Chapter Ten
‘You are in a good mood this morning,’ Lenore said, pouring his coffee for him as he filled his plate with eggs.
‘No more so than usual,’ he replied, trying not to smile. If the illusion they had created on the previous evening was to be maintained, Lenore should be the last person to be surprised that he was cheerful.
Now she raised her chin and gave a sniff, before sighing. ‘L’amour. It is in the air, is it not?’
He sniffed as well. ‘I believe what you are smelling is the kippers. But suit yourself.’
She looked around the breakfast room to be sure that they would not be overheard. ‘Truth, now. Did you meet with her? What happened?’
‘We talked.’ He should be embarrassed to admit that their conversation was the last thing on his mind this morning. He could still remember the taste of her lips and her sighs as she lost control.
The sound of a spoon clinking loudly against the side of a teacup brought him back to the present. Lenore ceased her unladylike stirring and grinned at him. ‘You did far more than talk, I think. Will they be forced to read the banns, again? Or will it be special licence? I recommend the latter, so she has no chance to change her mind. It will also spare the rest of us from watching you behave like a mooncalf each time she is near.’
‘When things progress to the point of a proposal, there will be no such problems,’ he said, taking a sip of his coffee and trying to regain his composure. ‘I do not intend to rush her this time. If I can get her to accept me, there will be nothing to frighten her or make her doubt my resolve.’
‘Was that the problem last time?’ Lenore leaned forward, eager to hear the details.
No. You were.
Many married men of his set kept mistresses. It had never occurred to him that appearing to have one would cause more trouble than having one. But, after last night, he hoped that matter was settled. After he’d told Abigail his part of the truth, she’d allowed him to kiss her. It had taken little more than that to have her close to fainting in his arms with desire. Surely, she must see that they belonged together. ‘When we were in London, I should have reassured her of my intentions to respect her,’ he said, then added, ‘Of course, there is more to being a duchess than simply marrying a duke.’
‘And what might that be?’ By the look she was giving him, Lenore thought Abigail was making this courtship far more difficult than it needed to be.
‘As my wife, she will undergo continual public scrutiny. People are always fascinated by the doings of their betters. The gossip that surrounds our friendship bothers her far too much.’
‘She would be used to gossip by now, I should think,’ Lenore said, staring over her teacup. ‘Her parents cannot manage to leave the house without creating a scandal.’
‘I had not noticed,’ he said, buttering a slice of toast.
‘Because you insist on ignoring things that happen right under your nose,’ she replied.
‘It has served me well, thus far,’ he said, taking a sip of coffee. In his youth, he had allowed himself to be far too upset by mere words. The day he’d realised that his father never raised a hand to his family to accompany his ranting was the day that words had ceased to have any power over him.
‘If you wish to understand Miss Prescott, you would benefit by paying attention to her family difficulties.’
‘I would hardly call the fact that her mother married above herself to be a difficulty,’ he said.
‘How like a man to blame the wife,’ Lenore replied, slathering marmalade on her bread. ‘Though I suspect her daughter is sometimes disadvantaged by it, the fault does not lie in her mother’s birth. Had she married any other man than that brute, Prescott, the ton would not find her nearly as annoying.’
‘He is not with them, this trip,’ Benedict remarked, not that he missed the man.
‘Apparently, he has gone to Italy. There, he has been entertaining an opera singer with his wife’s money. You have not seen the hints in the scandal sheets about Mr. P. and La C.?’
‘I have no time for such foolishness,’ he reminded her.
‘Not even when it pertains to someone you purport to care about,’ Lenore said.
‘Someone I do care about,’ Benedict corrected, trying to ignore the niggling feelings of guilt at his negligence.
‘It is probably fortunate for Miss Prescott that she jilted you,’ Lenore replied. ‘She has been rusticating in Somerset since the wedding. It gave her an excuse to avoid the scandal that her father created. As of late, when her mother accepts invitations, she knows she will be forced to endure the curiosity of people who read of her husband’s betrayal in the papers each morning.’ She paused, considering. ‘Our antics are listed there as well. And, of course, the disaster that was your wedding. People are quite well versed in the history attached to Miss Prescott’s parents. I can see why she might not want any more notoriety.’
‘It can’t have bothered her too much,’ he said, trying to shake the feeling that he was somehow responsible for her unhappiness. ‘Apparently, they were on their way back to town when the storm stopped them.’
‘I had occasion to speak to Mrs Prescott the other night,’ Lenore replied. ‘She is not as obtuse as she appears. After the wedding, it was Miss Prescott’s plan to leave town permanently and stick to her knitting. Her mother disagrees. Since John Prescott’s profligacy is likely to grow worse rather than better, it is her opinion that Abigail must find a husband, before both fortune and youth are depleted. She will not do that by hiding in the country. When it was mentioned in the scandal sheets that you and I were away from town...’
‘She hoped to make the most of my absence,’ he said.
‘The plan was to avoid gossip by avoiding you,’ Lenore said, shaking her head. ‘But that has been a dismal failure. And if the company here is any indication, society has not forgotten what she had done, nor is it likely to. The room buzzes with whispers each time she leaves the room. With you or without you, a scandal-free life in London will be nearly impossible for her.’
He had not noticed, since it was always silent when he was in a room. ‘She is managing quite well, all things considered,’ he supplied, trying not to think of her angry declaration of the night before.
‘I suspect her mind is more at ease, now that you have explained our relationship,’ Lenore said, then gave him a pointed look. ‘You have explained, haven’t you?’
‘Do not treat me like an idiot child,’ he said. ‘I am perfectly able to handle Abigail Prescott.’
‘That does not answer my question,’ she said.
‘I have explained as much as I am entitled to share,’ he added, staring back at her.
If he had expected her to release him from his promise, he was disappointed. Instead she said, ‘I will take care of the rest.’
‘I would prefer that you left it to me,’ he replied. ‘As you have reminded me, it should be up to me to make things right with Miss Prescott.’
‘And I will make sure you have the time to do that,’ she said, ignoring what he needed her to do. Then she yawned. ‘Though we are not yet done with breakfast, I feel I will be in need of an afternoon nap. From a megrim, perhaps. I shall be in my room until supper. What you do with the time I am absent is your own business.’
* * *
Abigail perched patiently on the edge of her mother’s bed as the maid finished the final steps of her toilette so they might go down to breakfast. Normally she enjoyed the opportunity to sit quietly, unobserved and non-contributing, listening to her mother chattering about the day to come. But after last night, she was full of questions that she did not know how to ask.
Was what had happened with Danforth normal? Should she even have allowed it, when he had given no promise of marriage? Most importantly, should she let it happen again?
But it seemed her mother’s mind ran i
n an entirely different direction. ‘I hate to admit that you were right,’ she said, touching the curls at the back of her head as the maid removed the last of the papers. ‘But it is probably for the best that there is no renewal of Lord Danforth’s suit.’
‘Really?’ Abby said, trying not to sound disappointed by the answer to her unspoken wishes.
‘His behaviour with Lady Beverly last night was quite scandalous,’ she said with a disapproving frown. ‘I refuse to blame poor Lenore for it. She really is the kindest person. Of course, the Duke is a handsome man and powerful as well. Who knows better than us how hard he is to resist when he gets an idea into his head? Your father approved his request to wed you based on his title alone. If you had not had the sense to run from him, you would have married a drunkard as well as a rake.’
‘Perhaps things are not so very bad as they appear,’ Abby said, trying not to sound too hopeful.
‘That is not what you said about him before the wedding,’ her mother reminded her. ‘Then I thought it unfair of you. But it is clear that you were right all along. Things being how they are between your father and me, I should have known better than to trust a man.’
Though everyone in London knew the details of her father’s infidelity, her mother rarely made mention of it, even one as oblique as this. But Abigail had no reason to protect him. ‘It is not fair of you to judge the Duke more harshly based on what Father has done.’
This brought an unbelieving look from her mother. ‘You are surprisingly charitable to him this morning.’
‘Perhaps I am finally learning from your example,’ she said, with all the sincerity she could muster. ‘Your treatment of Father has always been more generous than he deserves.’
‘Because of him, I have all of this,’ she said, making a wide gesture to encompass the house they were in. ‘It is only because of his family connections that we were allowed here.’
Abby opened her mouth to remind her that they had not actually been invited, but her mother continued before she could interrupt. ‘If you had not been the daughter of a gentleman, you would never have received a proposal from the Duke. That was not all it could have been, of course. But I still have hopes for you, my dear. I have hopes.’
Thinking of her damaged reputation, her mother looked ready to cry again. Abby waved the maid away and placed the final pins in her mother’s hair, using it as an excuse to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Suppose I do not manage to find a husband, Mama,’ Abby said, giving her another gentle pat on the shoulder. ‘We must, at least, consider the possibility.’
Her mother gave a watery laugh, staring into the mirror and trying to compose herself. ‘Do not be ridiculous, my dear. You will find someone. And then, perhaps, I will come and visit you in your house. It will not be as grand as you would have had with the Duke, of course. But there will be some small bit of space for your old mother, I am sure.’ There was a faint wistfulness in her tone, as if she had imagined the future so often that she could see it when she closed her eyes.
Had this been her mother’s plan all along? Had she wanted to come away with her after the marriage, to escape her own husband? The thought had never occurred to Abby when she had cried off the wedding. She had been far too concerned with avoiding the fate that her mother had chosen for herself. Now her decision might have trapped them both.
But her mother’s future should not have to depend on her own. ‘Have you thought of what you might do if Father does not come home?’ she said, almost afraid to ask.
‘He always comes home,’ her mother said, confident though not happy. ‘This is not the first time he has been away. It is only the most public. In the end, the money will run out, as it always does, and he will come home.’
Abby could still remember the argument after her father’s last sojourn to the Continent, the mutterings about tight purse strings and the petulant anger of a man with no option other than to depend on his wife. ‘But the money is yours,’ Abby said cautiously. ‘Grandfather arranged it all, before he died.’
‘Yes,’ her mother said, in a way that meant Yes, but...
Abby ignored her doubts and gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Then you do not have to take him back, when he returns.’
‘I would not choose to do that,’ her mother said, as if it was the strangest idea she’d ever heard. ‘He is my husband.’
‘You would not choose to, but you could,’ Abby repeated. ‘The money is secured in trust and you could do whatever you wanted to with it. There is nothing that Papa can do about it.’
‘It takes more than money to live in this world,’ the older woman said. Now she was dry-eyed and clear-headed. ‘I know this better than most.’
‘I know you are not brave,’ Abby said, pleased that, for a change, there were no signs of impending tears. ‘I can be brave enough for both of us.’
‘It is not bravery that I am speaking of,’ her mother corrected. ‘If courage and money were all I needed, I might have left long ago.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Women simply do not live alone, my dear,’ she said, staring at Abby as if she had lost all sense. ‘It is not done.’
‘You would not be alone if I stayed with you,’ Abby continued. ‘We could buy a small house. We would engage just a few servants: a maid and housekeeper. Even if we left Father the town house, we would be able to manage quite well.’
Her mother gave a sad laugh. ‘And what would we do to keep ourselves busy? My dear, if you find the current storm tedious, imagine rain without ceasing. That might as well be our future for the number of invitations we will receive.’
A life outside society sounded like heaven. If there were no more invitations, there would be no more embarrassing interactions with strangers, no more gossip that needed to be ignored and no more headaches or stomach aches after an evening of trying to pretend that none of it mattered to her.
It would be fine for her. But she had forgotten her mother’s desire to maintain the few advantages her marriage afforded. ‘I am sure there are ways to mitigate the stigma. Lady Beverly goes about alone.’
‘Lady Beverly is a widow and travels under the protection of the Duke. But if an honest woman who has a husband chooses to live apart from him?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘It would be easier if I had family instead of money. But if I leave your father, I will have you and you will have me. That is all. All the money in the world will not open doors once they have closed to us.’
‘It would be all right,’ Abby insisted. ‘I do not need so very much.’
‘What you need is a husband,’ her mother insisted. ‘A man who will give you a place in society.’
And you as well. She had been a fool to jilt the Duke. At the time, she had thought only of herself. It appeared that she had been wrong about his tepid feelings for her. But even if things had been as bad as she’d suspected, could it really have been any worse than what her mother faced each day? ‘Then I will do my best to find a someone,’ she said. And, should there be another offer from the man she’d rejected, she knew what her answer would be.
This made her mother smile. ‘It does my heart good to hear you say so. Like it or not, my dear, we are defined by the men that choose us,’ she said. ‘You will not do better than Danforth, of course. But while you are here, you must do your best not to make an enemy of him.’
‘Of course, Mama,’ she said, wondering what the lady would think if she knew the truth.
Chapter Eleven
That morning, the rain stopped for almost an hour. The brief respite had the guests in the breakfast room talking optimistically of a walk through the gardens, or at least the luxury of standing by an open window. But by noon, it had begun to pour again and a deep ennui had fallen over the group in the salon. The men did not bother themselves with billiards and the women had had more than enough of cards. Conversation was not worth the effort
, either, since so much of it had been expended earlier, speculating about the weather.
Then the distant sound of a slamming door broke the oppressive silence of the room. It was immediately followed by the sound of footsteps hammering down the main stairs and across the hallway towards the dining room. It was a wonder that they could hear the person at all, for the stairs were solid marble and the hallway heavily carpeted to muffle just the sort of noise they had heard.
Abby watched as the women around her looked up from their needlework like a herd of startled deer, trying to find the exact source of the commotion. The men were only slightly less interested, setting aside their books and newspapers, uncrossing their legs and leaning forward.
‘There you are!’ an angry male voice bellowed. The announcement was followed by an unintelligible female whimper.
Now the crowd was looking from one to another, counting heads and trying to guess the identity of the culprits. Danforth was missing. If he was not there, it was no surprise that Lady Beverly was gone as well. Abby held her breath, reminding herself that it need not mean anything. But all around her, eyebrows raised and heads nodded.
Then the group considered and gave a collective shrug of denial. Danforth would never raise his voice, nor did the Marchioness ever cry.
‘If we are sharing a room, I should not be seeing you for the first time after breakfast.’
The statement was followed by another whimper.
This led to another round of attendance-taking from the guests. Comstock and his wife were not with them, either. But the man shouting in the dining room was not an American, nor had that couple shared a cross word in the whole time they had been there.
Another quick search of the room had the guests mouthing the name Elmstead to nods of assent. Lord Elmstead was a ruddy-faced man with a large belly and thick, red hair. His wife was barely twenty-five, slight, blonde and pretty. People frequently commented on the poorly matched pair and pitied the girl for being trapped in marriage to him.
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