As she left her office and plunged back into the melee, she reflected that, while he was not long on patience, Gabriel's second name could have been persistence, a fact she would do well to remember.

Half an hour later, he found her supervising the positioning of the trestles in the parlor they were converting into a supper room. Surveying the scene, he raised his brows. "How many cards did you send out?"

"Five hundred," Alathea absentmindedly replied. "God knows how we'll manage if they all arrive at once."

Gabriel studied her face, then calmly took her arm. Ignoring her resistance and her distracted scowl, he towed her to the side of the room. "Where's the petition."

"The petition?" She stared at him. "You can't mean to work on that now?"

"I can work on it. I can write, you know." Her frown suggested she wasn't convinced of it; he ignored that, too. "I'll take it home and continue framing our arguments." He glanced at the footmen and maids scurrying frantically about. "It's too noisy here."

She didn't look happy, but nodded. "It's in the top drawer of my desk."

"I'll take it." Gabriel started to leave, then halted. Ignoring the many about them, he caught her chin. "Don't run yourself ragged. I'll see you at dinner."

Before she could react, he ducked his head, kissed her quickly, and left.

"Lady Alathea-is this where you wanted this table?"

"What? Oh… yes, I suppose…"

Inwardly grinning, Gabriel headed downstairs.

Chapter 17

The formal dinner preceding a come-out ball was, in social terms, even more important than the ball itself. The earl, Serena, and Alathea had agreed that this dinner should be the most glittering affair regardless of cost, one by which the assembled leaders of the ton would remember the Morwellans. Alathea had personally overseen every detail, from the guest list Serena had organized and the stiff white stationery on which the invitations had been inscribed, to the gleaming crystal, the silver service, the Meissen dinner service, and the crisp white damask. The dishes in all twelve courses had been carefully chosen to complement one another in a parade of culinary delight. The wine was superb. Not one of the fifty guests seated about the long table would entertain the slightest suspicion of the economies normally practiced at Morwellan House.

From her seat midway down the table, Alathea watched the sixth course being laid out. All was proceeding smoothly, the babel prevailing on all sides-conversations, laughter, the constant clink of porcelain and silverware-a reassuring testament. Her father, presiding over the event from the table's head, looked magnificent; Serena, resplendent in navy silk at the other end, was his match. Opposite Alathea, spread between their guests, Mary and Alice conversed with simple charm. Charlie was seated farther along the table to her right. All three were dressed to perfection, each a paragon of tonnish expectations. In her amber silk gown, a beaded cap perched atop her coiffed hair, Alathea contributed her part to their sartorial facade.

Her heart lifted as she gazed about her. They'd done it-they'd come to London and, despite the difficulties, claimed their rightful place in society. As if to illustrate their success, Sally Jersey caught her eye and smiled and nodded. Seated further along, Princess Esterhazy had already regally signaled her approval. Only as she followed Sally Jersey's gaze to Serena did it occur to Alathea to wonder what it was both patronnesses were complimenting her upon. Their appreciation of the dinner and company they conveyed to Serena, of course. So what was it she'd done to attract their approbation?

She turned to Gabriel, seated on her left. She'd been so absorbed with the dinner itself she hadn't registered his appearing at her side to escort her into the dining room as anything odd. She'd grown accustomed to having him near, to resting her hand on his arm and letting him steer her through crowds. It wasn't until she'd caught Lucifer's questioning look halfway through the fourth course that she'd realized. One glance at Celia's face, at her intrigued expression, confirmed that their sudden penchant for each other's company had not escaped notice.

The suspicion that their ease in each other's company was not escaping anyone's notice suddenly assailed her. Before she had a chance to frame the question: "Did you plan this?" in any form likely to get an answer, Gabriel glanced at her and saw the frown in her eyes.

"Relax. Everything's going well." He indicated a dish of game. "This is excellent-what's in the sauce?"

Alathea looked at the dish. "Muscat grapes and pomegranate syrup." There was no point wrangling over how he'd come to be sitting beside her. He was there. She might as well take advantage. "How's the petition?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "We've made a good start."

"But not enough to be certain of a favorable judgment."

His lips twisted; he didn't answer.

Alathea forged on, her tone barely a whisper as she considered a dish before her. "Everything we have is open to argument-there's nothing cut and dried, no absolute and obvious falsehood. All our claims rely on the word of others, others we can't call on to verify the facts. Without a bona fide witness-without Captain Struthers-all Crowley need do is deny our claims. The burden of proof will rest on us." She helped herself to beans in white sauce and passed the dish along. "We have to find the captain, don't we?"

Gabriel glanced at her. "The case would be certain with him. Without him, it's going to be difficult."

"There must be something more we can do."

Again she felt his gaze on her face. "We'll find him." Beneath the table his hand closed about hers. His thumb stroked her palm. "But tonight, enjoy your success. Leave the captain and Crowley for tomorrow."

Unable to meet his eyes, she nodded and prayed her blush didn't show. His hand wrapped around hers had evoked a sensual memory of his body wrapped around hers, stroking hers… When his hand slid away, she determinedly lifted her head and drew a steadying breath, looking along the table rather than at him.

"I take it Esher and Carstairs are both in earnest?"

Alathea refocused on Mary. Beside her, Lord Esher was quietly and persistently attentive, Mary sweetly appreciative. A similar scenario was playing out toward the other end of the table, where Mr. Carstairs sat beside Alice. "We believe so. Their parents were clearly pleased to be invited tonight." With a nod, Alathea indicated Lady Esher and Mrs. Carstairs; their husbands were farther down the table.

Gabriel followed her gaze, then transferred his attention to the dish she passed him. "Esher has a neat little property in Hampshire. He does well, and pays attention to his land. He's a likable chap with a sense of humor, but sensible and steady. From all I can gather, he's in a position to please himself-I doubt he'll cavil over Mary's lack of dowry."

"She does have a dowry."

"She does?" He hesitated, then asked, "How much?"

Alathea calmly told him.

"Just enough to ensure not even the most censorious raise a brow. You have covered all the cracks."

She inclined her head.

"Well, if Esher's unlikely to be concerned about money, Carstairs is even less likely to give it a second thought. While Esher's old money, well established, Carstairs is both old and new. They met at Eton and have been firm friends ever since, which should suit Mary and Alice admirably."

"They are very close."

"Carstairs's estate is just south of Bath-within easy visiting distance of Morwellan Park. His maternal grandfather had an interest in shipping, which Carstairs inherited. He's gaining a reputation as having a cautious interest in the right sort of ventures. He's ambitious in that area, and not about to become a silent partner."

The approval in his tone was clear; Alathea shot him a glance. "A useful contact for you, perhaps?"

Gabriel met her gaze. "Perhaps."

"How did you find out all this-about Carstairs and Esher?"

"I asked around. Quietly. I didn't think your father would have the right contacts to find out for you."

"He hasn't." Alathea hesitated, then inclined her head. "Thank you."

She looked away, along the table, ostensibly scanning the guests, in reality letting her gratitude flare, then fade. The reprobate beside her-he who knew her far too well-needed no encouragement. She tried not to dwell on how much easier her life was with him beside her, supplying the reassurances she needed but could not gain for herself. Having his shoulder to lean on was a far too seductive proposition.

Her wandering gaze reached Lucifer, sipping his wine, his gaze on her and Gabriel. His expression was quietly considering.

Smiling serenely, Alathea let her gaze wander on, only to encounter more considering glances. It took her a few minutes to realize why Gabriel and she were so persistently raising questions in so many minds. It was the way they conversed with each other. They were so attuned to each other's tone, to every nuance in the other's repertoire, that they rarely needed to look at each other to be sure of the other's meaning. They talked as two who knew each other well, as two who, in the ton's parlance, shared an understanding of long duration.

They talked like long-standing lovers.

The last course was being removed before she again turned to Gabriel. All the guests were repairing directly to the ballroom. He was already standing; he offered her his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve and allowed him to raise her-as soon as she was on her feet, he grasped her hand, tucked it in his arm, his hand possessively over hers, and led her to join the queue exiting the dining room.