I would have taken care of him, Gabby thought defensively. But even as she pictured the tender care she would have given her father, she knew it would have been just another attempt to gain love. And it would have failed. If there was one lesson Gabby had learned from her childhood, it was that no amount of wooing could make someone love you.

Gabby rang the bell, and Margaret appeared after a moment. “I’m to be your lady’s maid,” Margaret said happily. “Mrs. Farsalter confirmed it.”

“How lovely,” Gabby said. “Then for goodness sake, Margaret, help me loosen this infernal corset.”

Margaret looked surprised, but she began to undo the small buttons that ran up the back of the orange walking dress.

The problem was that when Margaret had unlaced the corset enough so that Gabby could take a deep breath, the gown pulled even tighter in the front.

Margaret looked at it dubiously. “Mrs. Farsalter is a dab hand with a needle. Perhaps we should see if the seams can be taken out.”

“Madame Carême already did that. I’ll just wear this shawl, Margaret. See? If I keep it draped over my front, no one can see that the bodice is a little tight.”

“Are you quite sure, miss? Because we could tighten your corset just a trifle.”

“Absolutely not. I’m quite certain that we will be taking luncheon at home.” Gabby reckoned that Peter was the only one in the household who might notice the inconvenient tautness across her breasts.

Margaret nodded. “Given the master’s condition, I expect you’ll be marrying right away. Perhaps Mr. Peter will obtain a special license.”

Gabby looked at her curiously.

“I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, miss. Mr. Codswallop had an uncle who had such an attack, and he didn’t linger. The family will go into mourning.”

“Oh, of course,” Gabby murmured. Presumably Margaret was saying that one couldn’t marry when in mourning. Yet more English rules that she had never learned. For some reason the idea of marrying Peter by special license wasn’t quite as exciting as she would have thought a week ago.

She shook off the feeling. It was time for luncheon, and she was absolutely ravenous.

The meal was a strained affair. “I must return to Bath,” Kitty Dewland explained to her young guest, “but I have sent a note asking my dear cousin, Lady Sylvia, to act as a chaperone in my absence.”

Kitty gained a spark of animation when Quill murmured something under his breath about her choice of chaperone. “Lady Sylvia is of the highest character,” Kitty snapped. She added, “Besides, it is very difficult to obtain a chaperone now, when the Little Season is upon us!”

And then she burst into tears. “Oh, if Thurlow is not able to take his seat in Parliament, it will positively break his heart!”