Lady Saves the Duke Page 12

  Abigail didn’t know if she should laugh or cry at such an outlandish scenario. “Nothing romantic about it at all,” she said, remembering the duke’s visit. “He is a good man, though.” How much ought she to tell Penelope? “He only acted out of guilt. The room you and I were given was so warm that first night at Raven’s Park, I stupidly ventured outside to cool off. In hindsight, I realize how utterly foolish that was. I met up with the duke in the library and he…well, he and I were seen together.” As Abigail spoke, she again considered some of the details of that night. She remembered that the duke had kissed her. It had even been slightly pleasant for the first few moments, but she had become frightened. What had frightened her? She didn’t remember. But she’d fainted.

  Had the duke done more than just kiss her? He had carried her back to the library and when she revived he had been leaning over her closely.

  He had said he was checking to be certain she was breathing. Why had he attempted to kiss her?

  He must have been foxed! That was why. And he must have known of her reputation from long ago. He must have assumed she would welcome his advances. When she had been frightened, he experienced regret.

  Had his proposal been made out of honor or had he asked out of guilt? For a duke most certainly would not have been expected to marry somebody as low socially as she. Even had he gotten her with child, that would not have been the case.

  Surely a combination of guilt and honor had provoked his proposal.

  Wonderful.

  ****

  After staying overnight at an inn, in what was most likely the best suite available, the duke’s driver made quick time the next day and they arrived on the outskirts of London only a few hours after setting out. London in the late summer was not quite the same as it was during the spring, when Abigail had last been there. Today, hot, humid air hung about the city with a heavy stench. No wonder the upper crust abandoned the city during the warmer months. Penelope assured her it would get better once they got closer to Mayfair, but watching out the window, Abigail knew more than a few misgivings about her decision to leave Biddeford Corners. She had forgotten how crowded the city was. She wasn’t sure she would have had the courage to go through with everything if Penelope had not come along with her. While covering mile after mile, Abigail eventually had told Penelope most of what transpired between her and the duke at the house party. She did not tell her about the incident on the boat.

  Penelope, in turn, told her everything she knew about the Monfort family and Brooke’s Abbey. Apparently the duke had one younger sister, Lady Clive now, wife of the Earl of Clive. Her name was Margaret Knightly, and she had two-year-old twin boys. Twins!

  The duke had one remaining aunt on his mother’s side and several distant cousins on his father’s side. Penelope said she had met some of them, and although they were all quite high in the instep, they seemed to be pleasant enough. Abigail wondered how many of them would be invited to the wedding. On her own side, her parents had sent a list to the duke’s man of business that consisted of every relative Abigail had ever heard of, and some whom she hadn’t known existed. It was all rather daunting.

  She inhaled deeply as they turned down a street that bordered Hyde Park. The air was fresher and slightly cooler. Here, the sights were becoming somewhat familiar. When she’d had her come-out, she and her mother had stayed at her aunt and uncle’s townhouse, which was on Curzon Street. She’d taken numerous walks around Hyde Park before that horrible last night and enjoyed those excursions thoroughly. She loved the statues, the ornate bridges, and the pretty walkways that were kept so neatly trimmed. She was surprised to realize she had a few good memories from before, after all.

  With a slight lurch, the carriage drew to a halt in front of one of the larger mansions set neatly across the street from the park. The coach bounced a little as the driver and outriders jumped off. Before she knew it, several servants descended upon the coach, opening doors and pulling down the steps. Others unstrapped and removed trunks from the baggage carriage behind them. Her opportunity to turn around and run home was over!

  Penelope climbed out first. Abigail nervously collected her reticule, straightened her bonnet, and took a deep breath just as a gloved hand reached in for her.

  It belonged to the duke.

  Chapter 8

  Alex hadn’t consciously decided to be at home when his betrothed arrived, but as luck would have it, one of his finer traveling coaches was just arriving as he strolled along the sidewalk, returning from one of his clubs that morning. When Penelope Crone stepped down from the carriage, he was taken back for a moment to the day, just over one month ago, when the two women arrived at Raven’s Park.

  Knowing his duty, without thought, he stepped forward and leaned into the carriage to assist his betrothed. Concerned brown eyes flew open wide when she realized who was to help her alight. He was surprised to feel anything other than annoyance as he grasped her hand and assisted her onto the pavement.

  Miss Wright appeared fragile and delicate, and he could not remember having this opinion of her at any of their prior meetings. Perhaps she had not been eating. Perhaps the elegance of these surroundings diminished her. She’d spent almost all of her adult life in the country amongst cottages and simple structures.

  London was a towering collection of mansions, buildings, and general greatness. His own dwelling certainly no exception.

  Sensing her feelings of inadequacy, rather than release her hand, he placed it along his arm. “Welcome to Cross Hall, Miss Wright, Miss Crone. I trust your journey has not been taxing?” Beside him, a tremble rolled through her.

  But no one else would have known it, for she turned toward him with a cheerful smile and sparkling eyes. “The carriage is a dream,” she said. “I did not think it possible to travel in such luxury.” She dropped her eyes shyly before looking back to her cousin. “Would you not agree, Penelope?”

  Miss Crone smiled pleasantly but with less cheer. “It was quite comfortable, Your Grace,” she said and then curtsied slightly in his direction. She was suspicious of him; he could tell at a glance. It was about time Miss Wright had an ally. Other than himself, that is.

  This thought brought him up short for a moment. When had he become her protector? He supposed the die had been cast when he’d attempted to kiss her. He supposed the exact moment didn’t really matter. She would be his responsibility from now on.

  And then he escorted them both inside where his sister awaited them in the front salon. He presented the ladies to one another and then sat down while Margaret rang for tea. Margaret and Miss Crone had a prior acquaintance and exchanged pleasantries for a few moments. Both of the new arrivals sat together on a brocaded velvet couch while he and Margaret sat across from them in elegant, wing backed chairs. He could tell that his sister was reserving judgment on his fiancée.

  Shifting slightly, she eventually directed her full attention to Miss Wright. “You hail from a village near Bath?” she asked, directing the conversation smoothly.

  Alex crossed one leg over the other and relaxed into his chair.

  “A small village called Biddeford Corners,” his betrothed answered a bit breathlessly. “It has been ages since I was in London.” She then bit her bottom lip as though she had said something that she ought not to have. Her eyes appeared large in her face. The lashes surrounding them curled back in thick, long waves.

  Margaret was not deterred from her inquiry. “That was just after the wars, was it not, Miss Wright?” she asked, all smiles. “I remember you from then. You departed before the season ended.”

  His betrothed shot him an apprehensive glance and then tilted her chin up. “I did,” she said, and then added, “You see, when a debutante is as thoroughly ruined as I was, it is quite impossible to remain.”

  Alex drew in his breath and did not release it immediately. He was curious to know of this great scandal of hers. It would change nothing, but it might shed more light upon her character. Ought it to be disc
ussed with her in private though?

  Margaret spoke with no sympathy. “But you find yourself in a new scandal, and alas, you are returning to London. You are prepared to take on the ton as a duchess, then?”

  Alex leaned forward. “Margaret,” he cautioned his sister.

  Margaret turned toward him at that point. “Well, let’s get everything out in the open so we know exactly what we are dealing with. We can be better prepared for problems if we know they might arise.”

  “My betrothed and her cousin must be tired from the journey. If anyone demands an accounting, it will be myself.” He spoke in his ducal tone, the one that even Margaret could not ignore.

  “It’s all right,” a small voice interjected. “I appreciate, Your Grace, that your sister is concerned. I agree with her, in fact.” And then she turned her gaze on him alone. “When we discussed undertaking this…er…plan of action, so to speak, you told me I would find relief from scandal, as a duchess. I think it is not as simple as that. I realize we are just entering the Little Season, but there will be some people here, I’m afraid, who might remember me from before. I do not wish for you to be surprised by anything that you hear.”

  At this point, her cousin reached over and covered one of her hands supportively. This motion reminded him of that evening in Ravensdale’s drawing room, when Farley and his gang had barged in.

  His betrothed sent Miss Crone a weak smile. “Both the story and the truth are unpleasant, to say the least. But I feel I owe both of you the truth of what transpired nine years ago.”

  Margaret sat straight and unmoving. Obviously, she had not expected such candidness despite her own willingness to speak frankly. Alex was curious but also concerned. “It is not necessary if you do not wish to speak of it today.”

  But Miss Wright was shaking her head. “Best to get it over with. And then if you wish to change your mind, we can come up with another plan.” She lifted her chin, apparently determined to get this over with.

  “Very well,” Alex allowed.

  Miss Abigail Wright then took a deep breath and began speaking. “I didn’t take to the ton as much as my mother had hoped, but there were some gentlemen interested in me. I was so very naïve, though, as was my mother. For, in truth, they were not interested in me as a prospective bride, rather in other ways.”

  She blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “I believed the compliments they paid me. I trusted that their intentions were those of true gentleman and allowed one of them to steer me away from the safety of the ballroom. He’d said a kitten was caught in a rosebush and asked me to assist him in freeing it. I allowed him to walk me far away from the hearing of any other guests or servants, for that matter.”

  “Oh, Miss Wright…” Margaret nearly groaned. “Of course there was no kitten…”

  Looking beyond all of them, toward the windows and blinking a few times, Miss Wright shook her head mournfully. She then pinched her lips before continuing.

  “Afterward, he spread his version of what transpired to other ‘gentlemen’ friends. It is amazing, truly phenomenal, how quickly and viciously scandals spread. Within two days, I was back in Biddeford Corners, having not only disgraced myself but my parents as well. And shortly after that, I was sent down to Cornwall until I could once again appear in my village.”

  Alex watched her closely. Her recitation failed to fill in a few salient details. He believed he’d require some further explanation eventually.

  But was it fair for him to question her now? She had stopped speaking and had looked down at her hands now, still clasped tightly in Miss Crone’s.

  “You were sent down to Cornwall, Miss Wright?” Margaret had no qualms. “For how long, and why?”

  “I was in Cornwall until after Christmas.”

  Which, if one did the math, allowed for a lady to complete a confinement and deliver a child.

  Rage swept through Alex. Not directed at her, but toward the people who ought to have protected her from her foolish decision. He was incensed that neither her uncle nor her father ever brought the bounder to heel. Good God! What had they all been thinking? Unable to sit still, he abruptly stood up.

  Walking over to the settee, he held out a hand to Miss Wright. “May I escort you to your chamber?” He didn’t want Margaret or anybody else for that matter delving into his betrothed’s history any more today. Heaven forbid, but he continued to have this unfamiliar urge to protect her.

  Unspeaking, he and Miss Wright climbed the ornate curved staircase, her tiny hand tucked through his elbow. When had he stopped seeing her as a frumpy spinster? Her dress was atrocious and her brown hair pulled back tightly with no semblance of style whatsoever. She did not seem as plump as she had been earlier that month, but she had definitely not lost her lush curves.

  She was the antithesis of any woman he had ever bothered to know.

  The mental image of some entitled scoundrel taking advantage of the small lady beside him curdled his insides. She would have practically been a child then, susceptible to seduction and flowery words. And then to have found herself with child!

  Questions he would not ask suddenly swirled around in his mind.

  Had she delivered the child safely? Where was the child now? Had she been in love with the father? Who was the father? Had she been pining for him all these years? Did any of this change the matter of their betrothal? The last question was the only one pertinent to him. Did it change anything where he was concerned? He was a duke. Her former scandal was by far more ruinous than the present one. Both his aunt and Margaret, he was sure, would once again attempt to dissuade him from this unlikely alliance.

  They had arrived at the bedchamber he’d ordered prepared for her, and Alex reached forward to open the door.

  “I will cry off, if you wish it, Your Grace.” Miss Wright did not meet his gaze, staring at her fidgeting hands instead. “I ought to have told you all of this before. I am sorry for putting you to so much trouble on my part.”

  Without opening the door, Alex wondered why he did not jump at her offer. Instead he studied her intently.

  Fragile and sensitive, her skin beckoned his fingers to trace the curve of her cheek. His gaze dripped to her lips, soft and giving.

  Had he kissed her at Raven’s Park? Suddenly he could not remember if he had actually even kissed her. The motion of her pulse, fluttering just above her collarbone reminded him. Ah, yes, he had kissed her there. He had traced his lips along that delicate slope between her shoulder and her neck. And, yes, he had kissed her lips. But it had only been for a moment. He stepped away from her and brought his wayward thoughts under rein.

  “Do you wish to cry off?” he surprised himself by asking.

  She licked her lips and steadily returned his gaze. “Only if you wish for me to.”

  At times, she seemed to be a cowering miss but then there were other moments, like now, when she exhibited more than a little spirit. “Miss Wright, my objectives have not altered.” But ought they to have? Would her past tarnish the reputation of any children they had together? If Alex were a conservative man, perhaps he should take this opportunity and be grateful to the chit. “I will not allow my life to be ordered by gossip or scandal.” At that moment, his intentions were to make his bow and leave her, but she reached out a hand and touched his sleeve.

  “But is that not what you are doing? Did you not propose marriage to me so that scandal could be averted?” She spoke tentatively but with a curious look in her eyes.

  “Miss Wright,” Alex responded, irritated that she was questioning his motives. He would rather not explain himself to her. He was unused to explaining himself to anybody—ever. “I proposed to you because I committed an egregious error in judgment where you are concerned. And my actions were dishonorable. My own sense of honor demands expiation. Marriage is the most effective way to do so.”

  “Expiation?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

  Alex looked away from her and noticed that the car
pet in the hallway was looking a bit dull in color. It had not been changed for years. Hyacinth had never shown any interest in managing the décor at any of their estates. Perhaps Miss Wright would have an inclination. “Yes, Miss Wright. Now if that is all, I have some work I must—”

  “I have a few other issues I would like to get ironed out.” She spoke firmly and then bit her lip again.

  Alex glanced up and down the hallway. “Surely, this is not the proper place? Come to my study after you have unpacked and rested. We can discuss whatever you would like at that time.” Was she already going to be requesting funds from him? He imagined so. He had not thought she would be so quick to do so.

  “It is about our marriage. I know how I shall benefit from it, but how will it benefit you?”

  Ah, well.

  Moving toward the door, he then pushed it all the way open this time. He walked inside and gestured for her to follow him. Miss Wright did so unquestioningly. A single lady should never allow a gentleman to enter her bedchamber unchaperoned. He would have to tell Margaret that his betrothed needed guidance on such matters. For now, though, her acquiescence was convenient.

  Once she entered, Alex closed the door behind him and leaned against it. Best to be crystal clear. He had expectations. Yes, he did.

  “How shall I benefit? I shall not be forced to search for a wife on the marriage mart. I shall not be forced at a later date to impose my old man’s body on an innocent debutante.” Ah, yes, he remembered those words of hers. “I plan to benefit the same as any man who marries. I wish to beget an heir, perhaps more children after. I will perform my ducal duty and shall expect my wife to do so as well. I expect my wife to take her place as duchess and hostess whenever necessary. Although I spend as little time as possible in town, I shall expect my duchess to take her place by my side at the occasional social function. I shall expect her to act with dignity and poise. While in the country, I shall expect her to visit the local gentry and to participate somewhat in the community. And”—he narrowed his eyes at her—“I shall exercise my conjugal rights. I shall expect absolute fidelity. This will not be a white marriage. Are you still inclined to go forward?” A part of him hoped he had frightened her. Another part was merely stating some of what he ought to have been clear about when he’d married the first time. Somehow, he did not believe that Miss Abigail Wright would dissemble with any promises she made regarding her marriage.