“Because propriety matters to Peter,” Quill replied lamely. He was wishing desperately that someone else had joined them in the carriage. Where was Lady Sylvia? This sort of conversation needed a woman’s touch.

“I don’t think so,” Gabby whispered. She was starting to calm down, only occasionally giving a little hiccuping sob.

Quill took out a large linen handkerchief and dried her face. Tears had turned Gabby’s lips a deep crimson that did nothing for his peace of mind.

“I don’t think Peter wishes to kiss me at all.” The rejection in her voice caught at Quill’s heart. “I’m going to be married to a man who doesn’t like kissing me.”

“Your conclusions are illogical,” Quill pointed out. “Just because Peter has a strict sense of propriety doesn’t mean that he—”

“He didn’t enjoy kissing me,” Gabby replied firmly. “I could tell. Do you think that he is in love with someone else?”

To Quill’s relief, she seemed to be calming down. “I doubt it,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Peter has squired quite a few ladies about without showing signs of being smitten. In fact, he used to escort your friend the Duchess of Gisle occasionally, when she was Lady Sophie York.”

“Perhaps he was in love with Sophie, until she married the duke,” Gabby said dolefully. “And now he’s being forced to marry me against his will.”

“I never saw any sign that he was in love with Her Grace,” Quill said, feeling a distinct surge of guilt at how close she was to the truth—half of it, anyway.

“Whether Peter is or isn’t in love with someone else, he doesn’t care for kissing me. Why, I might die without ever being properly kissed by my true love.”

At that Quill gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t you think you’re being rather melodramatic, Gabby?”

“I am entitled to be as melodramatic as I please. I’ve just been rejected by my future spouse. Ladies have thrown themselves off bridges for less!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“A traveling company came to our village, and the heroine threw herself off the bridge, or perhaps it was a balcony. At any rate, she did it because her betrothed fell in love with someone else,” Gabby explained. “It was most affecting.”

“Rubbish.”

“It was affecting. I wept so much at the end that my father was mortified and wouldn’t take me to the performance the company gave the following night.”

“I would have refused to take you as well,” Quill observed. “You obviously didn’t enjoy the evening.”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Gabby cried. “It was lovely! The playwright had a very fine understanding of the pains of love, especially how much women suffer. It’s not uncommon, you know. Women’s hearts are much more tender than are men’s.”