Chapter 36 Gabrielle
Gabrielle
Avery approached with a plate distinctly different from the others.
I caught the scent first—earthy and rich, with a hint of wine-steeped shallots.
When he set it down, I saw the difference: a golden galette, delicately folded and ringed with a reduction that looked brushed on by hand.
Unlike the others, there was no filet, no jus—just a beautifully composed vegetarian dish, as intentional and elegant as the rest.
“Thank you,” I said.
Avery gave a tight nod and moved on. No one else acknowledged him. I couldn’t tell if that was the norm here, or if I’d already broken yet another invisible rule.
The table gleamed beneath polished silver and cut crystal, everything symmetrical, like it had been arranged by an architect with OCD.
Candles burned low in silver holders, their light dancing across porcelain plates and the deep ruby of the wine.
The room itself was grand in a way no photograph could capture—wood-paneled walls, oil portraits with steady eyes, and windows framed in heavy damask.
It was warm, but not cozy. Elegant without feeling lived in.
I’d sat at my Aunt Suzy’s dining table plenty of times—formal meals with cloth napkins, matching china, and a centerpiece that changed with the seasons. But this wasn’t just formal. This was curated. Historic. Like every piece had a story and a pedigree.
The people matched the setting. Women in shimmering beaded silks, men in tuxedos—though they called them “dinner jackets,” which sounded woefully inadequate for what they actually were.
And then there was Cal. Cal in a tuxedo was so sinful it should be illegal.
Clean and crisp. Polished and devastating.
I’d seen him dressed sharply before—shirt, tie, and jacket for class.
But this—this version of him was something else entirely.
All control and filigreed elegance. He looked like he belonged here.
And somehow, impossibly, he was holding my hand under the table.
I smoothed my napkin and adjusted my dress. Deep violet silk, sleeveless, with a neckline that had derailed Cal’s train of thought more than once. I had worn it for him, not his family, but now, under their collective gaze, I wasn’t sure if it read confident or na?ve.
Seated on Cal’s other side, Caroline—James’s wife—leaned in just enough to make it look casual.
“Remind me how you two met. I don’t think I’ve heard the full story.
” Her tone was honeyed, her expression poised, but her eyes held a flicker of mischief.
Or maybe it was warning. Either way, it was a performance. They all knew.
The moment settled over the table like a second tablecloth.
Cal, mercifully, didn’t miss a beat. “At the university,” he said smoothly. “Gabrielle is an exceptionally gifted engineering student—brilliant and annoyingly self-sufficient. At least until her car battery died at the start of term.”
A few brows rose. Caroline’s smile tightened slightly.
“It was late, cold, and pouring rain,” he went on, his tone just conversational enough to mask the significance. “I couldn’t very well leave her stranded in the car park, so I offered her a ride home. Seemed practical at the time, though in hindsight—”
“It was a bit cinematic,” I finished, managing a smile.
Lord Branleigh gave a low hum of amusement, finally glancing my way. “Letting a battery go flat? I wouldn’t have pegged that for an aspiring engineer.”
The corner of Cal’s mouth ticked upward. “She had an emergency kit. Just no one to call.”
“I’m resourceful,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Not a magician.”
Lord Branleigh’s voice came again, crisp and composed. “Engineering, you say?” His gaze shifted to me—not unkind, but cool. Like he was cataloging the information, not engaging with it.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Aerospace engineering.”
“Ambitious,” he said, lifting a brow. “And your prospects? What is it you hope to…engineer?”
Cal’s hand brushed mine under the table—just enough to ground me.
“Aircraft design, with any luck. I’ve always loved aviation. Anything with wings.”
Across the table, Isabel smiled with unmistakable approval.
Cal’s gaze fell on me, sweet and proud. “Gabrielle is quite an accomplished pilot,” he said, smirking faintly. “And she’s been accepted into two top-tier engineering programs.”
“So…” Caroline probed, tilting her head, “you’ll no longer be at the same university?”
“Correct,” Cal answered mildly.
“I daresay that’s for the best,” Lady Branleigh said, lifting her glass without so much as a glance in my direction.
I drew a breath and aimed for levity. “Cal didn’t tell you how I completely botched his tea the night he drove me home.”
His eyes met mine, a hint of amusement there. “I hadn’t planned to embarrass you on your first night at Branleigh Park.”
Isabel lit up with mischief. “You can’t just leave the story there. Tell it.”
Cal chuckled, low and unguarded. “Well, as I said, it was pouring, so I stayed to wait out the weather. Gabrielle offered me a cup of tea—already a point in her favor—but hadn’t the faintest idea how to make one.” He turned to me with mock reproach. “You’re not English, so I could forgive that.”
Polite laughter rippled around the table.
“But you taught me the correct way,” I said, smiling at the memory.
“And now she makes an excellent cup of tea.” He patted my hand.
“So you haven’t been a total corrupting influence then?” Isabel ribbed.
A brief, companionable silence settled. I sipped my wine, the dry red warming my throat.
Candlelight flickered, shadows leaping like dancers across the paneled walls.
Somewhere between the chandelier and the shadow-dappled walls, disbelief crept in.
Me. Here. Draped in silk, sipping something older than I was, beside a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Bond film and held my hand under the table like it was nothing at all.
I wasn’t intimidated, exactly. But the reality shimmered at the edge of my thoughts like heat rising off asphalt.
Finally, James spoke for the first time. “Seems she’s had some influence on you as well.” He looked at Cal, his expression cool. “You’ve picked up quite the American accent.”
The words hung in the air, threaded with challenge. Cal’s fingers stilled. His lips thinned, but he held James’s gaze with practiced indifference.
I turned to Cal, eyebrows raised. “Have you?” I asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“It has gone a bit muddled, darling,” Isabel chimed in, her tone mock-dramatic. “But it’s hardly surprising, is it, since you’ve been away for…what now? Ten years?”
“Nearly,” Cal said evenly. The tension in his jaw eased, but it was still coiled just beneath the surface.
“Give him a few days,” Isabel went on, mouth quirking into a half-smile, “and he’ll drop the twang and revert to form.”
Lady Branleigh shifted her attention to me with the grace of a swan turning on water. “Do tell us about your family, Miss Clark,” she said, her tone impeccably polite. She cast a glare at James. “I imagine they’re far less prone to…dramatics.”
I smoothed the napkin on my lap. “My family is considerably smaller,” I said. “But I suppose we have our own drama. Growing up, it was just my dad and me.” I took a sip of wine, letting the words land softly.
Lady Branleigh’s expression turned politely curious. “And your mother?”
Cal stiffened beside me, but I met Lady Branleigh’s gaze with a steady smile.
“She left when I was very young,” I said, careful to keep my voice light.
“We haven’t had contact in years.” I set my glass down with deliberate calm.
“It was better that way, really. Just me and Dad. He worked a lot, but he was always there when it counted. We were very close.”
Lady Branleigh tilted her head, precise and curious. “Were?”
“Mother…” Cal warned.
The air thinned, but I kept my composure. “No, it’s okay,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice. “He died about a year and a half ago.”
Silence fell over the table, dense and awkward. Isabel’s gaze flicked from Cal to me. Lord Branleigh cleared his throat.
“How very difficult for you,” Lady Branleigh said with practiced gravity.
“Thank you,” I returned, finishing the wine in my glass. No sooner had I set my glass down than Avery appeared to refill it. The second pour seemed richer, darker. Or maybe that was just the room. I took a slow sip, kept my smile intact, and reminded myself to breathe.
The drawing room looked different at night—curtains drawn, fire banked low, lamps casting amber light that pooled like melted gold on polished wood.
It should have been cozy and inviting, but the quiet—too careful, too composed—put me on edge.
I sat close beside Cal, my hand brushing his knee, the warmth of him a quiet tether.
Around us, conversation drifted like smoke, refined and inconsequential.
But when Lady Branleigh looked my way, the room shifted.
Voices faltered, trailing off mid-sentence.
“Do you ride, Miss Clark?” Her voice was cool, inquisitive, and I nearly choked on my coffee.
“You mean horses?”
“What else should I mean?” she asked, tilting her head with the faintest amusement. “I assumed, being from Texas…”
I laughed—a little too brightly. “I do,” I said. “Or I did. I haven’t been on a horse since I was twelve.”
“Then Callum must take you while you’re here,” she said, the suggestion clearly meant for him, not me.
Cal’s mouth tipped into a reluctant smile. “I suppose I could manage that. If you’re up for it.”
Lord Branleigh pushed heavily on the armrests and rose from his chair. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, weariness edging into his voice. “The day has caught up with me.”
“You look tired, dear,” Lady Branleigh noted, a crease between her brows. “I told you that trip into London would be too much.”