A Secret Love by Stephanie Laurens Page B

hadn’t blushed in the last five years, possibly not in the last ten. If she suddenly started coloring up over nothing, questions would be asked—speculation would be born. Quite the last thing she needed.
    Ruthlessly burying all memories of the drive to his house, she told herself she had no reason to berate herself; she couldn’t have avoided it—any of it—without raising his suspicions. There was no point considering it further, beyond sending heartfelt thanks to her guardian angel—she’d very nearly blurted out his name when he’d released her. “Rupert” had hovered on the tip of her tongue; she’d only just managed to swallow the word. Uttering it would have spelled an immediate end to her charade; she was the only female younger than his mother who persisted in calling him by his given name. He’d told her so himself.
    Why she was so stubborn about it she didn’t know—it was like clinging to a simpler time long gone. She’d always thought of him as Rupert.
    My name is Gabriel.
    His words rang in her mind. Gazing at the windows, she pondered; he was right—he was Gabriel now, not Rupert. Gabriel contained the boy, the youth, the man she’d known as Rupert, but also encompassed more. A greater depth, a greater spectrum of experience—a deeper reserve.
    After a moment, she mentally shook herself and finished her tea. As the countess, she would have to remember to call him Gabriel, while Alathea still dubbed him Rupert.
    And she would have to find a way to limit the rewards Gabriel would, without doubt, attempt to claim.
    â€œI think we should call on Lady Hertford this morning.” Checking the day’s invitations, Serena looked consideringly at Mary and Alice. “She’s giving an at-home, and I think , if you wear those gowns that were delivered yesterday, it would be a useful venue at which to be seen.”
    â€œOh, yes!” Mary exclaimed. “Do let’s start going about.”
    â€œWill there be other young ladies there?” Alice asked.
    â€œNaturally.” Serena turned to Alathea. “And you must come, too, my dear, or else I’ll have to spend all my time explaining your absence.”
    That was said with a sweet but determined smile; Alathea smiled back. “Of course, I’ll come, if nothing else to lend support.”
    Mary and Alice brightened even more. Amid serious discussion of ribbons, bonnets and reticules, they all retired upstairs to prepare for the projected excursion.
    It was, indeed, very like a military sortie. An hour later, standing at the side of Lady Hertford’s drawing room, Alathea hid a grin. Serena had led the metaphorical charge into her ladyship’s arena, positioning her troops with keen eye and shrewd judgment. Mary and Alice were engaged with a group of similarly young and inexperienced damsels, chattering animatedly, all initial shyness forgotten. Serena was sitting with Lady Chelmsford and the Duchess of Lewes, both of whom also had under their wings young ladies making their come-outs. Alathea would have wagered a tidy sum that the talk had already veered to which gentlemen might be expected to unearth handkerchiefs to drop this Season.
    For herself, she stood quietly at the side of the room, although she knew she’d been noted by all. As Serena had remarked, if she hadn’t appeared, her whereabouts would have been questioned, but now that the matrons present had confirmed that the earl’s eldest daughter—unmarried, which was a mystery, but quite an ape-leader now—was in no way out of the ordinary and was quite comfortable with her stepsisters and stepmother—well, with no grist for the gossip mill to be found, she’d been dismissed from their collective consciousness.
    That suited her very well.
    Finishing her tea, she glanced around for a table on which to set her cup. Spying one beyond the chaise on which her hostess sat chatting