Authors: Wendy Soliman
“Lord Evans finds particular favour with your uncle?”
Her shoulders lifted. “Possibly.”
“What are your feelings for that gentleman?” Sebastian shifted his position to gain a clearer view of her features as she pondered the question.
“That he might very well do,” she replied casually.
Sebastian was stunned. Never in all his years had he known a girl of Lady Abigail’s age who didn’t harbour grand romantic dreams. With her exceptional beauty she had every right to anticipate being swept off her feet. Damn it, she was only eighteen! She had no business displaying such a mature attitude to such matters. Sebastian itched to change her opinion, to demonstrate by deed rather than word just a little of what she was missing, but couldn’t risk starting down that path. He hid his disapproval behind a casual expression and disciplined himself to make no comment, other than asking one simple question.
“Do you entertain feelings for him?”
The glance she sent him was full of wisdom and had no place on such youthful features. “Does it matter? From what I’ve observed most married couples within society bear little love for one another. Their unions are often arranged for reasons of monetary gain or social advancement, with scant regard for compatibility, or the finer feelings of either party involved. If my uncle is of the opinion that Lord Evans would make a suitable husband for me, then I’ll be guided by him. After all, he’s done for me I owe him not only my duty but gratitude, too.”
“Does Evans know you feel this way?”
She shrugged. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Hmm.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, m’dear, that Evans may not know but perhaps some of your other suitors have an inkling, which could explain their collective anxiety to pursue you.”
“Yes, but your argument defeats itself. If they covet my fortune, they wouldn’t wish to see any harm befall me. If I’m no more, then their aspirations perish with me.”
“True.” He conceded the point with a nod. “Acquaint me with the rest of these people on your list, Lady Abigail. I don’t recognise all the names.”
“They are mostly neighbours of ours in Cornwall.”
“Sir Michael Parker. What are your objections to him as a potential husband?”
She shuddered. “Too old and set in his ways.”
“Unforgivable.” Sebastian knew Parker was only a little older than he was.
“Laura and Simon Graves?”
“More neighbours with whom we’re especially intimate. They are the son and daughter of Lord Sykes and Laura and I are firm friends.”
“But Simon, presumably, wishes to be more than a friend to you? What deters you from returning his regard?”
Lady Abigail grinned. “He’s portly, tells tediously long stories and is already a slave to gout.”
“How lamentable.” Sebastian was charmed by her spontaneous laughter, her love of life and the irreverence she tried to quell but which sometimes broke through anyway.
“What action do we take now?” she asked as he scanned her second sheet of paper listing the names servants and the positions they occupied in the various households Abbey moved between.
“I would like to engineer a way to observe you in a setting that includes all these people.”
Her eyes glittered. “That’s precisely what I hoped you would suggest. My uncle plans to remove to Leicestershire next week and open my hunting lodge. Will you be travelling to that county to hunt, my lord?”
“It so happens that I have a box there myself and hunt with the Beaufort—”
She expelled an envious sigh at the name of the famous hunt. “Wonderful! Oh, how I wish—”
“What do you wish?”
“Oh, nothing of consequence.”
“You enjoy hunting, Lady Abigail?”
“I’m sure I would, if only my uncle would permit me to take to the field. If I say so myself, I’m a sufficiently accomplished horsewoman not to disgrace the family name. Unfortunately Uncle Bertram thinks it’s too dangerous and refuses me his permission.”
Sebastian hid his disapproval behind a nonchalant expression. “I dare say he’s right,” he said. “But as to our previous discussion, I don’t see how I can inflict myself, uninvited, upon your uncle’s party without arousing their suspicions.”
“Could you not contrive to break down outside our lodge?” she asked with the sweetest of smiles. “I should be very much obliged to you.”
“I don’t wish to create difficulties, but it’s rather difficult to breakdown to order.”
“Hmm, I suppose it is. Besides, I wouldn’t want any harm to befall your horses.” She sounded disappointed and fell into a contemplative silence. She nibbled her index finger for a moment and then brightened. “I know, perhaps you could be taken inexplicably ill during the course of your journey.”
“I’d be happy to oblige, but I can see a problem with that suggestion.”
“Don’t be so disobliging, Lord Denver. Not when I’ve hit upon the perfect solution.”
“Absolutely perfect, except that it would be necessary for me to remain in my chamber and nurse my malady, which would rather defeat the object.”
“Oh yes, so it would.” She pouted, looking rather discouraged. “Inventing reasons for impromptu visits isn’t as straightforward as one might suppose.” She fixed him with a challenge look. “Do you have any suggestions to make, my lord? I don’t wish to be indelicate, but presumably you have experience of these matters.”
Sebastian roared with laughter but refrained from voicing the suggestions that sprang spontaneously to mind.
“When do you remove to Leicestershire?” he asked when he regained control of himself.
“Next Wednesday.”
“And all the people on your list will be there, even the clergyman?”
“Oh yes, it’s quite an established tradition. And others will likely be there too. As for Harold, he enjoys hunting, and can get away easily enough, given sufficient notice.”
“Then I shall contrive some ingenious means of inflicting myself upon your party. I’m sure I’ll come up with something convincing before next Wednesday.”
“That would be marvellous.” Her smile was as spontaneous as it was intoxicating. “I’m putting you to a vast amount of inconvenience, and am deeply in your debt.”
“Indeed you are,” he replied softly. “But your gratitude must wait until a more suitable juncture. I see your maid returning and your dogs’ enthusiasm is in danger of exhausting her strength. Besides, we’ve risked being in public together for quite long enough.”
She called her dogs’ names and they bounded towards her. The maid had no choice but to let their leashes go or be pulled clean off her feet.
“Lady Abigail.” Sebastian called to her twice before he could attract her attention. “One thing more.”
“What is it?’
“Take the greatest of care. I don’t mean to alarm you, but your assailant appears to be getting more desperate by the day. Be on your guard at every moment and trust no one.”
Chapter Six
“Thank you, Uncle Bertram.”
Abbey accepted her uncle’s hand as he assisted her from their travelling chaise. She pulled her velvet pelisse more closely about her, grateful for its enveloping warmth. There was a crispness in the Lincolnshire air, thick frost under foot and the promise of snow in the dark clouds that threatened directly overhead. Perhaps that was a good thing. If Lord Denver was close upon their heels, he could site the inclement weather as an excuse for breaking his journey.
Although Abbey hadn’t seen anything of the gentlemen who occupied so many of her thoughts for the rest of her stay in London, she’d done her best to heed his warning. She diligently ensured she was always within sight of her aunt or cousin at assemblies, never accepting anything to eat or drink unless she observed others partaking from the same dish before she did. She avoided un-used corridors, declined all invitations to stroll on terraces, to say nothing of all the other ingenious attempts some of the more determined gentlemen made to get her alone.
The initial interest displayed in her showed no sign of abating and the pattern of her life was no longer hers to dictate. She’d been impatient to experience all the diversions that society had to offer, but after two short weeks of endless activity their attraction was already starting to pall.
“Let’s get inside, my dear.” Uncle Bertram took her elbow. “I think we’ve arrived just ahead of the snow.”
The snow did materialise, nor did Lord Denver. Abbey hid her disappointment as she greeted the arrival of their guests at various intervals during the course of the afternoon. There was little formality required in this duty, but at least it provided a useful distraction from her continuous thoughts of Sebastian Denver. When would he arrive? What excuse would he offer and would his presence arouse suspicions? The waiting and her growing unease were starting to tell upon Abbey. The knowledge that her aggressor was very likely already in this room, planning his next attempt on her life, added to her discomfort. She surreptitiously glanced at the faces of the gentleman already assembled, trying to detect signs of guilt or calculation in their countenances, observing instead only open friendliness.
It was hopeless!
Abbey shook off her worries when her friend Laura Graves arrived. Laura was far too loyal to be involved in any plots against her, nor did she have any reason to be. But Abbey resisted the urge to confide in her, mainly because Lord Denver had emphasised the importance of not telling anyone about her suspicions.
Simon Graves remained tenaciously at his sister’s side, which meant he also remained close to Abbey. He was even larger than ever, clearly in pain from his gout, but entertaining company for all that. He spoke with enthusiasm, and at some length, about the opening meet on the morrow.
“Will you be able to hunt tomorrow do you suppose, Mr. Graves, since your leg is clearly paining you?”
Abbey regretted her question when Mr. Graves pounced upon the opportunity she’d unwittingly created.
“I fear not.” he said, with less than convincing regret. “But I’m not downhearted, I can assure you. Someone must stay behind and bear you company. I don’t like to think of you being left to your own devices for an entire day.”
“How kind of you, but I wouldn’t put you to the trouble. My aunt and cousin will not take to the field so I won’t lack for company. Besides, even though I won’t be joining the hunt, that doesn’t preclude me from riding to the meet and seeing them away. Since you’re clearly incapacitated, it probably wouldn’t be wise for you to follow my example.”
Simon Graves accepted Abbey’s rebuff with good grace. Even so, the exchange left her feeling uncomfortable. He had never pursued her quite so aggressively before and it was already evident that her first sojourn into society was being treated by her admirers as
carte blanche
to press forward with their respective claims. She was now starting to understand how the grouse felt on the 12
th
August each year.
“Lady Abigail.” Sir Michael Parker joined their group and bowed over her hand, holding it too tightly and making slow work of releasing it. “Did you enjoy your time in London? And how many hearts did you add to your growing collection?”
Abbey reclaimed her hand and surreptitiously rubbed her fingers until some feeling returned to them. “Sir Michael, really.”
“I hear you’re to be congratulated upon giving Denver a well-deserved dressing down,” Mr. Graves said with a smug smile.
Abbey could think of nothing appropriate to say in response. She was appalled news of her exploits had managed to reach the depths of Cornwall, but the fact that they had taught her an important lesson. The
ton
was a hot bed of gossip and its tentacles had a long reach. Lord Denver hadn’t exaggerated when he had advised caution and bade her trust no one.
“Lady Abigail behaved with perfect decorum,” Lord Evans said, appearing at her left shoulder.
“Denver’s far too big for his boots,” Mr. Graves said. “Thinking he’s above everyone else and behaving just as he pleases. Lady Redford confided to—”
“Yes, thank you, Graves.” Lord Evans cast a meaningful glance in Abbey’s direction. “Save it for later.”
Damnation. Abbey would very much like to know what Lady Redford had to say about his lordship. She felt Mr. Graves’s criticism of Lord Denver was unjust but fought off the impulse to defend him. Why a single man of independent means should be censured for pleasing himself about his activities she couldn’t imagine, but it would not be wise to show too much interest.
Abbey was accosted by her godfather. He had with him his son Gerald, Gerald’s rather aloof wife Elizabeth and Charles.
“How did you enjoy the
ton
, my dear?” Lord Wilsden asked, smiling and kissing her cheek. “I hear you were quite a sensation.”
“It was certainly interesting.”
Lord Wilsden chuckled. “That’s one way of describing the seasonal scrum.”
Before Abbey could regale her godfather with the anecdotes she’d already trotted out several times, Lord Wilsden spoke again.
“No, my dear, I beg you to excuse me. I believe your uncle’s trying to attract my attention.” Abbey could see her uncle with his back turned towards them, deep in conversation with someone else. “Tell Charles all about it instead. He’s impatient to hear all your news, is that not so, Charles?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“You’re supposed to sound keener than that,” Abbey whispered to Charles as his father left them alone, amused rather than insulted by his marked lack of enthusiasm.
“Sorry, Abbey.” He had the grace to look sheepish. “It’s been a long day.”
“Do you really want to hear about London?”
“Heavens no, but you know how the pater can be.”
Abbey laughed and linked her arm through his. “Thank goodness for that. Tell me about your latest horses instead.”
***
As the party partook of dinner that evening, Abbey wondered if her recent visit to town had heightened her awareness or whether things had always been thus. Something had certainly changed about her situation, but no one had bothered to warn her. She was acutely aware of Sir Michael and Simon Graves openly competing against one another for her attention. Worse, Lord Evans was fending them off with a display of possessiveness which implied a prior understanding between them. It was Lord Evans’s behaviour that bothered her the most. She might have decided upon him as a potential husband but he didn’t know that and presumed too much.