by Bree Wolf
Griffin shrugged. “Perhaps. But that can easily be changed.”
“How often have you danced with her?” Winifred questioned, her gaze calculating as she watched him. “I know you met her at the New Year’s ball. However, I’ve seen you with her several times since then. Can you tell me who she is?”
Griffin frowned. “Lady Adeline. She’s Lord Kingston’s daugh−”
“I know,” Winifred interrupted.
“Then why do you ask?”
“I didn’t ask you for her name,” his sister huffed as though he was the greatest idiot to ever walk the earth. “I wanted to know what kind of a person she is.” When Griffin hesitated, she prompted, a self-satisfied twinkle in her eyes, “Well?”
Annoyed with his sister’s overbearing attitude as though there was nothing she did not know, Griffin straightened. “There have not been that many opportunit−”
“So, you don’t know? Nothing?”
Gritting his teeth, Griffin glared at his sister. “Have you always been this irritating? If so, I cannot recall. Perhaps being married does not become you.”
Winifred laughed, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm, turning his attention away from the dance floor. “Oh, don’t grumble, dear brother. All I’m trying to do is point you in the right direction.”
“I doubt that very much,” he growled, finding himself looking at Miss Abbott yet again. “Why?” was all he asked as he looked down at his sister. “Why her?”
“That is for you to find out,” Winifred said mysteriously. “She’s a lovely, young woman, and I assure you that the two of you have a lot in common.”
“Seriously?” Griffin demanded, remembering the many mishaps that seemed to befall Miss Abbott.
“Seriously,” his sister confirmed, the tone in her voice not allowing for an argument. “Now, go ask her to dance. And wipe that scowl off your face.”
Reminding himself that he had promised Winifred to give Miss Abbott a chance, Griffin squared his shoulders and commanded his feet to carry him in the direction of the young woman with the hideous dress. They complied, however, reluctantly.
As he drew near, Miss Abbott’s head swiveled around, and for a short moment, Griffin thought to see a hint of nerves fluttering over her face. However, within the blink of an eye, it was replaced by a look of haughty superiority he had seen on her face before. He could not fathom how she had ever come to possess such a high opinion of herself. Was she not aware of the mayhem she caused?
Relieved to see her hands empty−no glass that could be conveniently dumped down the front of his shirt−Griffin stopped in front of her, inclining his head and smiling at her with what he hoped was an amiable sort of grimace. “Good evening, Miss Abbott. May I have the next dance?”
For a second, she seemed to glance over his shoulder at someone or something and the left side of her mouth curled up into the barest suggestion of a smile he had ever seen. Then, though, it was as though a veil fell over her grey eyes because they lost their humorous gleam and became sharp…and yet unseeing in a way. “How kind of you to ask, my lord.” Her gaze narrowed. “Allow me to ask. Have we met before?”
Griffin tensed, displeasure pulsing through his veins. “Indeed. I had the…pleasure of making your acquaintance a few days ago at my sister’s home. Lady Chadwick.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Nodding, she gestured wildly, her left hand flying by the tip of his nose, missing it not by much. “You were the man with the serious scowl. Griffin, isn’t that right?”
Griffin’s muscles tensed to the point of breaking. Not only did she dare to address him so informally, but she also had the nerve to suggest that he was easy to forget. Did she truly only remember the way he had frowned that day? Was that all she remembered? For some reason, it bothered him to be thought of so lowly. Did he generally make a bad first impression? If so, he had yet to notice.
Forcing the corners of his mouth to stay up, Griffin instead clenched his hands, hoping to relieve some of the tension. “That is correct, Miss Abbott,” he stressed, hoping to remind her that they were not on such intimate terms as to address each other by their given names.
The young woman, however, seemed quite oblivious as she suddenly grabbed his arm and all but dragged him onto the dance floor. “I do love to dance,” she chatted happily, her voice a bit too shrill to be considered pleasant. “And if I dare say so myself, I’m quite the proficient. Unfortunately, I often find myself surrounded by less skillful dancers, which often robs me of the joy it usually brings.” As though to disprove her own point, she moved contrary to the rhythm of the music, her steps too slow, and a moment later, her foot came down on his hard.
Griffin suppressed a groan. If he did not know any better, he would have thought she had done so on purpose, her heel digging into his flesh, almost crushing his toes.
In consequence, the inconvenience of stepping on his foot threw her off balance, and she tumbled sideways. If he had not been a gentleman, Griffin would have let her fall. However, he dared not, instead he caught her swiftly, releasing her the moment she had both feet back under her.
“My goodness,” she exclaimed, drawing in a sharp breath. “I believe you would benefit from some dance lessons, my lord. Have you ever learnt? I can only recommend it as it would improve your enjoyment−as well as your partner’s−considerably.”
“I shall keep that in mind,” Griffin forced out through gritted teeth, silently counting the seconds until the dance was over. What was his sister thinking? Had she lost her mind? Ought he to have her committed to an asylum?
Quickly taking his leave of Miss Abbott as soon as he dared, Griffin crossed the ballroom in large strides, his gaze locked on his sister’s, his blood boiling hot as he saw the amused gleam in her eyes. “I’m glad you find my misery entertaining,” he hissed into her ear as he came to stand beside her.
Winifred laughed. She laughed! “Oh, dear brother, you suffer more than you need to!”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” he agreed, trying to force calming breaths down his throat. “Then let us agree that Miss Abbott is not the right woman for me and move on, shall we?”
Grinning, Winifred shook her head. “That is not at all what I meant to say.”
“What then?” Griffin growled, glimpsing Trent heading their way, a glass of wine in each hand.
“You are intent on disliking her,” Winifred accused, “and therefore, you are miserable because that is what you expect.”
“I doubt there is anyone on this planet who would enjoy her company.”
“I do,” Winifred objected as Trent held out a glass to her, his gaze narrowed as he looked back and forth between them. “Miss Abbott, is it?” he asked, a slight chuckle in his voice as he spoke.
Griffin could have throttled him. “As I’ve already said to my sister: I’m glad my misery entertains you.”
Trent laughed, shaking his head. “Oh no, as tempted as I am, I will not get in the middle of this.”
Exhaling a deep breath, Griffin took a step back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll find some more pleasurable company.” And with that, he turned on his heel and marched off. Perhaps Miss Adeline would fancy a dance!
Chapter Seven − Perseverance
Lying awake, Abigail remembered the moment Lord Amberly had asked her to dance. Indeed, he had looked like all the others, determined to pursue her despite their own inclination not to. However, the look in his eyes had been…amusing. He had seemed on the brink of throttling her, and on some level, Abigail had to admit that she had enjoyed seeing such unrestrained emotion.
At least, it had been honest.
Even if his words had not been.
Still, the emphasis in his tone had not been lost on her. He had greatly disapproved of her calling him by his given name. As did her grandfather. Still, there was very little they could do to sway her. After all, it was quite an effective tool in angering those one wished to anger.
Three days later, Abigail
found herself seated in the breakfast parlour, staring across the table at her aunt as she picked at her food, her kind eyes dull and distant. “Is something wrong?” Abigail asked, deep concern in her heart for the only family member who had come to care for her.
Blinking, Aunt Mara looked up. “I’m sorry, dear. I did not mean to be so taciturn.”
“I’m not complaining, Aunt Mara,” Abigail stated. “I’m worried. Tell me what has you looking so forlorn.”
“It is nothing,” her aunt replied, waving her hand in dismissal.
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Abigail glared at her aunt. “Whenever people say it’s nothing, it’s always something.”
Looking up, Aunt Mara held her gaze.
“Tell me.”
“I was simply…” She licked her lips, her fingers playing with her teaspoon. “I was merely thinking of my son, my grandchildren.”
“You miss them.”
Aunt Mara nodded.
“Why don’t you call on them?”
Her aunt’s eyes widened, and she instantly shook her head. “I could not. My son is…rarely home these days, and…I would not wish to disturb his wife.”
Abigail’s gaze narrowed. “She does not want you to see your grandchildren, does she? She’s still angry with you for the counsel you provided your son.”
With wide eyes, Aunt Mara looked at her. “How do you know this?”
Abigail shrugged. “Grandfather told me.” Chiding herself for not pursuing this further, Abigail leaned forward. “We should go see them.”
Again, Aunt Mara shook her head. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. I−”
The door opened, admitting the duke inside and cutting their conversation short.
With barely a nod to them, he took his seat at the head of the table. By now, Abigail knew that her grandfather liked to do things a certain way. Namely, his way. And upon enquiry, he had informed her that he took his meals whenever he chose. No one tells me what to do or when to do it!
As though to prove himself true to his word, he always appeared at different times.
“How was last night’s ball?” he enquired, watchful eyes on Abigail as he reached for his teacup. “Have you received any more proposals?”
Looking at her grandfather, Abigail could have sworn that there had been a touch of humour−sarcasm even−in his voice, and she tried to recall if her grandfather had ever seen her dressed to her disadvantage when heading out into society. Since he rarely attended any events held throughout the season−why would he subject himself to such torture?−Abigail was certain that he had not. Then how had he learnt of her strategy? Because judging from the slight twitch in his upper lip, he had!
Feigning nonchalance, Abigail shrugged. “It was an evening like any other, Grandfather.” Smiling at him, she noticed with delight the slight narrowing of his eyes when she did not address him as your grace. “Quite uneventful.”
“Then why do you attend?” the duke asked unexpectedly. “If you despise these events, simply stay home.”
Taken aback, Abigail tried to determine her grandfather’s reasons for uttering such a suggestion. Did he not want her to mingle? How else was she supposed to secure a husband? Was not that what he wanted? “I admit that these events are somewhat tiresome,” she finally said, deciding that the truth would be a refreshing choice. “However, sitting at home every night with no one to speak to would also not be my idea of an enjoyable night. In general, I like being around people. However, whether or not I enjoy their company is a matter of quality.”
With an unintelligible grumble, her grandfather nodded his head. Had they just agreed on something?
Abigail shook her head. Apparently, strange things did happen after all…at least on occasion.
“Did you not enjoy dancing with Lord Amberly?” Aunt Mara asked, her gaze as watchful as ever. “I must say you looked quite pleased when he asked you to dance.”
“Lord Amberly?” her grandfather enquired, his sharp eyes once more shifting to her face. “I knew his father,” he continued in a grumble, his gaze turning back to the teacup in his hand. “The men in his family possess reason and a sense of honour.” He inhaled deeply as the strong aroma of the warm liquid wafted upward. “I would not refuse my consent if he were to ask for your hand.”
Momentarily too stunned to reply, Abigail found herself staring at her grandfather, unable to avert her eyes. What had happened in the last few seconds? Only a moment ago, she had thought her grandfather had taken a step back from his marriage plans for her. However, now, he had taken a leap forward. That man continued to confuse her!
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Abigail reached for her own teacup, doing her best to sound unimpressed. “It was…diverting,” she admitted, a bored tone in her voice. “However, I received the distinct impression that his attentions were already otherwise engaged.” Only too well did Abigail remember the golden-haired beauty in the emerald gown Lord Amberly had swept onto the dance floor after fleeing her company. She had to admit her strategy had worked a little too well that night! With envious eyes, Abigail had watched the couple share a beautiful dance, their eyes glowing and their lips curved upward into amiable smiles. Would she ever experience anything like it? Or was she doomed to chase away any man who dared approach her?
For a short moment that night, Abigail had not been able to remember why she did so. Perhaps her heart was beginning to heal. After all, she could not continue her life mourning her father’s passing, could she? No, that would not be right. He would never have wanted that for her. After all, he had recovered−at least as far as possible−after her mother’s untimely death, had he not?
Suddenly taking note of two sets of eyes on her, Abigail set down her teacup and lifted her chin. “I doubt he will call on me, so there is truly no point in discussing him.”
A slight chuckle escaped her grandfather’s lips, and even Aunt Mara turned to him with a confused frown on her face. “Have you already made plans for this afternoon?”
A moment later, there came a knock on the door and Orwel strode into the room, bowing to her grandfather and then addressing her. “This was delivered for you earlier this morning, miss.”
Abigail glanced from Orwel to her grandfather, noting that there was not a hint of surprise on the old man’s face.
Earlier this morning?
How long ago had the letter arrived? Had her grandfather held it back to be delivered at the perfect moment? Looking at him through narrowed eyes, Abigail thought to detect a touch of amusement in his eyes. Did he have a strategy of his own? One that factored hers in? Was he trying to undo her attempts at driving away her suitors? So far at least, she had not noticed anything.
Taking a deep breath, Abigail unfolded the sheet of paper for that’s what it was. A simple sheet of paper. On its own. Not in an envelope. But surely, it had arrived in one, had it not?
Dear Miss Abbott,
I would be honoured if you’d allow me to take you for a drive through Hyde Park later this afternoon. I shall come by to collect you at four.
Yours sincerely,
Lord Amberly
“As I said,” her grandfather broke into her stunned silence, “I do believe him to be a fine young man, and, therefore, I heartily give my permission. Do have fun.”
Out of her grandfather’s mouth, these words seemed like a joke, and Abigail looked up, wondering if her ears had deceived her. Judging from the triumphant gleam in the old man’s eyes, they had not.
“What if I do not wish to go?” Abigail demanded, annoyed with the way people tended to force their decisions on her. Was she not to have a say in the matter?
“I do believe it would do you good to get out of the house for a little while, my dear,” her aunt interjected at the most inconvenient of times.
“I do get out of the house,” Abigail objected, casting a warning glance at Aunt Mara, which the older woman chose to ignore.
“Nonsense,” her grandfather decided.
“You cannot refuse him.” Then he rose from his chair−apparently tea was enough that morning−and left the room, effectively ending the discussion.
Sighing, Abigail stared at the small note in her hands. Naturally, it did not contain a compliment of any kind or a small declaration of his affections. After all, he did not care about her, about who she was. All he saw was her dowry and the connection to her grandfather’s name and family.
Nothing more.
Abigail could not deny that she was somewhat disappointed by that realisation.
Because I thought you would suit each other. Had Winifred been truthful? But how could she know if Abigail herself could not see it? Still, she had to admit she knew nothing of Lord Amberly. As little as he knew about her. Perhaps she truly ought to keep an open mind.
Perhaps.
Chapter Eight − An Afternoon at Hyde Park
With a block of ice firmly settled in his stomach, Griffin arrived at the Duke of Ashold’s imposing townhouse, questioning his sanity at going along with his sister’s demands. Was he being a fool? Most likely. Still, he could not refuse her.
He was honour-bound.
Bloody hell.
As he stepped into the entrance hall, a shrill voice drifted down the winding staircase from the upper floor, and Griffin cringed, feeling the desperate need to turn around and flee the premises.
However, he did not. He could not go back on his word.
Bloody hell.
Footsteps approached, and he reluctantly lifted his head to spot Miss Abbott descending the stairs in large strides before the butler could even show him to the drawing room. Dressed in a pale aqua green gown, the sleeves and hem set off in a brilliant red, she rushed toward him as though the devil was behind her. “Oh, Lord Amberly, how good of you to come,” she exclaimed in that high-pitched voice that seemed to drill small holes into his brain with every word she spoke. “It was so lovely of you to invite me out on such a brilliant day. You don’t mind if my aunt comes along, do you?”
