as happy to see you as we are.’ Then she swept the room with a steely glare that was in opposition to her honeyed tone, as if daring anyone to go counter to the wishes of the hostess.
With a rustle of satin and a few nervously cleared throats, the other guests offered forced smiles of welcome, turning away as soon as they could find an excuse to return to what they had been doing before the Prescotts arrived.
Before they had a chance to be bothered by it, the Countess had them across the room and standing in front of the Earl of Comstock, who complained about the miserable English weather and assured them that everything would be done to make up for the discomfort it had caused. Though he’d held his title for over a year, his temperament and accent were still somewhat colonial. But at least there was no trace of the reserve Abby sometimes felt when people were confronted with her mother’s unguarded emotions and unpolished manners. It did not seem to bother him in the least that she had not been born to associate with someone of his rank.
Unfortunately, the latitude of their host encouraged her mother to speak her mind in the worst way possible. ‘You are too kind, my lord,’ she said with a giggle. ‘But if you are sincere in saying you will do anything to make us comfortable, there is one small thing...’
‘Anything within reason, Mrs Prescott,’ the Earl said, with a playful glint in his eye.
‘Might you arrange to introduce my daughter to any single gentlemen who are here? She is still husband-hunting, you know, and I shall not truly be at ease until I see her well married.’
Would that the rain had drowned them before they’d made it up the drive. This was a level of embarrassment that Abigail had never imagined as they had forced their way into this house. Only an hour or two ago, her mother had been threatening to hide in her room and insisting that Abby not shame herself by flirting. But now she was all but auctioning her off to the first man who would take her and expecting a peer to be a panderer.
‘She is already acquainted with one of your friends, Comstock. But I doubt I will be of any help.’
On second thought, she did not wish for a watery death outside. She wanted the floor to open beneath her right now and swallow her without a trace. She did not even have to turn around to know that the Duke of Danforth had heard what her mother had said and inserted himself into the conversation.
This was not what she’d expected at all. As she’d dressed for dinner, she had been steeling herself for a cut, direct or indirect. When they finally met, she was sure he would ignore her for as long as he could. If forced to face her, he would look through her, then turn away.
It would be embarrassing, but survivable. She would pretend that she had not noticed. She would speak to everyone else in the room, laugh and talk, and act just as she would if he had not been present. After a few hours of misery, she would be able to go back to her room and gather the strength to do the same thing tomorrow.
Instead, the Duke was standing right behind her and making a direct reference to the embarrassment she had caused him. Though every nerve in her body demanded that she run, she turned slowly to face him.
He was wearing the same distant expression he had worn on the first night she’d seen him. It was not quite a smile, but neither had it been a frown. Though he ate and danced and chatted with the other people in the room, he had seemed to exist apart from them, as if listening to a voice that no one else could hear. In Almack’s she had thought it sad and felt a sudden, deep sympathy with him, wondering what might be required to ease his burden.
It was only later, as the wedding had approached, that she had suspected the truth. Ordinary people bored him. He wore an entirely different expression for those closest to him and she was not included in that number.
Now he seemed to be mocking her. Let him do it. If she was to be extricated from the mess her mother had just made, she could see no other way forward than to throw herself on the Duke’s mercy and hope for the best. So, after giving a nervous smile of recognition, she eased herself free of the Countess’s grasp and dropped in a respectful curtsy. ‘Your Grace.’ As she dipped, she kept her eyes trained on the floor, staring at the toes of his well-polished boots and praying that he would give her some hint as to what she should do when she rose again.
He must have been wondering the same thing, for she could swear she felt the weight of his gaze, like the brush of cat’s tail against her bare skin.
Or perhaps that feeling of heaviness was the attention of the other guests. The silence in the room had returned, as even the Countess waited with bated breath to see how he would respond to her greeting.
And then, the mood was broken by the deep, feminine laugh of someone who was unaware of the excitement occurring on the other side of the room. Abby raised her eyes and watched all heads swivel to find the source.
She did not have to follow them for she was sure who she would see. As she’d feared, if Danforth was here then Lady Beverly would not be far away. And as she had from the first moment she had learned of the woman, she wondered why the Duke had even bothered to propose to her when he already had such a woman at his beck and call.
Lenore, or Lady Beverly, was several years older than the Duke, though her looks gave no indication of the fact. Her hair was gold to complement the copper of his, her eyes a clear ice blue. But there was nothing cool about the smile on her full, pink lips, nor the womanly curves of her body. Though Abby had been more than a little pleased with her own appearance when gazing into the bedroom mirror, the feeling was forgotten when she looked at Lady Beverly. She was nothing compared to such a woman.
Even worse, the relationship between this goddess and Danforth was the worst-kept secret in England. All of London declared the two perfectly suited and wondered why they hadn’t married years ago. The most popular theory held that the Marchioness was barren. Lady Beverly had been married for almost a decade and was now a childless widow. No matter how charming and attractive, a woman who could not conceive would be completely unsuitable for a peer in need of an heir.
But the absence of children made her even more qualified for other, less proper activities. Several of the men in the room were looking at her with more than cursory interest, as if hoping that it might be possible to sway her affections, should the Duke displease her. But a change of loyalty did not seem imminent. As she turned to Danforth, she sparkled like a diamond, overjoyed that he was in the same room.
Then she was moving towards them, still smiling as if equally pleased to see the Prescotts. Abby barely had time to rise from the curtsy before she was enveloped in a cloud of scent and an almost tangible aura of bonhomie.
‘Danforth.’ The name reached them in a husky whisper as she grew close. ‘Is this she?’ Her expression was somewhere between curiosity and avarice, making Abby feel more like an object than a person. ‘She is as lovely as you said.’
It would not have been possible for Lady Beverly to remain ignorant of the engagement, which had been announced in The Times. But the thought that she had been a topic of conversation between the lovers made Abby’s stomach knot in horror. If they had expected her to ignore their extremely public relationship, the least she had been owed from Lady Beverly was a similar feigned ignorance should they ever meet.
Then, insult was added to injury as the woman said, ‘Benedict, you must introduce us.’ She expected the look on Lady Beverly’s face to betray the irony of her request. But there was no trace of mockery in her smile. Its delight seemed genuine, as if she truly had been waiting an age for this meeting.
Even worse, Danforth did not seem the least bit surprised by it. Only a few moments ago, he
