Free A Gentleman Never Tells by Amelia Grey Page A

her.”
    “Absolutely, we will,” Matson said, and then looked at his twin. “If it’s a good time for you. If not, I can go alone.”
    Iverson rose from the slipper chair. “No, I’m ready.”
    “Good,” Brent said. “If you find the little devil, bring her back here and make yourselves at home for as long as you want. You know where the wine is kept. I go to discover my fate.”
    Brent turned and walked out the door.

Five
    Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win.
    —Jonathan Kozol
    Gabrielle waited impatiently as late afternoon sunshine slashed across her bedroom window. Since leaving her father, aunt, and sister downstairs, she had tried reading and working on her embroidery, but neither pastime could take her mind off the fact that Lord Brentwood was coming to talk with her father about their marriage.
    Auntie Bethie had taken charge of the house and had insisted she handle everything concerning canceling all plans for the wedding. She never once asked Gabrielle to tell her what had happened, for which Gabrielle was grateful.
    The afternoon wore on, and in a fit of unrelenting frustration over her inability to control her own destiny, Gabrielle set up her easel and a small canvas by her window. She pulled her oils and brushes from their drawer and started painting a blue, blue sky. But not even the solitude of her work soothed her troubled mind as it usually did. She couldn’t stop thinking about ways she might be able to persuade the duke from wanting to force a marriage between her and the viscount.
    Considering the way Lord Brentwood had looked at her with such disdain when he found out she was betrothed, she had a little hope he simply would not agree to marry her. But if he acquiesced to pressure from her father, she had to come up with a plan of her own to present to Lord Brentwood.
    From the loud knock and chatter downstairs, she knew when the viscount had arrived. She kept painting, adding a dark blue tumultuous ocean with crashing waves, and a lone ship with tattered and battered sails sitting in the middle of it. Though her hand continued its creation as the minutes passed, her thoughts kept wandering to what Lord Brentwood and her father were saying to each other about her future.
    Would Lord Brentwood be strong enough to stand up to her formidable father? Or would he be like most people who had dealings with the duke and finally agree with everything he wanted?
    A knock sounded on her door, and Gabrielle jumped. Her brush smeared a dark brown streak across the canvas, marring the hull of the ship she was working on.
    “Good heavens!” she exclaimed under her breath. She had never been skittish in her life, and she didn’t like feeling that way. She remained quiet and hoped whoever was there would go away.
    The knock came again.
    “I’m painting,” she called, trying to fade the streak into the canvas. Everyone in the house knew Gabrielle didn’t want to be disturbed when she was painting. Because the house was always filled with servants and family, it was the one time she insisted she be left totally alone.
    The door opened, and her maid, Petra, peeked inside. “So you are in here, my lady. It was so quiet at first, I wasn’t sure.” She stopped just inside the room and put her hands on her slender hips. “You usually let me know when you want to paint, so I can get everything ready for you. And what’s this? No apron covering that pretty pink dress you have on? What am I going to do with you?”
    Gabrielle found herself smiling at Petra’s softly spoken reprimand. She absolutely adored her maid. Petra was a few years older than Gabrielle and much shorter, with a thin, narrow face and huge smile. One of the things Gabrielle had liked about Petra in her first interview was she was always smiling, even as she talked.
    Looking down at her dress, Gabrielle said, “Yes, you’re right. It was careless of me to forget to put on my apron, but I really want to be by myself