by Bree Wolf
Taken aback by the speed with which the words flew out of her mouth, Griffin had no time to answer before she prattled on, not waiting for a reply. Glancing up the stairs, he took note of the dowager marchioness, dressed in mute colours. Unlike her niece, she moved with grace and elegance, two attributes entirely lost on the young woman pulling on an orange coat and donning a dark blue bonnet. Was this woman colour blind?
Still stunned, Griffin could hardly get a word out before Miss Abbott rushed out the front door, her face lifted to the sky and her eyes closed momentarily as she smiled at the sun. “It truly is a beautiful day for a walk, do you not agree?”
A walk? Glancing at his chaise parked at the kerb, Griffin walked down the front stoop as though in a trance. No, he had not intended to walk through Hyde Park. Still, as the dowager marchioness was to accompany them, there was no other choice.
As though he was not there, Miss Abbott continued down the street, pulling her aunt along. Following them like a dog, Griffin cursed his sister. After all, she could not possible have been serious? In fact, by now, Griffin was entirely convinced that Miss Abbott was widely referred to as the most awful woman in England with very good reason.
She was in a word -- awful.
As they proceeded toward Hyde Park, Griffin noticed how the dowager began to drift sideways, increasing the space between her and her niece. In addition, her steps grew smaller so if her niece did not wish to outrun her, she would have to pace herself. Step by step, she maneuvered Griffin to Miss Abbott’s side and before he knew it, the young woman had her arm through the crook of his with her aunt trailing along behind them.
Although Griffin had no desire to get any closer to the young woman than necessary, he had to admit that he was truly impressed with the dowager’s subtlety. After all, judging from the endless stream of words out of Miss Abbott’s mouth, she did not even seem to have noticed.
“Oh, what a beautiful day!” she exclaimed for the tenth time that day, her right arm gesturing wildly at the scenery around them. “I cannot wait for spring. I simply adore flowers. All those colours, bright and brilliant. Oh, they so lift my spirits! I truly miss them in winter. I mean, I try my best to dress colourfully, but there is only so much one can do. I must say I’m truly disappointed that not more young women dare to display such vibrant colours. It’s such a shame.”
Griffin swallowed, praying for the opposite. He could only hope that her tendency to mismatch colours would not turn into a trend. He doubted it very much, but one could never be certain.
“I love sunflowers. They’re so cheerful,” she continued as they proceeded down the path toward the Serpentine. “What about you, my lord? What is your favourite flower?”
At a loss, Griffin swallowed. Did he have a favourite flower? Not that he could recall.
Luckily, Miss Abbott was not in need of a reply to keep their conversation going. “But roses smell so wonderful and violets…” For the next minutes, she prattled on about every flower she had ever seen: their colours, their scents, the softness of their petals…
Griffin groaned inwardly, certain he had found his way down into hell. If this was not torture, he did not know what was!
Blowing out a breath, Miss Abbott shook herself, her nose scrunched up. “It’s quite chilly after all,” she said as they came to stand beside the glistening waters of the Serpentine. “Perhaps it was a bit premature of you to suggest a stroll through the park after all, my lord.”
Griffin frowned. Had he truly suggested a stroll? He could not recall that he had. Still, he did not argue, but grasped the opportunity she was offering him with both hands. “Then allow me to see you back home,” he said, turning on his heel and back up the way they had come.
Unfortunately, Miss Abbott took that moment to stomp on his foot with such vehemence that he could not believe it had been an accident. Suppressing a groan, Griffin gritted his teeth lest the less than flattering words he had been wanting to say to Miss Abbott all afternoon flew out of his mouth.
“You truly ought to look where you step, my lord,” Miss Abbott chided him. “You almost tripped me. My beautiful dress could have been ruined.”
Pressing his lips even tighter together, Griffin had never been so close to losing his temper. One by one, he forced a deep breath into his lungs, doing his best to close his ears to the young woman’s incessant chattering. Instead, he turned halfway back to the lake and let his eyes travel over two young children playing on its banks. The boy tossed pebbles into the water while the girl was picking daisies growing near the bank, handing a small bouquet to her governess.
“Aunt Mara, are you all right?”
Blinking, Griffin turned back to Miss Abbott as he felt her hand slip from his arm.
With a slight crease in her forehead, she started toward her aunt, who stood in the middle of the path, her pale eyes fixed on the children playing near the water. “Aunt Mara?” Miss Abbott called, her voice suddenly softer, gentler as she tried to get her aunt’s attention.
The dowager inhaled a sudden sharp breath, blinked a couple of times and then turned to look at her niece. “I’m sorry, my dear. I simply…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze travelled back to the children still playing by the water.
Miss Abbott turned her head, her gaze following her aunt’s. Then a soft smile came to her lips as she looked back at the older woman. “It’s them, isn’t it?”
Swallowing, the dowager nodded, her eyes filling with tears which she quickly tried to blink away.
Stunned, Griffin watched as Miss Abbott gently took her aunt’s hand and tried to draw her forward. “Let’s meet them.”
The dowager’s eyes widened, and she dug her heels into the ground. “Oh, no, I cannot. She wouldn’t like−”
“You’re their grandmother,” Miss Abbott stated sharply, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You have a right to see them.” And with that, she marched toward the two children, pulling the dowager after her.
Realising that she had all but forgotten about him, Griffin watched with great interest as the two women approached the lake. As soon as the children’s eyes fell on the dowager, they raced toward her, hugging her tightly, bringing fresh tears to their grandmother’s eyes.
With a look of concern, the governess stepped forward, determined to interfere. However, she was no match for Miss Abbott. With a stern look in her eyes, she glared the woman into submission, words flying out of her mouth without a moment’s pause.
Griffin could not help but smile as he stared at her almost transfixed.
Gone was the shrill, loud woman with nothing to say but nonsense. Gone was the self-involved expression in her eyes as well as the odd grimace that could hardly be called a smile. Gone was the clumsy woman who had stomped on his toes more than once.
In her stead, Griffin saw a young lady, her eyes aglow as she now gazed at the scene before her, the soft smile on her face speaking of honest delight at seeing her aunt so happy. She moved slowly, gracefully as she retreated, giving them a moment alone. Her cheeks shone in a rosy red, and her teeth toyed with her lower lip as she forgot the world around her, her only focus the woman she clearly adored.
Drawing in a slow breath, Griffin took a careful step forward, coming to stand next to her. With watchful eyes on her, he said, “They seem very happy to see each other.”
Miss Abbott sighed, her gaze still transfixed. “They do, don’t they?” she whispered as though to herself, as though unaware who she was speaking to. “Oh, look how happy she is. She’s missed them. I could tell. But she never speaks about them. She’s so afraid to−” Turning to look at him, Miss Abbott froze, and he could see in the way her eyes widened that she had just realised what she had done.
The moment she had seen the shock on her aunt’s face, Miss Abbott’s act had slipped from her grasp.
And an act it was, to be sure.
There could be no doubt about it at this point. The only question was: why?
Grinning at her, Griffin w
atched with delight as her cheeks turned an even darker shade of red. “You seem quite changed, Miss Abbott.”
For a moment her lips pressed together, and she closed her eyes. Then he saw the corners of her mouth twitch before her lips spread into a smile and her grey eyes found his once more. “I suppose you’re right, my lord,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice that Griffin found quite intriguing. “Is there any chance we could forget this ever happened?” she asked bluntly, a graceful sweep of her arm encompassing the scene at the lake.
Laughing, Griffin shook his head. “None at all.”
Miss Abbott drew in a deep breath, a hint of disappointment in her calculating eyes. Still, Griffin could not help but think that she was pleased with the opportunity to be herself. Her true self.
Knowing she would never tell him if he were to ask why she felt the need to put on this act, Griffin chose a different approach. “Are you aware that people refer to you as the most awful woman in all of England?”
He felt blunt to ask such a question. However, his instinct told him she would not be offended.
The smile that came to her face told him that he was right. “I am,” she confirmed, a touch of pride in her voice as though it had been a great accomplishment on her part to be rewarded such a title. “Why do you ask?”
Griffin shrugged. “I was simply curious.”
“And would you agree?” she asked rather unexpectedly, a new-found vulnerability in her eyes as though his opinion mattered to her.
Holding her gaze, Griffin drew in a slow breath. “I did agree,” he admitted, “up until five minutes ago.” A soft smile came to her lips, and she glanced at the ground for a split second as though bashful. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Delighted with the deep smile that came to her face, Griffin shook his head. How could he not have seen this? Did his sister know? Was that why she had insisted he give Miss Abbott a chance? For clearly there was more to this woman than met the eye.
A lot more.
And suddenly, he was determined to learn who she truly was.
Chapter Nine − An Act Observed
Dressed in a bright red gown decorated with large black buttons−turning her effectively into a ladybird−Abigail sat in her grandfather’s carriage, watching her aunt twist and turn a handkerchief in the seat across from her. “You’ll rip it in two,” she warned, her voice teasing, hoping to distract Aunt Mara from the one thought that had occupied her mind since their afternoon stroll through Hyde Park.
Blinking, her aunt met her gaze. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been awfully distracted lately. I−”
“I’m not complaining,” Abigail reminded her. “I’m worried. I want you to talk to me. Tell me what is on your mind, and I promise we shall do what we can to put you at ease.” Inhaling a deep breath, she watched her aunt for another minute. “It is your grandchildren, isn’t it?”
Swallowing, Aunt Mara nodded.
“Are you afraid it will be a long time before you see them again?”
Tears appeared in the older woman’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “I know it will. She does not want me to see them.”
“Your son’s wife?”
Again, Aunt Mara merely nodded.
“Why do you let her?”
Wide eyes met hers.
Abigail sighed, knowing by now that it was not in her aunt’s nature to seek confrontation to achieve her goals. No, she cherished peace above anything else. Still, the situation within their family could hardly be called peaceful. At best, it was a truce everyone had agreed upon, but none was quite happy.
As they walked into Lord Blamson’s ballroom, Abigail vowed that she would speak to her grandfather as soon as possible and once more urge him to seek out his grandson. There had to be a way that Aunt Mara could see her grandchildren more regularly than occasionally happening upon them in the park. That was ludicrous.
After spending considerable time standing by the dance floor, exchanging the occasional observation with her aunt, Abigail found a young man striding toward her. Although she could see his displeasure at her appearance in the way his gaze slid over her, he still asked her to dance…only to regret his decision minutes later.
In turn, watching one of their own limp off the dance floor dissuaded the young gentlemen present there that night from venturing anywhere near her. Although relieved, Abigail could not deny that she was bored. What was the point of attending these events if one could not dance? Or at least socialise?
However, she was the most awful woman in all of England, was she not?
To move her feet, Abigail began to venture from room to room, her thoughts drawn back to Lord Amberly as he had grinned at her, utter delight in his eyes, asking her if she knew about the less than flattering name the ton had bestowed on her.
For a moment that afternoon, Abigail had enjoyed herself.
Allowing her gaze to sweep over the dancing couples, Abigail felt her lips press into a tight line as annoyance rose to the forefront. Why was it not possible for her to dance without appearing as though she was looking for a husband? Why did everyone assume a young woman’s life revolved around finding a suitable match? Was there nothing more to life than marriage?
Oh, to hell with them all if they even thought for a moment she would live by their rules!
Spotting a young gentleman by the side of the room, unoccupied at present, Abigail marched toward him, her mind made up.
A hint of the fierce determination that burnt in her chest must have shown on her face, for the young gentleman blanched visibly when he saw her coming, his gaze shifting left and right as though looking for someone who would come to his rescue.
However, fortune did not smile on him that night, and so he found himself put on the spot as the most awful woman in all of England asked him for the next dance. What was he to say?
Seeing him hesitate, Abigail grasped his arm and dragged him onto the dance floor before he had a chance to decline by offering up an excuse to not appear impolite.
Although Abigail enjoyed the chance to move her limbs, dancing with an unwilling partner was far from enjoyable, and so her gaze continued to venture around the room, hoping to spot something−anything!−to distract her from the sheer boredom that had become her life.
Her gaze fell on a well-groomed lady perhaps ten years her senior. The woman’s eyes had narrowed into slits, and her lips looked more like the snarl of a charging cat. Then she did in fact charge forward, her feet carrying her toward…Aunt Mara.
Abigail froze as she saw her aunt’s face turn white as a sheet, her hands twisting into the handkerchief with an almost desperate need to hold on to something.
Outrage rose within Abigail at seeing her gentle, sweet-tempered aunt thus attacked, and without further thought, she abandoned her dance partner in the middle of a cotillion and rushed across the room to her aunt’s side.
In the very moment that the woman opened her mouth−no doubt to spew her venom−Abigail stepped into her path. “Lady Bradish, isn’t it?” she said sweetly, her eyes sharp as they held the woman’s angry stare, certain that she was none other than her aunt’s daughter-in-law. “It’s so nice to make your acquaintance. My aunt has told me so much about you.” After glancing at Aunt Mara and seeing a touch of relief on the old woman’s face, Abigail turned back to her opponent, noting the initial confusion turn to comprehension.
“Miss Abbott, is it?” the marchioness asked, a hint of distaste in her tone. “I had heard you were in town. You seem to be quite the talk of the season.”
Holding on to her feigned smile, Abigail ignored the hidden insult. “Oh, that is so kind of you to say. Yes, I’ve made wonderful friends already. One nicer than the other. I hardly know where to spend my time, but I promise I shall call on you as soon as possible. My aunt often tells me how fond she is of your two beautiful children.” She clasped her hands together as though surprised by a sudden idea. “We should take them out on a picnic. Aunt Mara, what do you think?”
Taken aback, her aunt did not reply.
“Yes, that’s a marvellous thought,” Abigail continued, cutting off the marchioness as she opened her mouth to object. “I will send word.” Beaming at the marchioness, Abigail then drew her aunt’s arm through hers. “It was truly wonderful to meet you.” And with that she marched off, all but dragging her aunt behind her.
***
Stunned speechless, Griffin watched as Miss Abbott guided her aunt away from the sour-looking woman, who he presumed to be the children’s mother they happened upon at the Serpentine.
As he had been unable to get Miss Abbott out of his head, Griffin had spent the past two hours since his arrival at the ball observing the young woman, trying to make sense of her strange behaviour.
Indeed, throughout the evening she had acted as she always had, dressed to her disadvantage, oblivious to society’s code of conduct and all but blind to the reaction of others. Still, now that Griffin knew it was an act, he could not help but notice the small signs of her true self lurking under the finely crafted mask she had chosen to wear.
And then she had rushed off the dance floor in the middle of a cotillion, leaving behind a rather stunned looking gentleman, and hurried to her aunt’s side.
In that moment, Griffin had seen the young woman, full of compassion and loyalty, he had met that day at Hyde Park.
And his heart had overflown with pride.
Following the two women to the refreshment table, he watched as Miss Abbott put a glass of lemonade in her aunt’s hand, urging her to drink it. “You look pale, Aunt Mara. Perhaps you need some air.”
“Don’t worry yourself, Child,” her aunt replied, carefully sipping her drink. “I was merely…surprised at your sudden appearance.”
Miss Abbott smiled, then shook her head at her aunt’s understatement. “You’re right. Lady Bradish is not very fond of you, which is odd, because no one in their right mind could ever dislike you, Aunt Mara.”
