Read Midnight Pleasures Online
Authors: Eloisa James
Midnight Pleasures (45 page)
To her satisfaction, he nodded. She had been reminding Kasi every day that Mrs. Malabright was coming to see him when the vessel landed.
“And then what will happen, Kasi?” she prompted.
“Live with Mrs. Malabright,” he replied with approval. “I
like
Mrs. Malabright.” A shadow crossed his eyes and he added, “I don’t like Mrs. Sibbald.”
“Mrs. Malabright will take you to her house, and you needn’t ever see Mrs. Sibbald again,” Phoebe said, rather bossily. “I will come visit you though, won’t I, Miss Gabby? I will visit you secretly, and I won’t tell anyone where you are.”
“Yes,” Kasi said with a contented lilt in his voice. And he returned to playing with Gabby’s locket.
“Do you like your new husband, Miss Gabby?” Phoebe asked.
Even looking at the miniature portrait of Peter, of his soft brown eyes and wavy hair, made Gabby’s heart beat faster.
“Yes, I do,” Gabby said softly.
Phoebe, who was a true romantic, even at age five, sighed. “I’m sure he already loves you, Miss Gabby. Did you send him a picture of yourself?”
“There wasn’t time,” Gabby replied. And even if there had been, she would not have sent one. The only portrait her father had ever commissioned made her look horribly round in the face.
She tucked the locket away again.
But even as she, Phoebe, and Kasi munched on dry toast, which was the only treat offered now that they had been at sea for months, Gabby couldn’t help daydreaming about her betrothed and his gentle eyes. Somehow, by the grace of God, Gabby had been given a husband who was everything she had dreamed of: a man who looked perfectly capable of carrying on a quiet conversation. He seemed as unlike her cold, ranting father as possible.
Gabby’s heart glowed. Peter would obviously be a devoted and loving father. Already Gabby could picture four or five small babes, all with her husband’s eyes.
Every day the ship drew farther and farther from India and thus farther and farther from her father’s frenzied reproaches:
Gabrielle, why can’t you put a bridle on your tongue! Once again, Gabrielle, you have embarrassed me with your graceless behavior!
And the worst of all:
Oh, God above, why have you cursed me with this disgraceful chit, this prattling excuse for a daughter!
Gabrielle’s happiness grew with each ocean league that passed.
Her sense of confidence grew as well. Peter would love
her
, as her father never did. She felt as if Peter’s sweet eyes were already looking into her soul and seeing the Gabby inside: the Gabby who was worth loving, the Gabby who was not merely impetuous and clumsy. The real Gabby.
Yes, a glimpse of Gabrielle Jerningham, along with insight into her dreams, would have shaken Quill to the backbone.
But since Quill was not overly given to imagination, nor had he ever demonstrated the gift of precognition, he convinced himself that Miss Gabrielle Jerningham would make his younger brother a very good wife indeed. And when he encountered Peter at his club later that evening, he told him so.
Peter was in a tetchy mood, and well on the way to being drunk as a lord. “I don’t follow your reasoning.”
“Money,” his brother replied shortly.
“Money? What money?”
“Her money.” Quill had a flash of guilt, talking about Gabrielle as if she were a commodity, although in a sense she was. “With Jerningham’s money, you can afford those clothes you love so much.”
“I wear the very best clothes now,” Peter said loftily, with the smug understanding that he stood at the very pinnacle of London fashion.
“You wear clothes that I pay for,” Quill replied.
Peter chewed on his lip. It went against the grain—and against his fundamentally kindly nature—to point out that his elder brother’s money would all be his someday, unless a miracle cured Quill’s migraines.
Yet it would be pleasant to have his own money, no doubt about that.
Quill saw the telltale interest in Peter’s eyes and laughed, his heart lighter. He slapped his brother on the back and left the club.
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by Eloisa James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, N.Y.
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Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-087020
eISBN: 978-0-307-56977-6
v3.0
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