by Aria Norton
She had hardly worn the dress, as there were no functions in the country that elicited such an extravagant show. Every girl deserves to have one beautiful dress in their lifetime, her mother had told her. Abigail was certainly glad that she had the gown now, her brother refusing to let her sell it when money had become tight.
"Mother would kill me if she knew I'd allowed you to sell the dress she had given you. No. No matter what happens, you must have this to look back on and remember sweeter times."
Abigail smiled at the memories. For once, she actually felt beautiful as she looked at her reflection.
"I'll go down now. Let me know the moment Lord Brampton arrives." Abigail went downstairs to wait in the library. Earlier that afternoon, she had sent her brother's calling card to Lord Brampton and a note inviting him to a luncheon. Joshua had no knowledge of the meeting she had set up.
Abigail wanted to meet with Lord Brampton in private to discuss what was to be done about Sir Filmore. Her brother would only trip over his speech and try to run over the top of her. She preferred this meeting to be concise and honest, where she could express her concerns freely.
At half-past noon, a knock came at the door. Mazzie went to open the front door. Abigail followed her down the hall, suddenly nervous at the bold step she was taking by meeting Lord Brampton alone. It was highly improper for an unmarried young lady to meet with a man on her own. However, it was a risk she felt she had to take. Besides, the whole business was improper. What was one more thing added on top of that?
"Lord Brampton, Miss," Mazzie announced him, although she needn't have done so. Abigail met him at the door and greeted him warmly.
"Good afternoon, Lord Brampton. I hope you are well?" She motioned for him to follow her down the hall and into the study.
He looked around for a moment as if searching for something that was lost. "I... I am well, thank you. And you?"
"Quite well, thank you."
He followed her down the hall reluctantly, raising an eyebrow when she led him to the study. He stepped inside, no doubt expecting to see Joshua sitting at the desk. Turning to her with surprise at seeing the chair behind the desk empty, he shot her a questioning glance. "Where is Mr. Staton?"
"He has gone to the House of Commons. I thought we might take this opportunity to discuss the strategy for gaining information on Sir Filmore. Please, do sit down." She walked behind the desk and sat down in her brother's chair.
"Would you not be more comfortable in the drawing-room, Miss Staton?" He did not move to sit down in the chair she had offered him.
"Are you here to draw or to plan, Lord Brampton?" She did not budge from her seat, only looked at him with her piercing brown eyes. He cracked a smile and sat down.
"To plan, of course."
"Good." Abigail secretly rejoiced. She knew that what Lord Brampton had suggested would have been much more proper. However, she was glad of the chance to get to know him better under the guise of discussing business. "I have been able to find out a little about your Sir Filmore since we last met."
He leaned forward in his chair in anticipation. "That was swift. Well done, Miss Staton."
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. "You have not heard what I have to say yet. I was able to find out precious little, but it is a start at least. And I do wish you would call me Miss Abigail, instead of Miss Staton."
"Very well, Miss Staton." He seemed to soften a bit towards her. His blue eyes were the most beautiful shade she had ever seen. Tearing her gaze away from his, she berated herself. She needed to focus on the task at hand.
"As you may know, Sir Filmore is a gambler. It would seem he owes money at several gaming establishments in London and Bath. He is quite flippant with his bets and is known to take bizarre wagers at the drop of a hat. One such story I heard tells how he bet fifty pounds on a baby."
Lord Brampton scoffed at this. "Whatever do you mean by saying he bet on a baby?"
"Well, it seems that a Lady Beatrice Lucas and a Mrs. Elizabeth Harding were both expecting and about to deliver around the same time. Well, Sir Filmore bet fifty pounds that Lady Lucas would have her child first."
Lord Brampton chuckled, "Yes? And did she?"
"No, Mrs. Harding had her baby first after she fell down a flight of stairs."
His face crumpled in alarm. "Good heavens. I hope Mrs. Harding was alright?"
"Oh, yes. She and the baby came out of it in perfect health. But Sir Filmore lost fifty pounds. He's always making foolish bets such as that."
"So he is an impulsive man?"
"In every sense of the word. The other tidbit of information I found out concerns a lady of considerable means. London is abuzz with this talk of a scandal. Apparently, he has coaxed an unsuspecting socialite into marrying him. It is told that she is worth twenty thousand pounds and that he will use the money to pay of his gambling debts and to fund his campaign against my brother."
Lord Brampton's face fell, an expression of inexplicable sadness passing over his features. "Did you find out who the woman is?"
"I did not. My cook is my source. She has many friends in service all over the city. And well, you know how servants overhear things. She keeps me abreast of the latest gossip; that is, when I need to know." Abigail swallowed. She did not want him to think that she was a shameless gossip. On the contrary, if it were not for him coming to her brother for help, she would be delighted to mind her own business.
Lord Brampton stood and took a few steps away from the desk, his back turned to her. "Were you able to learn anything else?" His voice was filled with such grief, she wished she could go to him and offer him some comfort. Perhaps the woman Sir Filmore had tricked into marriage was a relation of some sort?
"Yes. The only other information I was able to find out is that Sir Filmore may be operating under an alias. I have not confirmed this yet, but it is rumored that Sir Filmore is not his real identity. I could not find out anything about the man as far as his family history or where he comes from. He appeared on the London scene only a year and a half ago. He tells the public that his parents were killed in a freak riding accident when he was seventeen and has been working ever since. Risen from humble beginnings. It is a part of his platform and is very popular with the working class."
"Interesting. And you think this a falsehood?" Lord Brampton turned back around and neared the desk. She stood and shrugged, her palms face up. "I don't know. If he has come up with an alias for himself, his true origins will be difficult to trace. I have a feeling that he is a shrewd fellow. I still have not thought of a way to get close to him to find out more information about him."
Lord Brampton nodded, "Yes, well. We shall have to find a solution to that problem together."
Their eyes met again, his gaze sweeping over her appreciatively for the first time that afternoon. Abigail's heart skipped a beat. He gave her a weak smile and looked away, embarrassed. She cleared her throat and looked away, as well. She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks again. "Shall we have luncheon? I'm afraid there is nothing else I can tell you for the moment."
"Yes, of course. Not to worry, Miss Abigail. Perhaps we can further discuss our strategy over luncheon."
She nodded and led the way into the dining room. He seemed more at ease once they had exited the study and were seated at opposite ends of the dining room table. She was not sure whether she made him nervous or if he was simply indifferent to her. Abigail knew she was not a classic beauty, but she still wished for him to notice her.
"Tell me about yourself, Lord Brampton. Do you have any family in London?" Abigail asked as the meal was served.
"I do not. Not anymore, that is. My parents died a few years ago."
"I am sorry to hear that. Were you close with your parents?" She immediately regretted the question as soon as it came out of her mouth. Who was she to ask personal questions of Lord Brampton? He probably thought her impertinent. "I apologise if that is too personal. You will find that I have a hard time c
ontrolling my tongue."
He smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. I prefer honesty." Another undistinguishable look flickered in his gaze. Before Abigail could decipher what it meant it was gone, replaced by a mask of civility. "I was close with my father. My mother was more of a challenge to get along with. She had very grand ideas for my future."
"I understand a little about how that is. My father was the one who had grand designs on my brother's and my life. It was he who insisted my brother go into politics."
"And you? What plans did he have for your life?"
She set her fork down and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, replacing it in her lap before answering. "Father wanted me to marry well. What else is there for a young woman to do but get married and raise a family?"
He studied her for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth. "But that life did not suit you?"
She blinked, wondering how much of her heart she should reveal to him. It would be foolish to admit too much, for she barely knew the man. Still, he seemed to see into her soul with those penetrating eyes. "No. I did not live up to his expectations for a proper young lady. I am too plain and too opinionated."
Tilting his head, he studied her again. "You are far from plain, Miss Abigail."
His words shocked her, and for a moment, she did not know what to say. Her heart beat so wildly that she thought he might hear it pounding from across the room. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat. "Forgive me. That was forward of me."
"No. I mean, yes, it was..." She was tripping all over her words, making a fool of herself. "That is, my father always said I was homely. I suppose he wished I was more of classic beauty like my mother." She laughed when she saw the twinkle of amusement in his eyes at her babbling. "I should stop before I make an even bigger fool of myself."
"On the contrary. You have shown me that you are not interested in playing games. That kind of honesty is rare here in London. Everyone wears a mask. Everyone becomes jaded by the life of luxury, the gossip, the secrets. You, on the other hand, have not lost your innocence. Hold onto that, Miss Abigail. It is more precious than any riches you could ever hold."
"Thank you," she said quietly. Lord Brampton seemed to open up to her a little more after that, telling her about his favourite horse and his estate in the country. When the meal ended, he excused himself, asking that she send word whenever she had more information to share with him.
She closed the front door with a dreamy, far-off look in her eye. Mazzie was coming down the hall, carrying the tray of dishes back to the kitchen. "Are you quite well, Miss?" she asked.
Abigail snapped out of her reverie and smoothed her skirts, feeling like she had been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. "I am quite well, thank you," she said briskly and hurried to her room to change her gown before her brother returned home.
Chapter 12
Thomas left the Staton home feeling melancholy. Miss Abigail was quite different than he had expected. She was unlike most women he met in his circles; so sure of herself and without guile. He could see the truth of that in her eyes.
"Where to, My Lord?" The coachman closed the door and peered at him through the window.
Thomas thought for a moment, biting his lip. Did he even dare go and see Sarah? Filmore was sure to be away tending to his campaign affairs. That could be the only explanation as to why they had returned home so soon. Or had they run out of money? No matter. He should do the sensible thing and go home. Looking up at his coachman, he let out a breath and gave him the address to Filmore's house.
Despite everything Sarah had done to him, he found he needed to see her in person to be sure she was alright. No letter or second-hand information would do. Sarah had been a part of his life since they were children. She had been six the first time they'd met, he, twelve. Sarah was a precocious child, so sure of herself. Even then, she was beautiful, with long flowing blonde curls cascading down her back and laughing blue eyes.
At first, she had merely been an amusing child. However, as she had grown, he realised that she was the only woman he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. When she was fifteen, he had gone to her father and asked for her hand. It had all been arranged from there. Her father had requested that she be allowed a few more years at home but had given his hearty consent to the match. Sarah had gone along with the plan, ever smiling. Had she been resenting him all this time, hating him beneath her mask of contentment?
Leaning his head against the backboard of the seat, he allowed his mind to wander to the day he had asked for her hand.
"Let us go for a stroll about the garden, Lord Brampton." Sarah linked her arm through his in the familiar way they had become accustomed to over the years. He glanced down at the black band on his arm, signifying mourning. His father had passed away four months earlier, leaving a gaping hole in his life. He still had Mother to turn to, but they were not as close, and there was not the warmth between them that he had shared with his father.
"Splendid idea!" Sarah's mother exclaimed. "Let us all go out and enjoy the summer sunshine. Come, Edward."
"My dear, I think it best we stay indoors for a few moments." Lord Thorne nodded in Thomas' direction, knowing that he craved a few moments alone with Sarah. Her mother argued softly for a moment, but Lord Thorne must have told her why Thomas needed some privacy and forthwith held her tongue.
"They are quite eager, are they not?" Sarah laughed as they walked down the steps of the patio and into the garden.
"How so?" he asked. His heart pounded in his chest with nervousness. Sarah turned a knowing look on him and continued walking without giving an answer. He had been planning to propose to Sarah ever since he had asked her father for her hand a week prior.
His mother had given him a ring that had long been in the family, to give to the woman of his choosing. That is, if his choice was approved by his mother. It had always been an unspoken desire that he marry Sarah Thorne. Thankfully, she had stolen his heart the moment he had first laid eyes on her.
"Sarah, I have something I would like to discuss with you."
She let go of his arm and took a few more steps, coming to stand under a willow tree's shade. "Oh? And what might that be?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She was teasing him. "It must be very serious for you to take on your business tone with me." Taking a seat on a white marble bench near the tree, she patted the other side, beckoning him to sit by her.
He cleared his throat and took her hand. "Sarah, I hope it has become apparent over these last few months how I feel about you?"
She met his gaze, turning towards him slightly. "It has." A very pretty blush spread across her cheeks.
"I have asked your father for his permission to marry you, and he has granted it."
She sucked in a breath and stood, releasing his hand. He followed her, afraid that he had offended her. "What I mean to say is that I wish to ask you for your hand in marriage, Sarah. I know it must seem sudden, but I have loved you since we were children."
Turning, she smiled up at him, her perfect, full pink lips just begging to be kissed. He licked his lips and waited, holding his breath at what her reply might be.
"Of course I will marry you, Thomas."
He took her in his arms, elated. Thomas had waited so long to hear her say that she loved him, too. Leaning down, he touched his lips to hers in a lingering embrace.
"Well, it seems we have cause for celebration then?" Lord Thorne said as he and Lady Thorne walked up behind them. Thomas released Sarah, not a little embarrassed at having been caught in such an intimate moment.
"Yes, sir. She has said yes," he beamed. She went to her mother, arms outstretched, and started speaking of wedding plans straight away.
A bump on the road jolted him out of his half-asleep state. Had she been pretending to love him all along? Had his love for her blinded him? It had happened to many a man before himself, being strung along after a beautiful woman only to realise she had no interest in him whatsoever. Thinking b
ack over that day, he realised that she had never confessed his love for him. She had said she would marry him, but that did not mean she was in love with him...
