The Historical Collection. Stephanie Laurens
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“I assure you, you needn’t worry about that. If I did swoon, it would be from the heat.”
Pounding hoofbeats behind them announced the prospect of salvation. Penny turned, hoping to see the carriage.
It wasn’t Gabriel’s carriage, but it was the next best thing. A stagecoach, passing their way. Penny darted to the center of the road, waving her arms until the driver pulled his team to a stop.
“You’re a guardian angel,” Penny said. “Can we ride to the village?”
The driver looked them over warily, taking in their bedraggled attire. “In that state? You’d have to ride up top with the trunks.”
“We can do that.” Penny extended her hand to the driver. “Will you help me up?”
The driver didn’t take her hand. “Not so hasty. I need the fare in advance.”
“How much?” Gabriel asked.
“Let’s see.” The driver squinted. “Fare for the two of you, plus tuppence for the baggage—”
“Oh, this isn’t baggage.” Penny lifted the cage for him to see. “She’s a parrot.”
“Then that’s fare for two of you, plus thruppence for the parrot … A shilling, all told.”
Penny reached for her reticule.
She didn’t have her reticule.
Her reticule was back in the carriage. Along with Gabriel’s coat.
“Deuce it,” Gabriel said dramatically. “If only I had a shilling.”
She sighed.
“I was certain I had one here somewhere.” He made a show of patting all his pockets. “Oh, that’s right. Someone tossed it away.”
“Please,” Penny begged the driver. “Take pity on us. We’ve had an accident. It’s only to the next village.”
“Sorry, miss.” The driver flicked the reins, setting the horses in motion. “No fare, no ride.”
In silence, Penny and Gabriel watched the stagecoach travel down the road, until it rounded a curve and disappeared.
On they walked. There was simply nothing else to do.
“I always keep a shilling in my pocket,” Gabriel muttered after a few minutes of angry silence. “Always. Do you know why I always keep a shilling in my pocket? Because everything I am today, everything I’ve earned—it all started there. I was once worth a single shilling. Now I’m worth hundreds of thousands of pounds.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Shall I produce the bank ledgers to prove it?”
“Ledgers are meaningless. I have a sum placed on me, you know. A dowry of forty thousand. And yet if I were to lose my virtue, some would deem me worthless.”
“You could never be worthless.”
“I could certainly drive down the price of your house. You never miss a chance to remind me.”
He shook his head. “That’s not the point.”
“Here is the point.” She stepped into his path, forcing him to meet her eyes. Man-eating sharks and all. “No one can be reduced to numbers in a ledger, or a stack of banknotes, or a single silver coin. We are humans, with souls and hearts and passion and love. Every last one of us is priceless. Even you.”
She set her frustration aside and took his face in her hands.
He needed to hear this. Everyone needed to hear it, including her. Perhaps that was why she spoke the words so often, to so many creatures. Simply to hear them echo back.
“Gabriel Duke. You are priceless.”
You are priceless.
Gabe’s heart kicked him in the ribs.
There were responses he’d prepared in his life—saved up for the day he might need them, no matter how unlikely. He had an acceptance speech ready for the London Business League award. He had his murderous threats well-rehearsed in case he crossed paths with that cruel bastard of a workhouse guardian someday.
Gabe even knew what he’d say to his mother, if she came back from the grave to hear it.
He had no idea how to respond to this. He couldn’t have possibly prepared. Nothing in his life had taught him to imagine those words.
You are priceless.
“Goodness, you needn’t look so panicked.” She smiled and gave his head a little shake. “It’s no more than I tell Bixby daily.”
Right. Of course it wasn’t. She was only exacting a bit of revenge after he’d mocked her for blushing and so on, and he likely deserved it. Gabe hated that he felt disappointed. Even betrayed.
He brushed her hands aside. “You’ve made your point. I’ll do my best not to swoon.”
“Gabriel, wait.”
He continued walking. “You needn’t worry about any further declarations from my quarter. We needn’t talk at all.”
At last, they reached the village and its lone inn.
“As you can see, we’ve had a traveling mishap,” Gabe told the wide-eyed innkeeper. “We’ll take your largest suite of rooms. My sister will need an attendant to help her undress and bathe.”
He could feel the questioning look Her Ladyship gave him. Sister?
“While she rests, her attire must be laundered and pressed dry. And we want dinner, as soon as it can be managed.”
“Have your choice, sir.” The innkeeper pointed toward a slate listing the kitchen’s daily offerings in muddled chalk.
Gabe skimmed the list. Kidney pie, stewed beef, leg of mutton, braised rabbit. Meat, meat, meat, and meat. Brilliant.
“One of each,” he said. “No, two of each.”
Lady Penelope nudged him in the side. “You needn’t order any for me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Beastly man.” She sighed under her breath.
“You’re not a child. You can read the board as well as I can, and you don’t need me to make choices for you.”
She sighed again. “Not-quite-so-beastly man.”
“That’s more like it.”
“Toast and butter, please,” she told the innkeeper. “A wedge of cheese and some preserves, if you have them.”
“One more thing,” Gabe said. “I require writing paper, pen, and ink. I need to send a letter. There’s a five-year-old boy in Buckinghamshire who’ll be heartbroken that he’s not getting his ferret.”
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “He was never going to have a ferret.”
The innkeeper scribbled on a greasy bit of paper. “All together with the lodging … That’ll be six shillings, eight.”
“I don’t have the coin on me,” Gabe said. “I’ll pay you when my coach and driver arrive.”
“To be sure, you will. And I’ll feed you dinner when my Parisian chef arrives.”
Gabe cursed and pushed his hand through his hair. “Take my boots as collateral.”
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