on the Bible she will marry for convenience and expect no more, I cannot and will not believe them. Someone else can sort out the succession for it won’t be me.” He was silent for several seconds, and rested his head on her shoulder. Evangeline didn’t speak but carried on rubbing his back in a circular, rhythmic motion. Eventually he looked up at her.
“Do you still want to be friends?” he asked dryly. “Dare you risk it?”
“Don’t be daft.” The British expression sounded strange in her French accent. It seemed with him she had no need to hide behind a false one. “Of course I do and I dare,” she said. “We, my lord, will confuse all and sundry with our relationship.”
“Do you think it will spare me matchmaking mamas?”
“If not I will throw my knives at them,” Evangeline said in such a matter-of-fact way he smiled. “Slowly and with great precision,” she added, and grinned. “I am excellent at that.”
Gibb laughed wholeheartedly. “I like the sound of it. Evangeline, I am sure you will be good for me.”
“Of course I will. I am French.”
* * * *
Several weeks later Evangeline sat in front of her bedroom mirror and examined her face with care eyes…two of a deep midnight blue. Brows, a neat semi-arc. Hair, a mass of curls and black as a raven’s wing. It had a mind of its own. Nose, what her maman called retroussé and she called button. Mouth…too wide maybe, but in her job that was nothing to worry about. Complexion. Not like her compatriots’ olive tones, but milky. What one swain called Celtic and she thought insipid.
Therefore, a little rouge was, she supposed, necessary for her extravaganzas, but not for a ride in the park with Gibb.
A ride in the park. How nice that sounded, even if it was at the unfashionable time of seven in the morning. Evangeline smoothed down her deep-red twill habit and pondered on how her life had changed over the preceding weeks. Gibb and she spent a fair amount of time together without being in each other’s pockets, and were discovering facets of their personalities Evangeline suspected neither of them had known they had. So far no one had commented to her on their association so she suspected it was probably the same with Gibb, but assumed it was a matter of time.
Gibb would, he assured her, inform anyone who was so crass as to prod him that his life was his own and of no interest to anyone else. She hoped she could do the same if she were approached. If either of them thought their answer would satisfy their questioners they didn’t say. It was one occasion, Evangeline decided, that it was not worth sharing her doubts.
The sound of footsteps on her stairs drew her to her feet. Giving Gibb a key had been, she reminded herself, a good thing. This way he could use the now on-his-decree-forbidden-to-her rear entrance and make his way upstairs unchallenged. She had mentioned it to Eloise, who had stared at her through narrowed eyes. Then just as Evangeline was about to scream, nodded.
“On your head.”
“Oh yes.”
Gibb tapped on her door and she opened it. The swift kiss was as pleasant as it was unexpected. “You smell of summer,” he said as she pulled on her gloves. “It is refreshing.”
“Rose water,” Evangeline said, and wished she could stop her pulse speeding up whenever he was close. If he noticed, not only would she be mortified, he would no doubt also renege on their agreement on the assumption she had. “Just a few drops of rose water, nothing more.”
“Whatever, it is a breath of sweetness. Much nicer than the overwhelming scent Miss Jessop seems to think necessary.” Gibb grimaced. “I was introduced to her at Lady Wilton’s last night and it nigh on overpowered me.”
Evangeline quashed the niggle of jealousy that flooded into her—she had no right to feel so—and laughed. “Perhaps that was her intention.”
“What?” Gibb closed the door behind them and locked it before he pocketed the key. “What intention?”
“To overpower you.”
“I bloody well hope not,” Gibb protested. “I swear they are getting bolder. I had no intention of attending any bloody soirees but Stanley Wilton corralled me outside White’s and begged me attend, to, as he put it, give him support. As Stanley is one of the few people who never pester me to become my old self once more, or offer to introduce me to a woman, I thought it the least I could do. How wrong I was. The twittering simpletons were all over me like a flock of predatory birds. Not a nice experience. The fact that it was worse for Stanley kept my mouth shut and my annoyance in check. Even so, I was home before midnight, so that must tell you something. Horrendous. If it weren’t for you, I’d be miles away by now. Are you sure you don’t fancy a sojourn in Scotland?”
“Quite sure,” Evangeline said as she squashed the thought that it would be very nice, if only she didn’t have secrets to fathom out. “And please, don’t feel you have to stay here on my account.”
“I won’t.” He patted her glove-clad hand. “You should know by now I do what I want, not what is expected.”
She sniggered. If he thought that, who was she to point out the discrepancies in his idea? “That’s me put in my place. In all seriousness, I do appreciate all you do, but I don’t want it to, how do you say, have it rebound on you.”
Honey, her horse, which after a great degree of argument she had agreed to let Gibb purchase from the stables she had belonged to and keep for her, whickered her welcome as Gibb helped Evangeline to mount and settle herself. It had taken a lot of persuasion on Gibb’s behalf for Evangeline to give in with grace and offer her thanks. To be beholden to him, or anyone, was very difficult for someone so independent.
However, each time she rode, she gave thanks once again.
Evangeline held the reins in a loose grip, until Gibb joined her and the groom stepped back. The youthful groom would meet them at the stables later.
“It won’t rebound, I promise,” Gibb said. “So which way? To the lake or to the paths first?”
“The lake,” Evangeline answered. “Before it gets busy. Then we can be more decorous if need be and stick to the paths.”
“So be it.”
They let the horses make the pace as they moved on in companionable silence. Overhead a skein of geese flew low to settle on the lake with a great deal of noise and fluttering of wings. Evangeline looked at them as they began to glide elegantly across the surface of the lake, creating ripples on the otherwise still surface of the water. “It must be good to be able to roam at will,” she said. “To know if this place becomes too hot or too quiet, you can move on without any ties or worries.”
“Except for being shot and ending up as someone’s dinner,” Gibb said.
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “Oh, trust you. Now all my illusions are spoiled. I will never look at geese again without thinking of fruit sauce.”
“Sorry,” he said and sounded not the least bit repentant. “Did you never eat goose in France?”
“It was out of our orbit. We managed on fish, if we had caught them, eggs when the hens were laying, chicken when they stopped and of course vegetables. I always thought geese so majestic and so free and now you tell me their ending is for our stomachs. One more misapprehension solved.” She laughed. “Not true of course, but it is a good thought, eh?”
Gibb inclined his head. “Indubitably. But, my dear, this is life as we know it. One person’s freedom is the other person’s prison. Freedom is but an illusion for everyone and everything.”
“You are a cynic,” Evangeline observed as a moorhen squawked and swam through the reeds.
Gibb nodded in agreement. “Now, let us talk of nicer things.”
“Such as?”
“Ah, now you have me. You decide.”
“My extravaganza next week at Vauxhall? Will you be there?”
“Of course.” He sounded amazed she even needed to ask.
Evangeline wondered why. After all, nothing was certain.
“I have bespoken a box,” Gibb continued. “Where we will take supper.”
“We will?” She was surprised by his assertion. “Won’t people talk?”
“Perhaps,” he said with indifference. “But as they are talking already, I see no reason why we should not enjoy a good supper after your act. As long as you do not pick me for your victim.”
Evangeline sniggered as she shook her head. She might not want to be the center of attraction in any way except on stage, but gossip was inevitable. “I wouldn’t dare single you out for that. I prefer someone more aware of themselves and not in a good way.”
“Someone whose ego you can deflate a little?” Gibb suggested and she laughed. “That’s an idea,” he continued. “Can I give you a list, do you think? It would be a long one, though, and difficult to decide who should head it.”
“No need, I have one up here.” She tapped her head. “I just have to look at some people and know they will suit.” They angled down a side track and the horses picked up their pace into a decorous canter, which still left Evangeline able to speak and know Gibb could hear and respond if he wished. “And some I steer clear of.”
“Have you ever hit anyone by mistake?” Gibb asked as the horses lengthened their strides a little. “Even a nick?”
“Not ever by mistake, although I have purported to have done so,” Evangeline admitted with a wry smile. “I will name no names but say retribution was oh so satisfying. The couchon had tried to interfere with the young daughter of someone I admire, who is a friend. I did nothing more than graze his staff and slice his leg. Before he said anything to me the father of the girl threatened to do a better job. I believe the bastard went to the Indies and stayed there.”
“Best place,” Gibb said stonily. “For if anyone of honor found out his fate would have been worse. Much worse.”
“Says the man who professes not to care about others.”
“I seem to have forced that attitude into the background at times. That would have been one of them.” They had circled the track around the lake and began to walk their horses back toward Bruton Street. “When I see injustice done, I feel beholden to try and reverse it. But that is not personal, it is on behalf of my sex or standing. I sometimes am ashamed I am a man and a peer.”
“Women can also behave as bad,” Evangeline remarked. “It is a sad state of affairs that most people do not believe it to be so. Me? I know so. As I work I see things that people do not realize. To them I am part of the furniture.”
“What do you do if you see injustice?” Gibb asked with interest. “Apart from throwing a knife at whoever is the cause of it.”
She laughed bleakly. “Make sure someone in authority finds out. Often it is a young gentleman’s mama who receives the news. There is no one better to put the fear of God into a young imbecile.”
“Then I commend you.” The park was getting busier with traders and milkmaids. Gibb sighed. “I expect we need to get back.”
“I suppose so. I enjoy our outings.” Evangeline slotted Honey in behind Gibb’s horse and made sure she presented a picture of subservience. Gibb turned around in the saddle.
“What on earth are you doing? You look, not to put too fine a point to it, constipated.”
“I what?” Evangeline was so startled she let her hands drop the reins, and it was only due to Honey’s good nature that she didn’t career into a pie seller and make him spill his tray of pastries. “No, don’t say it again. I’m not, I am practicing to be your inferior.”
“You…” Gibb did allow his horse to break into a trot and swore as he brought him back into a walk. “Why?” he asked, as they turned into the road that led to the mews behind his house, where the horses were stabled.
“I thought it might help, and make life easier for you.”
“Not a chance. It will make people think I’ve become feeble-minded. Now come on and ride alongside me.”
* * * *
Over a month later, Gibb looked back over the previous weeks. Had he been in London for so long? He’d achieved a lot, been frustrated in many things, and to his amazement found a friend in Evangeline.
And, Gibb allowed, made an enemy in Denby Crowe, who could hardly bear to spend time in the same room as Gibb. He’d asked diffidently if he could stay around while his younger sister came to the capital for a few weeks, prior to her debut the following season. Gibb could hardly have refused that, but it made him uneasy. On several occasions he’d thought himself watched, as the hairs on the back of his neck had lifted and his scalp had prickled.
His sojourn in the capital lengthened, with no noticeable end in sight, and, most annoying to him, many hostesses rushed to engage Gibb to come to whatever entertainment they had arranged. It was a fine juggling act to accept as few invitations as possible without offending anyone. If he had his way he would ignore them all, but for various reasons did not. One had always supported him, another was a friend of his late parents. A third’s husband had been his compatriot at Eton. And so it went on.
Perforce, at some he encountered Denby. To Gibb’s knowledge, Crowe had never been high on any hostess’s list of preferred guests, and that, Gibb surmised, was to Crowe another reason to dislike Gibb. As he could do nothing about any of it he took care to watch his own back.
A few days later, early in the evening and deep in thought, Gibb tied his cravat and shuddered at the idea of the hours ahead. It was a pity his friends and acquaintances took the fact he was still in town as a sign he needed to be entertained, and the dowagers and pushy mamas as an indication he was ready to remarry. He required neither and would be a lot happier staying at home. However, some things couldn’t be passed over. The entertainment of that evening was one of them. One of the few people who hadn’t hounded him after Hester had died was her brother Henry. He’d known what his sister was like, commiserated with Gibb, said he was there if Gibb needed him and let Gibb do as he wished without any comment. Tonight was to be the first ball held by Henry and his new bride. They had married in Norfolk and Gibb had made his apologies as, he’d explained, he was needed elsewhere. An excuse he’d made real. Henry might be forgiving, but his siblings were less so and the last thing Gibb had wanted was to ruin the day.
It was therefore important that he show his face at the ball where, he was reasonably certain, the niceties would be preserved. Henry’s bride was what Gibb thought of as sweet, innocent and without an original idea of her own. Someone he would steer clear of if he thought she had any interest in him. However, even though he had no more than a passing acquaintance with the lady, it was obvious she worshiped her husband. Her eyes followed him and he had been informed—in total secrecy—by no less than three of his peers that the lady referred to Henry for his opinion about everything. From whether her choice of hat was suitable to what to eat for dinner or their activity each evening. She seemed to suit Henry, who told Gibb it was gratifying to be deferred to in such a manner, and that he enjoyed the feeling that his wife needed him. Gibb thought that without a doubt she was what Henry, a gentle soul, required. It would not suit him, however.
An image of Evangeline came unwanted to mind. Evangeline, cheeks rosy with temper, as she had looked when she’d confronted Crowe. Evangeline laughing in the moonlight, her eyes sparkling and her scent surrounding him as she walked barefoot across his lawn at midnight. Evangeline talking, a chicken leg between her fingers waving around as she made her point about something with enthusiasm. Evangeline, knives in hand, throwing them at him as he stood in his ballroom in front of a makeshift wall. Evangeline as she guided him in her art and cheered as he hit a pillowcase stuffed with straw roughly where she’d indicated. Her feistiness, her determination and yes, her independence. Everything about her called to Gibb.
But still he hesitated in demonstrating how he felt. How did he know if his feelings of contentment would last? Would she still be as independent if he revealed his feelings? Did he even know what they were? What did he want?
Gibb put on his signet, adjusted his cravat and picked up his snuffbox. Somewhat of an affectation as he didn’t take snuff, and it was of plain tortoiseshell, not over-decorated as many were. Plus he had neither a secret compartment nor any risqué paintings on it. Such a difference from those of many of his acquaintance, or from the large, ornate ram’s horn mull full of snuff on his dining table in Scotland. That, filled with ‘his sort’, was used a great deal by fellow lairds. This portable pocket one, he supposed, was just something he used as a prop. It often helped to ease awkwardness if, or should that be when men hesitated about how to deal with him. He would open it one-handed and propose the gentleman in question try ‘his sort’. He didn’t mention it was a generic mix from Fribourg & Treyer in Haymarket, with the addition of a hint of whisky from the distillery on his estate in Scotland. The ladies he just complimented on their dress, perfume or jewelry. Very few took snuff and those who did were considered beyond the pale.
“Don’t wait up,” he said to his valet. “I doubt I’ll stop late at Sir Henry’s, but I might drop into Watier’s afterward.” Evangeline was spending the evening with Eloise, making her costume for her booking at Vauxhall. They were, she had told Gibb, deciding on sequins and slippers. ‘And of course I need to make sure I can move without catching my knives in chiffon,” she’d said with a laugh. “For how galling that would be, if I cut my dress in half instead of my victim’s, er, willing partner’s handkerchief.’ Gibb thought victim was a better choice of title than partner, willing or otherwise, but kept quiet about it.
With Evangeline happy at home sewing on sequins and ribbons, Gibb entered his carriage and admitted he’d rather be spending the evening with her. Not dependent on each other, he told himself firmly. Just two people who enjoyed each other’s company. He had not many evenings before been invited to take supper with Evangeline and Eloise and enjoyed every second of both ladies’ company.
This evening, he arrived at Henry’s townhouse within minutes and wondered why on earth he’d called for his carriage when he could have walked the distance almost as fast. The quirks and vagaries of the ton astonished and annoyed him in equal measure. He told his coachman he wouldn’t be needed anymore that evening, he’d walk or arrange for a hackney, and thought, not for the first time, how he wished he could leave London.
With Evangeline?
That notion had him rocking on his heels. Did he want that? Whether he did or not, an hour later he wished it was her company he was enjoying, not Henry’s and his bride’s, however welcoming they were. Balls were not his idea of entertainment. In fact, he would admit that this one was rapidly becoming one of the worst evenings of his sojourn in town. As he had expected, Hester and Henry’s sisters were distant and scarcely polite and one too many debs had made sheep’s eyes at him.
“So, my lord, is this not the most exciting evening imaginable?” Lady Penelope, or was it Prudence or Prunella Sunley—he had no idea which sister it was, to him they were interchangeable—fluttered her lashes at him and tittered.
Tittering, for god’s sake. Does she know how idiotic she appears? Does she care?
Whichever Sunley chit it was leaned in toward him—much too close for a so-called innocent debutante—and Gibb gagged as an unpleasant amount of a strong scent hit him with the power of a horse and carriage. “I do love to waltz.” She looked up at him expectantly.
Gibb, who had told Henry in no uncertain terms that he was stopping for an hour, no longer, and had no intentions of dancing or squiring any young lady, looked at her without expression. “Really?” he said in a scarcely polite tone. “I see young Cedric Popplewell coming over, and I suggest you look to him for a partner. “
“Oh, I must say,” she spluttered, reddened and glared at him.
“Must you? I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” he said, unrepentant at how rude he was. Gibb bowed as the young lady glowered. He smiled grimly and turned on his heel. That was it. His duty was over and he could leave in the knowledge he’d done as he said and showed his face. He made his brisk farewells to the newly married couple, let Henry extract a promise to meet him at Tattersall’s the following day, and left the ballroom before he could be accosted by anyone else.
As he reached the front door and accepted his cloak and cane, a fellow peer and someone who was more than an acquaintance but not a close friend approached him.
“Ho, Gibb, you off to Watier’s?”
Gibb inclined his head. “Just so.”
“Then I’ll come with you, if I may?” Anthony Tarporly asked. “I’m heading that way myself. I’ve had enough of the ball. There wasn’t even a decent card game. What made you show your face?”
“Henry is my late wife’s brother,” Gibb said, rueing the stiff note in his voice. He forced himself to relax. “I promised Henry I’d take a look in and toast him and Mary.”
He watched the other man assimilate his words. And those unsaid, along the lines of, ‘Unlike her parents, Henry never blamed me for Hester’s death. I blamed me, though.’
“Ah yes, a lovely couple,” Anthony said in a sickly voice after a second. “Almost it makes me think about putting my head in the parson’s noose. Almost. What about you?”
“Me?” Gibb stood back to let Anthony precede him down the shallow flight of steps to the pavement. “As I’ve intimated ad nauseam, I’ve done it once and once was enough.”
“Ah. Pity. Are you sure?” Anthony stared at him earnestly as they made their way down the street, their footsteps echoing hollowly on the cobbles. “Because if you do need to beget an heir, I could have a solution. The thing is, I did wonder if, now that you’re back in circulation, and getting bothered, you’d find your way to perhaps offer for Margaret, m’sister. The pater says she’s nigh on the shelf and needs to wed and soon. She’s had a season already, plus this one, and not taken, and would make someone a suitable, biddable wife. I thought maybe…” He raised one eyebrow and let his voice trail off. “You need an heir and all that, and she’d not bother you to change your ways or… Oh blazes.”
“You thought?” Gibb said in a voice icy enough to freeze water as he resisted the urge to throttle Anthony. “Did you not hear a word I said? You thought that I would be willing to tie myself to someone half my age? Someone who is no doubt needy and would not be satisfied to plow her own furrow within the precepts of a marriage I, I mind you, dictated. A child. Whatever you say, you know the way a woman, even a female, half woman, half child’s mind works. Want, need… Good god, have you learned nothing about me?” he burst out as his ire began to force every other emotion out of the way to let itself be known. “My first wife died because I could not give her the attention she wanted, and you, you think to inflict that on me again. To say nothing of how it would affect your sister.” He threw his hands in the air in disgust. “Some brother you are.”
Tarporly’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Gibb. As it might, Gibb thought unrepentant, as every last annoyance and irritation came to the fore.
“Is this all your own idea or did your parents put you up to it?” Gibb demanded. “I doubt it came from your sister, who on the one occasion I recollect I ever noticed her looked as if she was about to burst into tears and almost ran in the other direction.” He paused, swallowed and reined his temper in with difficulty. Tarporly looked at him warily, as if trying to decide whether to run or stand his ground. Sensibly, he kept his mouth shut.
“Does that mean you have told her she should look in my direction?” Gibb demanded. “For if so, be thankful dueling is frowned upon.”
Tarporly shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh, come on, Gibb,” he said, placatory. “It was a suggestion, nothing more. I thought it would prevent you having to trawl the debs.”
“Anthony, to save yourself further embarrassment, listen to me. I have no intention of trawling anywhere,” Gibb said, his anger gone. What was the point in continuing to lose his temper with someone who had no idea why Gibb was so irate? “Or remarrying. Where did you get the idea I would?”
“Mama. She says the tabbies are saying you need to and it’s best to do it now. So as Margaret is single and ready to wed, the obvious conclusion was suggest her to you.” He shrugged. “Nothing ventured and all that.”
“And does your sister know you are talking to me like this?” Gibb asked in a voice that could crack glass.
“Lord no.” Tarporly looked at Gibb in horror. “She would be mortified. A private person is m’sister. Never has a word to say for herself. Drives Mama mad. I mean, there’s such a thing as too shy and retiring.”
Almost, Gibb felt sorry for the poor woman. Not sorry enough to offer for her, though. “Anthony, take it from me, we wouldn’t suit. No one would. And please, if you value our friendship, pass this about. Gibb Alford is not going to marry. Not today, not tomorrow, not next year, not ever.”
“Oh, I thought…” Once more Tarporly’s voice trailed off as the carriage rattled over cobbles and slowed to a halt.
“Don’t think,” Gibb advised him. “It is obvious it addles your brain. How about sorting your own nuptials out? There are plenty of young ladies out there who would jump at the chance of being a bride.”
“If you won’t marry Margaret, I suppose I’ll have to set my cap at someone,” Anthony said gloomily. “There are heavy hints that I could do worse than Lady Lucinda Best. She’s got a fortune and only brays like a donkey when she’s excited.”
It was no wonder Gibb lost heavily at cards.
Or woke up the following morning with the headache from hell.