His Favorite Mistress by Tracy Anne Warren

fact that her mother had detested her own surname—Smollett—had decided the matter.
    Although since learning of her father’s past, Gabriella had considered changing her name—perhaps adopting one of her own creation like many in the theater did. Mama had done so, going by the stage name Annabelle LaFleur. But such flamboyant verbal plumage was not for her, and in the end she’d decided it easiest to stay with St. George. Besides, she thought, she’d never remember to answer to anything else. At least not until she married one day; then she supposed she would have no choice but to adjust to a new name.
    Lifting her chin, she met Lady Pendragon’s gaze. “That is correct. I am Gabriella St. George. My father was Burton St. George, Lord Middleton.”
    She waited for the condemnation, the superior look of a lady born in the sanctity of marriage toward one who had been conceived on the wrong side of the blanket. But none came, Julianna Pendragon’s expression both understanding and accepting.
    “Yes, Rafe told me of your visit to the townhouse. I am sorry for the loss of your mother. I know how difficult that can be. As for your father…well, I should probably say nothing.”
    “Did he really kidnap you?” Gabriella blurted without stopping to think.
    Lady Pendragon paused. “He did, yes. And held me for ransom, though I rather doubt he ever intended to let me go free. He also tried to kill my husband. Your papa was not a nice man.”
    Gabriella lowered her gaze. “Yes, so everyone tells me.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Which is why I understand if you do not want me here. Lord Pendragon…my…u-uncle said I might come to him, but I can see that I should not have intruded.”
    “Why not? Rafe told me everything and I entirely agree. You are not to be blamed for the actions of your father, however dreadful they may have been.” She paused. “Although I trust you did not come bearing a gun this time?”
    Gabriella’s eyes grew wide, her lips parting in surprise. “No, my lady, I did not.”
    “Good, then you are most welcome here. Though you should have let us know your plans, instead of running away from Hannibal that day you stopped by the house—yes, he wrote to tell Rafe. The large man with the bald head.”
    “And the scar,” Gabriella added.
    Lady Pendragon nodded her lovely head. “Just so. Had you only stayed, Rafe would have arranged for you to use one of our coaches. I hate to think of your having traveled all this distance by mail coach, and on your own, too, since you have no maid. Thank God you arrived without harm. You are well, are you not?”
    “Very well, my lady.”
    “No more ‘my lady.’ You are family. From now on, you must call me Julianna, or Jules, as my siblings are wont to do. In Rafe’s case, I suspect he would prefer you use his given name as well rather than uncle. Uncles, he’ll say, are white-haired old men and he is far too young to be in his dotage yet,” she finished, amusement twinkling in her dark, expressive eyes.
    Gabriella blinked, her own eyes growing moist with unexpected emotion. Of all the things she had expected to hear, words of warmth and kind concern had not been among them. Suddenly, she was very glad she had come here, very glad indeed.
    “Now,” Julianna continued, “you must be hungry. Before I came downstairs, I asked Cook to prepare tea and a few cakes for us. The tray should be here any moment, unless you are too tired to eat and would rather have a lie-down? I’m having the blue room prepared for you in the family wing.”
    My own room in the family wing, Gabriella thought, more of her earlier fears evaporating. Suddenly a smile of genuine pleasure spread over her face. “Tea and cakes sound delightful, my lady…I mean, Julianna. To be honest, I…missed breakfast this morning.” She decided not to say it was because she hadn’t possessed the funds.
    Julianna smiled back. “Well then, you must eat double the cake. In the