Gabriel walked straight into the grand drawing room. The room was packed. Aunt Mildred, Louisa, and a dozen other aristocrats were huddled together, smelling salts pressed to their noses. When Gabriel walked in, dripping dirt and sweat onto the imported Persian rug. The silence was absolute.
Gabriel stopped in the center of the room. He looked at the gilded mirrors, the velvet curtains, the sickening display of wealth paid for by the blood of the men outside. "Where is the steward?" Gabriel demanded, his voice ringing off the high ceiling. Croft stumbled into the room, pale and sweating. "You, you will hang for this. I will see you hang before the sun sets. You will be in chains before the sun sets," Mr. “Croft,” Gabriel said calmly.
He reached inside the collar of his filthy linen shirt. He pulled a heavy silver chain over his head. Attached to the chain was a massive solid gold signet ring. The crest of the Duke of Alsbury, a roaring lion holding a defeated snake gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Gabriel tossed the ring.
It hit the polished mahogany table in the center of the room with a heavy, deafening clatter. “I have spent the last three nights reading your ledgers in the dark, Croft,” Gabriel said, his voice deadly quiet. You have embezzled six thousand pounds from the estate over the last four years. You have starved my tenants. You have beaten my workers, and you have disgraced my name." Croft stared at the ring on the table.
The blood drained from his face so quickly he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened, but only a dry, rattling sound came out. The room erupted. Aunt Mildred swayed and actually fainted, collapsing onto a velvet Sha's lounge. Louisa clutched her throat, her eyes darting in terror from the mud on Gabriel's boots to the harsh, unforgiving angles of his face.
The men in the room stepped back, bowing their heads instinctively, horrified that they had spent the last two days sipping lemonade while their host dug trenches in the sun. “Your Grace!” Croft finally choked out, falling to his knees on the rug. Not from the pain in his wrist, but from the crushing weight of his own destruction. “I didn't... I didn't know.” “That is exactly the problem,” Gabriel said coldly. “You didn't know. You thought I was a nobody. You thought you could treat a nobody like an animal, and there would be no consequences.” Gabriel looked up. He scanned the room, his eyes passing over the trembling aristocrats with absolute contempt. “Get out,” Gabriel said.
No one moved. I said, "Get out." Gabriel raised his voice, the roar echoing off the glass. Every guest in this house who stood on my terrace and watched those men bleed for your amusement. Pack your bags. If you are not off my land in 1 hour, I will have the dogs chase your carriages down the drive.
Panic ensued. The aristocrats scrambled toward the doors, abandoning their dignity, pushing past one another in their desperation to escape his wrath. Footman rushed in, dragging a weeping croft away to the cellers to await the magistrate. Within minutes, the grand drawing room was empty. Gabriel stood alone in the center of the chaos.
He let out a long, heavy breath. His muscles ached. His throat burned. He looked down at the mud on the rug, the dirt on his hands. He was the Duke again.