Agony lanced through her heart. Her life had been lonely and uncertain, but it had not been a violent one. “It was not his fault.” Surely, all these years later, he knew that.
“Oh, I know that. But do you think a man of Gabriel’s character could ever absolve himself of that misplaced guilt?”
A knot formed in her belly. “No,” she said softly. For the person his sister had described would never cease to accept blame, nor could he not take care of others. That desire to protect at all costs was just one more piece of Gabriel Edgerton that she loved.
Chloe jabbed her finger once more and wagged it at Jane. “You are not to tolerate his loutish behavior. Is that clear?”
Jane managed a small smile, even as her heart was still breaking for Gabriel. “Abundantly clear,” she assured.
Chloe dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight.”
As the other woman took her leave, Jane sighed. A good night, indeed.
*
“Are you mad?”
Gabriel glanced up from his empty glass. Waterson towered over him with a bemused look on his face. “Waterson.” He motioned to a chair. “Will you not join me?”
The other man frowned and tugged out the seat. “You abandoned your wife on her wedding night?” his friend asked without preamble.
Gabriel cast a glance about and found a sea of stares directed at them. He frowned. Rather him. After all, it wasn’t every day that a proper marquess was caught with his sister’s companion, at the opera, in dishabille, wedded, and then at his clubs in the course of a thirty-six hour span. “I did not abandon her,” he said and shifted in his seat. “Furthermore,” he said, dropping his voice to a hushed whisper. “Ours is a matter of convenience and the lady is far better off without me.”
His friend snorted and swiped the bottle. “I will take that.” He robbed Gabriel of his glass and poured a brandy for himself. He lifted the glass in salute. “If you believe that, friend, then you were the only one to see different at your wedding breakfast this morning.” A servant started over with another glass, but Waterson caught the eye of the young man and gave him a look that sent him scurrying in the opposite direction. When he returned his attention to Gabriel, he wasted little time in getting to the heart of it. “I understand you did not want to marry the young woman,” Was that wholly true? Everything was so blasted murky.
His friend continued “But your being here,” he gave his head a shake. “Why, your being here does nothing to help Lady Waverly. It only complicates matters for the both of you.”
Lady Waverly. Not his mother. But a new marchioness. A role he’d had no intention of filling. He reached for his drink and then registered the blasted thing in Waterson’s hand.
The earl swirled the contents in a slow movement and stared contemplatively down into the glass before again speaking. “Of course, I do see why you would be regretful and prefer the presence of your clubs at this moment.”
He frowned.
Waterson flicked a hand. “You’ve once again done the honorable thing and for that, you’re married to the daughter of a who—”
Gabriel leaned across the table and grabbed Waterson by the collar. Liquid spilled over the rim of the other man’s glass and splashed their fingers and wet the table. “Shut your bloody mouth or, by God, I will end you,” he seethed. How dare the other man disparage Jane? She was worth both of them and every other blasted gentlemen of their acquaintance combined.
A twinkle of amusement glinted in the other man’s knowing eyes and Gabriel released him with such alacrity, the earl fell back into his seat. He’d merely baited him. “Say whatever it is and be done with it,” he snapped.
Only, he didn’t need the other man to supply his thoughts to know precisely what he was thinking. Gabriel had no place being here. Not tonight. Not in light of the scandal and certainly not having deposited his new wife, at home. Now Society knew it as well.
“I’ve certainly heard the whispers about her—”
Gabriel fisted the arms of his chair. The whispers. I am a whore’s daughter…. That is what all polite Society would say about her. Fury hung like a black curtain over his eyes. “I don’t want to hear about the damned whispers,” he gritted out. The ton would not see the brave young woman with far nobler aspirations than most.