It Takes a Scandal

by Caroline Linden

  “Are you truly fond of the woods?” Lord Atherton asked as they strolled across the grass. Contrary to his claim that he didn’t remember anything, he was leading the way toward the river, away from her usual haunts nearer Montrose Hill. Abigail resisted the urge to glance back up the hill; Sebastian was in Bristol.

  “Yes. I like the quiet among the trees.”

  He nodded. “I do, too. Well—­I should say I appreciate it now. When I was a boy, I most liked their distance from my tutors and lessons.”

  “No!” she protested in mock disbelief.

  “ ’Tis true,” he admitted with a deep sigh as they reached the shade of the trees. “Many times I slipped out and crossed the river in my small punt, knowing no one would find me here. These trees became, in my imagination, deepest Africa, the wilderness of the Americas, the remotest reaches of the Orient. And since my tutors couldn’t cross the river once I’d taken the punt, I might as well have been there.”

  She laughed. “That must have frustrated them to no end!”

  “I hope so!” He grinned. “It was worth any punishment.”

  “Did you explore alone?”

  He hesitated. “Sometimes. Do you usually walk alone?”

  “Whenever my sister doesn’t come, which is most of the time.” There was a tree lying across the path, at least two feet in diameter. The bracken was too thick to go around it. Abigail gathered up her skirt to climb over it.

  “Do you prefer solitude?” Lord Atherton vaulted over the trunk and held out one hand to her. “Or company, Miss Weston?”

  She gave him her hand and stepped up on top of the trunk. “There are benefits to both.”

  He held up his other hand and helped her jump down. “There definitely are,” he murmured, not retreating when she landed quite close to him. “But I prefer company, at the moment.” Abigail tipped her head back and almost forgot to breathe at his expression. Was he flirting with her?

  “Do you?” Her voice sounded as breathless as she felt.

  “Very much so.” His gaze didn’t waver from hers. Abigail felt a little dazed, unable to look away. It was hard to believe he had once been Sebastian’s dearest friend; they were as alike as oil and water, as far as she’d seen. But perhaps she was being too hasty. Lord Atherton was charming and glib and handsome, but he might be more like Sebastian than not, once one got to know him. Sebastian was the very model of a man whose exterior hid more than it revealed about his true self.

  She realized he was still holding her hands. At that, she jerked her eyes away and racked her brain for something to say.

  “You must have explored Montrose Hill grounds as well,” she blurted out. “When you were acquainted with Mr. Vane.”

  Lord Atherton’s arm flexed, but his face didn’t change. “Vane? Oh yes. That was a great many years ago, though. How . . . how did you know we were acquainted?”

  “Your sister told me you were once good friends with him,” she rushed on. “As boys. I suppose your search for the grotto must have ranged across his property, too.”

  He gave her an odd look. “Yes, I suppose it did. Er . . . Have you met Vane, Miss Weston?”

  “Yes.” She tried to keep the memory of their last rendezvous out of mind, but her body remembered. Her nipples grew taut and hard inside her bodice and her heart thumped a little harder. “He’s our neighbor; of course we’ve met him.”

  That seemed to surprise him. “He’s grown very reclusive, I was told.”

  Instinctively her ire rose. How cruel it was to shun a man, then blame him for being a recluse. “He’s been very cordial to us,” she declared. “The first time I met him was in these woods; he saved my mother’s dog from a bramble bush, and carried Milo home for me because the silly animal was covered in mud and would have ruined my gown.”

  “Who would not rescue a damsel in distress?” exclaimed Lord Atherton with a laugh, seeming to relax. “I meant no condemnation of him! I’ve not spent much time in Richmond for several years, and have only the reports of others. Perhaps I was misinformed.”

  “Oh.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “Many ­people aren’t so kind, but I’ve found him perfectly civil. I cannot abide it when ­people believe every wild rumor and story that flies around.”

  “You’re a very wise lady,” he replied. “I once knew him as a brother. We did spend hours in these woods, searching for the lost grotto and generally avoiding our tutors.” He paused again, as if searching for words. “But he’s had a difficult run of luck these last several years. We had a falling out some time ago and haven’t spoken since. I fear he’s no longer the person I once knew.”

  “I daresay we all change as we grow,” she said, trying to be diplomatic. “Do you regret the rupture?” She really wanted to ask what had caused it, but was certain he wouldn’t tell her if Lady Samantha had been the reason. On the other hand, he might know more of the truth behind the gossip. He admitted they had once been like brothers, and Abigail longed to know exactly why such a friend would have abandoned Sebastian.

  Lord Atherton didn’t answer for a long minute. “It was his wish,” he finally said in a markedly lighter tone. “I respect that. Not all friendships are meant to endure forever.” He raised one hand and pointed at a double oak, the trunks joined into one twisted mass before they split some ten feet off the ground. “I was convinced that tree was planted to mark the grotto. I once dug all around the roots, to no avail.”

  Abigail made herself smile. It was nowhere near the grotto, and he wasn’t going to tell her anything she didn’t know. She murmured something vague, and they talked of other things.

  And the whole while she walked with Lord Atherton, she wondered what Sebastian was doing in Bristol.

  Lord Atherton soon became a regular—­and very popular—­visitor at Hart House. During Mama’s barge excursion, he jumped into knee-­deep water to rescue Penelope’s hat, which the wind had carried away. He kept his promise to take them to Richmond Hill, complete with picnic, and to Hampton Court, always with a gathering of young ­people. For the visit to Hampton Court, they were joined by a number of his fellow Guardsmen, out from London for the day, which made for a very merry party that ended with a race to the center of the maze. There was much shrieking, some shouting, and one challenge to a duel—­with forks in place of swords—­over the last strawberry tart in the hamper. Abigail thought she hadn’t laughed so much in years as she had at the sight of Lord Atherton, eyes narrowed in ferocious concentration beneath his tousled black hair, clashing his fork with that of Lieutenant Cabot. And when Lord Atherton was declared the winner, by virtue of having poked Lieutenant Cabot on the cuff first, he sliced his prize into pieces and shared it among the ladies.

  He was handsome, charming, witty, and gallant. His entertainments were always a delight, with interesting ­people invited; even the weather was perfect whenever he planned something. There seemed to be absolutely nothing wrong with him . . . except that his attentions were becoming noticeably focused.

  At the beginning, Abigail thought her sister had taken a liking to him. When he saved her hat during the barge party, Penelope acted as if it had been her most treasured possession, while Abigail knew very well it was an old hat in need of new trimmings. At Hampton Court, after he regaled them with ghost stories, Penelope dared him to prove them true, and the two of them investigated a few shadowy corridors while everyone else walked out into the sunshine. Abigail, who had seen her sister shred gentlemen in London with a single word, suspected Lord Atherton would have had a far easier time winning Penelope’s favor.

  But for some reason, he didn’t seize any opportunity she offered him. Instead, he turned to Abigail. It was small things at first—­waiting to help her out of the carriage, or maneuvering to sit near her when he called. Abigail noticed them only because they were the opposite of what he would do if he returned Penelope’s potential interest. Still, she tol
d herself none of those actions meant much, and her sister’s feelings seemed unperturbed by any of it; she never expressed any affection for him, or even any particular wish for his attention. If anything, Penelope’s opinion of him seemed to diminish over time, although not for any reason Abigail could see.

  It was too much to hope, however, that no one would notice his preference, especially as it grew more marked.

  “You’re the belle of Richmond,” said Penelope after he left one day.

  “Don’t be silly,” Abigail protested.

  “He brought you flowers.”

  “He also brought you flowers, and Mama,” said Abigail swiftly.

  “Yours were bigger, and he gave them to you himself,” Penelope pointed out with maddening truth. “No one thinks he’s courting Mama or me.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” But Abigail’s eyes strayed to the lovely arrangement Lord Atherton had brought. It was beautiful yet simple, exactly suited to her taste. Who but a suitor would go to such trouble and expense? Deep down, she knew her sister was right about the other bouquets. He’d brought her mother irises and her sister daisies, but Abigail’s bouquet was fresh rosebuds, pale pink-­violet, dewy soft and so sweetly scented she wanted to keep them next to her all day. It also mocked all her protestations that he was just being a kind neighbor.

  “Hmph.” Penelope tilted her head. “Have you heard from Mr. Vane?”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head, her gaze lingering on the roses. “I didn’t expect to. He didn’t ask if he could write to me, and he isn’t going to be away very long.”

  “Right,” said Penelope after a moment. “It hasn’t even been a fortnight.”

  It had been a week and five days. Abigail knew precisely how long he’d been gone. And even if she didn’t expect to hear from Sebastian, she would have been glad to receive a letter. Very glad, actually; she missed his wry humor and slow smiles and the way he looked at her. None of that could be conveyed in a letter, of course, but it would warm her heart to know he was thinking of her. Lord Atherton was pleasantly distracting, but once he was gone, she thought of Sebastian.

  Unfortunately, without any sort of declaration or promise, she didn’t know what to say to the inevitable reaction of her family. Penelope was not the only one who was convinced that Lord Atherton was courting her.

  “There’s my girl,” said Papa fondly when they met in the drawing room before dinner that night. He kissed her cheek. “A future earl on the lead!”

  She pressed her lips together. “Papa, really.”

  “No?” His eyebrows went up without dimming his wide smile. “Is he trying to make off with your mother, then? I declare he’s been in this house more than I have been of late.”

  Abigail gave him an aggravated look. “It was one bouquet! May a gentleman not give a simple bouquet without being convicted of aspiring to marry a girl?”

  “Convicted!” Papa laughed. “Don’t mistake me, Abby—­I didn’t mean to tease you! On the contrary, my dear, I couldn’t be happier. A viscount, son and heir to an earl. And quite a handsome fellow, too. I knew Richmond would be good to us.”

  “Well, he hasn’t said anything to me,” she replied. “Did he ask you for permission to pay his addresses, and you forgot to mention it?”

  “Not yet,” said her father equably. “But I won’t be surprised.” He must have finally noticed her aggrieved look. “Wouldn’t you be pleased, Abby?”

  It was hard to know what to say. It would be wrong to say Lord Atherton’s presence offended her, or made her unhappy. He was charming and handsome, and she was genuinely glad to see him when he called. He told amusing stories and appeared as interested in her thoughts as in his own. The fact that he brought flowers was also hard to dislike. If only . . .

  If only it were Sebastian showing such devotion. Or any devotion at all.

  “We’ve only just met him,” she finally answered, unable to give a direct answer. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to leap to such a conclusion about his intentions?”

  “Perhaps,” allowed her father. “But mark my words, Abby; gentlemen of Atherton’s rank don’t pay such particular attention lightly. He’s very struck by you, and it may come to naught”—­he put up one hand as she turned to him anxiously—­“but I wouldn’t be surprised if it led to more.” He paused and studied her expression. “Is this about Vane?”

  Abigail opened her mouth, realized she really didn’t know how to answer that, and closed her mouth.

  “Well,” said Papa at her silence. “It will work itself out. If his feelings are engaged, he won’t slink quietly from the stage, and nothing holds a man’s feet to the fire like a rival. Time will tell, eh?” He pinched her cheek and heaved a mock sigh. “I can’t believe I’m discussing this with you! I used to bounce you on my knee—­just last month, it seems. And now my girl is a lovely young woman, looking to run the poor fellows ragged like her mother did to me.”

  “Mama did not run you ragged,” she protested. “If anything, she says you ran her to ground and wore her down with protestations of undying love until she agreed to marry you just to have a little peace!”

  “So I did. And I was right, too.” He winked. “I know what I speak of when I tell you to keep the young bucks at bay. Make him chase you.”

  Abigail huffed. “Everyone is leaping to conclusions, assigning me suitors from all over Richmond. Are you that eager to see me married off? Nothing of the sort has happened! I hope you tease Jamie this way, too.”

  “If your brother ever pays any attention to a woman, I assure you he’ll hear of it,” he promised. “Penelope will see to it. Speaking of whom . . .” He turned. “Penelope! Come here, minx. I have a bone to pick with you. How, pray, did that dog get into my study the other day?”

  “It was raining, Papa, and I couldn’t let Milo outside,” his younger daughter said with a straight face. “He needed new territory to explore.”

  “And a new table leg to chew!” He shook his finger at her. “I ought to make you scrub the stains out of the carpet, miss . . .”

  Abigail trailed behind them into the dining room as they continued their good-­natured argument. What did she think? She would like to see Sebastian again. She wanted to know what he had been hinting at when he asked about speaking to her father. She wanted to walk in the woods with him again, and she wouldn’t mind at all if he kissed her again the way he’d done that last time, as if he had all the time in the world and meant to spend it making love to her.

  On the other hand, she truly did enjoy Lord Atherton’s company. It was flattering to be the object of his attention, whatever he intended by it, and it made her parents so pleased. Perhaps too pleased, she thought with a trace of alarm; Papa was in exceptionally high spirits tonight, and the frequent smiles he gave her left no doubt of the cause. He’d hardly been coy about his desire to see both his daughters well married. Lord Atherton fit the bill from head to toe: wealthy and handsome, charming and noble. Papa hadn’t prohibited her interest in getting to know Sebastian, but he would jump for joy if she encouraged Lord Atherton.

  Abigail closed her eyes for a moment, telling herself she was being silly. Wouldn’t it be a grand joke on her if Lord Atherton merely turned out to be a flirt? He might be sending bouquets to five other young ladies. He might not call on her again. There was certainly more than one rake in London who would tease a woman with his attention, then abruptly turn to another lady without a word of pardon or explanation. In another week or so he might lose interest in her and she would have made herself fret over nothing.

  And it didn’t matter anyway, because she was sure Papa would listen to her. If she told him another man had won her heart and wanted to marry her . . . someone like Sebastian . . . she believed her father would give his consent. Whomever he might prefer for a son-­in-­law, he would honor her choice.

  She almost laughed out loud at how
silly she was. No one had proposed to her—­or even asked to court her—­and she was making herself anxious over how she would choose. Rivals! When neither one had declared himself a true suitor. What a goose she was. With a slight shake of her head, she picked up her glass and joined in the teasing toast her sister was making to their brother, who had just returned from a brief trip into London and was late to dinner.

  But Lord Atherton’s attention did not wander. And there was still no word from Sebastian.

  Chapter 16

  “At last, a free day!”

  Abigail had to laugh at Penelope’s declaration. They had come into the village with James, but with no special purpose in mind. For once they’d had no callers that morning, and by midday even she had felt restless enough to want to get out of Hart House. It was alarming how easily she’d got used to the stream of company. “Free of what—­visitors and entertainment?”

  “Just free,” said her sister airily. “Isn’t it pleasant to have some peace?”

  “I thought Richmond was too peaceful for your taste.”

  Penelope snorted. “Not of late! We’ve been everywhere, it seems, with hardly a moment to ourselves.”

  Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Are you impugning Lord Atherton?”

  “No,” said her sister too quickly. “How could I possibly? So handsome, so tall, so titled!” She laid one wrist on her forehead and pretended to swoon.

  Abigail swatted her. “Unlike that Penelope Weston: so cross, so fickle, so rude!”

  “Rude! He’s not here—­for a change—­and I called him handsome, tall, and titled, not overbearing, oblivious, and arrogant.”

  “Miss Weston! What a pleasure to find you here.”

  Abigail cringed and gave her sister a warning look as they turned toward the speaker. Lord Atherton was striding toward them, sunlight flashing on the golden head of his walking stick. He swept off his hat and gave a courtly bow, a broad smile on his face.