Miss Watson's First Scandal (A Miss Mayhem Novella)

by Heather Boyd

  Peter’s skin paled and Abigail moved closer, hands clenched. “If you cause her misery I swear I will make you wish you had not. She deserves better. You both do.”

  His shoulders slumped. “I know I don’t deserve her. But she made a very good argument for a marriage between us. I swear I will do everything in my power to ensure she never regrets her offer.”

  Abigail gaped. “Imogen made the offer of marriage?”

  He nodded. “I take it she didn’t mention this was her idea in the first place?”

  Abigail pressed her hands to her face. It wasn’t Imogen’s idea at all, it was hers. This was Abigail’s fault for confiding so much to Imogen about their situation. She may not have asked outright, but she’d likely influenced Imogen’s decision to offer herself and her inheritance so she and Peter could stay in Brighton. Once the words were spoken Peter and Imogen would be trapped.

  What had she done?

  After a time, her brother excused himself and left her alone in the parlor. Glass clicked against glass in the connecting room and she thought over the events of last evening. She should not have let Imogen pursue Peter into the night. She should at least have accompanied her to ensure she didn’t do such a foolish thing.

  But at the time Imogen must have been throwing her future away, Abigail had been in David’s arms.

  She shuddered. A loveless marriage. It was what she had planned for Peter, after all. She just hadn’t expected Imogen to be the one to sacrifice herself to keep a roof over their heads. She hadn’t even known Imogen had such a grand fortune to temp her brother into accepting such an arrangement in the first place. She’d assumed all her talk of investments was merely for a trifling sum. If Imogen were indeed an heiress then perhaps David, as her banker, could advise her to call it off. Peter wasn’t exactly a good investment.

  How sad she’d cautioned Imogen against him, yet attempted to lure Melanie Merton to be his bride. Peter spent all his time carousing, hiding from his responsibilities. How could Imogen chain herself to such a man?

  She covered her face with her hands and rocked forward.

  “There is a delivery for you,” Peter said from the doorway.

  Abigail darted a quick look at her brother. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “They’re pretty,” she said.

  His brow creased as he came forward. “There’s no note so it seems you have a secret admirer. Any ideas who might have sent them?”

  “No,” Abigail lied. Her hands trembled as she took them. “Thank you.”

  Peter cleared his throat. “I’m going out for some air first, but Imogen insists I meet with Hawke today and end the disagreement between us. I wouldn’t bother but he’s to draw up the marriage contract—Imogen insists—before he returns to London and then we can put him from our minds for another year. I’ll see you later, possibly not until dinner.”

  Abigail nodded and glanced down at the bouquet in her hands, her heart aching with sadness. Last night David had said he worried about her. That he couldn’t seem to stop. Had he sent the flowers to show her he was thinking of her now, or was this his way of saying goodbye?

  Although his concern had been sincere, he had not made her any promises beyond last night. He had claimed she’d seduced him and had reminded her he was leaving. At the time, she had not wanted to dwell on how she would feel later. But now the remembrance of his words caused her eyes to fill with tears and she blinked them back swiftly. He would leave in a few days and then she would have to wait a whole year to be in his arms again. Although new to love, Abigail wasn’t sure how she would stand the separation.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  David had penned a long letter to his business partner in London and sent it off well before the appointed time to meet with Walter and Imogen George. Truth be told, he’d been awake for hours. He’d bolted out of bed the minute he’d realized Abigail had left his side. Despite rushing downstairs in a state of shocking undress, Abigail had already vanished into the Brighton early morning.

  He was surprised but not alarmed by her departure. With each encounter, they ran the risk she could be seen and face social ruin for their antics. Marriage to him, and a swift one, would be best in this situation.

  He grinned, pleased with the way his life was headed. It was ridiculous how happy he felt, but he could not help himself. He’d requested his mother’s old bedchamber aired and cleaned, fresh sheets placed on the bed, not that he had any intention of letting Abigail sleep alone. When he’d spied the flower seller on his way back from an early morning swim with Valentine, he’d doubled back and paid the old woman handsomely to deliver a bunch to Abigail. It was a pity he couldn’t have penned a note to go with them. For now he would have to be patient, at least until he’d secured Peter’s agreement to let them marry.

  A knock sounded on the door and he bounded down the hall to let the George’s in with an eager wave of his hand. “Good morning, George.”

  “Hawke,” Walter George tumbled across his threshold without meeting his gaze.

  David frowned, glancing at Imogen following behind, only then noticing her hand secured firmly around Peter Watson’s arm. “Miss George. Good morning. Mr. Watson. What a pleasant surprise.”

  They passed him with a cool nod and he closed the door behind them. Although puzzled by the silent trio, he quickly turned his mind to the task at hand. “I was unaware Mr. Watson would be joining us. Do make yourselves at home in the study while I gather up another chair.”

  “Thank you,” Miss George murmured.

  David hurried down the hall, spoke to his housekeeper to request an extra setting to the tea tray, and then returned to the front of the house with a chair for Peter Watson. He sat behind his desk and looked at those before him.

  Walter leaned forward. “Me first this time, and then I’ll leave you three to discuss matters.”

  David extracted the carefully prepared report on Walter’s investments and account and handed it over. Walter gave the page the briefest of glances and then folded it. “Even better results than last year. Thank you.” He stood, held out his hand to David. “Swimming tomorrow?”

  David shook it. “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll see myself out.” When Walter shuffled past Imogen and Peter, his expression changed. He frowned at his sister and Peter Watson, shook his head, and then shrugged away whatever concerned him.

  The front door closed with a hollow thud just as the mantle clock chimed eleven. “I. Ah. Wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Watson. I trust everything is well at home?”

  Watson nodded, his gaze sliding to Imogen.

  She held herself rigidly. “Mr. Hawke, I have always been very impressed with your discretion concerning my business affairs. I am in need of your services once again.”

  “Oh, in what way may I help you?” He reached for paper and ink, ready to jot notes down should the need arise.

  “I should like a marriage contract drawn up.”

  David sucked in a sharp breath and looked up again. “Marriage? Yours? To whom?”

  She cut her gaze to Peter.

  David stole a glance at Peter Watson. The poor man had his hands clenched on his thighs in a very agitated fashion. David stilled. Imogen had been on Peter Watson’s arm. What had the desperate man done last night to bring this surprise announcement about? He put the pen down and pushed up his sleeves. “Would you care to share with me the events of last night?” He rolled his shoulders and stood.

  “Oh, goodness, look at you.” Imogen laughed, brittle and higher pitched than her usual tone. “Sit down, Mr. Hawke. This situation is entirely of my own making and there is absolutely no need for you to be concerned.”

  “I wondered why Walter appeared in a hurry to leave us this morning. He usually stays a good bit longer. I take it he doesn’t approve of this decision,” David said, casting an accusing glance at Peter Watson.

  For his part, Peter appeared highly embarrassed. He refused to meet David’s eye. “He’ll come around eve
ntually,” he mumbled.

  “What my brother thinks is not for discussion. This is what I want.”

  David listened to Imogen’s surprisingly steady voice with growing concern. He had written several documents for clients before, so he knew exactly what the contract should entail and none of her requests were challenged by Peter. But the things left out of the conversation troubled him.

  “I’ll make copies after you’ve gone and will deliver them to your home as soon as possible.” He glanced at Miss George. “Valentine Radley can keep a secret, Miss George. He would make a good witness if you are agreeable.”

  She nodded slowly. “I suppose the secret cannot remain so forever.”

  “What secret?” Peter Watson asked, glancing between them.

  David caught Imogen’s eye and saw the plea in her expression. She didn’t know how to tell him. She’d kept the secret so close for so long she appeared to be without words. How would K.L. Brahms’ greatest admirer take the news that the author was the woman whom he would marry?

  He picked up his papers and shuffled them until they were neat. “As you may be aware, I have been privy to Miss George’s business dealings for some years. As her banker, I have intimate knowledge of the source of her funds.”

  Peter nodded. “Of course. Her aunt left her money some years ago.”

  David shook his head. “That isn’t true. We at the bank have worked very hard to keep the real source of her wealth, and the fact that Miss George is in fact an heiress, a secret from society and her friends. I trust you, too, will act with the utmost discretion. After all, if word got out after you were married you might find yourselves in an uncomfortable position socially.”

  Peter glanced around the room, panic clear on his face. “What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Watson.” David gestured to Miss George. “I have the honor of introducing you to K. L. Brahms.”

  Peter’s eyes widened. He looked at Miss George, at David, and then back to Miss George again—his expression one of utter disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

  “I am indeed serious,” David assured him. “You know me. I would never lie about such an important matter. Miss George is the author of the works you admired so much the other evening.”

  Miss George met David’s gaze and shrugged. “I knew it was too much to hope for. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hawke. I should like to speak with you about another matter when you deliver the papers.”

  He stood. “Anything for you.”

  Miss George stood. She swept her gaze over the man still seated at her side, and then quit the room. David followed to see her out and when he came back, Peter still stared at the spot she’d been sitting.

  David spread Miss George’s papers before him, ready for the moment when he could finish his work. He glanced at his companion. The frown marring Peter Watson’s brow had grown.

  “You were pulling my leg, Hawke, weren’t you?”

  “I never joke where a client is involved. If you want any further particulars concerning K.L. Brahms then you will need to speak to her.”

  “Those books are,” he said before swallowing and loosening his cravat as if it were strangling him. “Dear God. How long have you known?”

  David smiled tightly. “Years. I remember the conversation being as startling as it appears to be to you. She is a talented writer. So much wit and energy in her work.”

  “Brahms is a man. Everyone thinks that.” Peter covered his head. “She must have found my dinner conversation utterly ridiculous. Who else knows?”

  David shrugged. “Her editor in London, of course. That is all I am aware of.”

  Peter wiped his hand over his face. “Do you think Abigail has known all along? They are as close as sisters and I cannot believe they have any secrets left to share. Those books are scandalous.”

  “Hardly that.” David sat forward. “Miss George shows the world as it is. If anything, her female readers can learn something from her cautionary tales. But Miss George has never indicated she has told Abigail her secret. At dinner last night, I thought your sister appeared unaware of the contents of the books.”

  “Thank God she does not know. I’ll have to put a stop to this. There will be no more of that nonsense.”

  “Why would you do that? K.L. Brahms is saving you from ruin and future publications will keep you on solid ground financially. Last night you were impassioned on the subject. What harm can come of letting her continue as she has?”

  “The revelation will damage my sister’s chances of making a good match one day,” Watson countered. He stood suddenly. “I need to think.”

  “Watson, before you go I have to ask; may I call upon your sister today?”

  Watson nodded. “Yes. Yes. Forgive me. I never should have behaved so boorishly.” He hurried out and when he was gone David leaned back in his chair, quite certain Peter Watson had no inkling of the type of call David wanted to make. However, he was too wise to set Watson straight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I cannot believe you would do this,” Abigail argued. “You don’t even care for him. You said you would only marry if there was love involved.”

  A sad smile crossed Imogen’s face and deepened Abigail’s distress. “I know. But a woman has the right to change her mind. Your brother is a decent sort and I can help. Would you really rather have Miss Radley and her scowls than me for a sister?”

  “No. Of course not. I only want what’s best for you.”

  Imogen patted her hand. “This will be. I’m sure your brother and I will rub along well. After all, he’ll have what he wants and likely go his own way. Marriage will give me quite a bit of freedom. We’ll not need to wait and arrange a suitable chaperone to accompany us when we go out anymore. It will be my pleasure to take you anywhere you want to go.”

  Abigail nibbled on a fingertip. A week ago the idea would have appealed to her. But not like this.

  “We could go to London on occasion,” Imogen offered. “You enjoyed your time there.”

  “I did but, I doubt your time will be entirely your own.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” Imogen stood and moved to the window.

  “Well, you will be Peter’s wife and he will wish to spend time with you. He may not like you leaving Brighton without him.” Abigail stared at Imogen’s back, saw her shoulders rise at the idea of being followed around by her brother. If Abigail were to marry David, she’d be ecstatic to spend her days in his company. Not to mention the nights. It did not seem likely Imogen experienced the same sense of anticipation about becoming Peter’s constant companion.

  “Your brother was in my company this morning when I saw Mr. Hawke. I believe the air has been cleared between them although they may never return to their former footing.”

  A blush burned Abigail’s skin. “He leaves soon.” Her voice sounded so small and pathetic to even her own ears that she buried her face in her hands to hide her distress. The deadline for David’s departure was approaching too rapidly for her comfort.

  Imogen faced her and smoothed her hair back from her face gently. “What am I going to do with you? Do you really want him?”

  Abigail slowly nodded. She’d thought of him every other moment. She wanted to know what he did with his day, all alone in his empty house. She didn’t like him being on his own. He should have someone with him to make him laugh.

  “Your brother promised me he would end his foolish plan to banish Hawke from visiting. Absurd idea. I imagine if Hawke’s heart is engaged and he’s the good man you claim, following that discussion he might request to call on you.”

  Abigail surged to her feet, anxious she might have missed him. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

  Imogen chuckled. “Well, you’ve been berating me so well for settling on a marriage of convenience I thought you’d best get it out of your system as soon as possible.” Imogen kissed her cheek. “Go on. Off with you. You’ll never be satisfied until you see Hawke again.”

  Abigail
hugged her friend tightly to her. “Thank you.” She fled for home, snatching up her bonnet and gloves from the startled housekeeper’s hands. She burst onto the street, turned for her house and barreled into a broad chest.

  “Miss Watson,” David murmured as he steadied her. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  Abigail stared up into David’s face and couldn’t contain her smile. “Good morning.”

  He winked. “I had just called on you, but was told you were out visiting your friend. May I walk you home?”

  When he held out his arm, Abigail blushed as she took it. “Thank you.”

  They strolled the very short distance to her house and when she entered, David followed her inside and handed his hat and gloves to her butler. “I trust everything is in order.”

  Abigail stepped into the parlor, conscious that the man who’d introduced her to the delights of the bedroom lingered a painfully short distance away and she couldn’t touch him yet. She glanced around him and caught her butler’s eye. “Simpson, might we have tea sent up and make sure to include the seed cake that was made this morning.”

  “My favorite,” David murmured when Simpson had gone, leaving the door ajar.

  Abigail grinned and sat down on the settee. David sat at her side, turned slightly so he faced her. He held her gaze a long moment and then he swooped in to kiss her lips. When he lifted his head, Abigail’s senses were spinning wildly.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  The heat in his eyes drew her closer to him. At the last second, Abigail found the sense not to throw herself into his arms. Simpson would return at any moment. She shook her head to clear it. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”

  “Hmm.” David caressed her cheek. “Is all well between Imogen and yourself? I fear the proposal has caught you unawares since I was sure you had your sights set on an entirely different bride for Peter.”

  She caught his hand and held it tightly against her skin. “Yes, I’m just worried she’ll come to regret her decision. She doesn’t love him and he surely does not love her.”