Lady Saves the Duke Page 16

  What?

  “Not one of those two-wheeled machines! Oh, Penelope, you’ll kill yourself!”

  “Of course I will,” she said mischievously. “Can you imagine the wonder of it? Moving along at such a quick rate without a horse pulling me. The device will be completely under my own control. I have been reading articles about it and can hardly wait to learn how to balance and steer the contraption. Just you wait, you’ll be wanting one too after you’ve seen me.”

  Abigail shook her head and laughed. She could only imagine the gossip if she ever took to the streets of London on one of those two-wheeled contraptions. She would most likely crash right into a building with it—or a carriage—or the river! But Penelope would manage just fine. She always did. If only Abigail could be as certain of her own success at this duchess thing.

  “Well, Penny, do be careful. Don’t break any limbs before my wedding.” As the words left her mouth, she shivered to think that she’d be married in less than two weeks. And before the wedding came her reentry into society. Up until now, Margaret and Aunt Cecily had kept her hidden away at Cross Hall. They were determined to use as much time preparing her as possible. She’d be introduced at her prewedding ball.

  And with the summer’s end, much of society was returning to London for the Little Season. The ball planned for the eve of her wedding promised to be a squeeze. Of course, anybody who was going to be in town wouldn’t dare miss the remarriage of the Duke of Ice! And to a scandalous spinster, no less!

  “I’ll see you soon enough. It’s not as though I’m returning to the country.” Penelope smiled encouragingly as a knock sounded at the door. When beckoned to enter, a footman informed the women that the baron and baroness awaited them in the yellow salon. Abigail’s heart dropped. She already missed Penelope’s presence.

  Abigail stepped into the salon and was nearly bowled over when her Aunt Edith rushed forward. The same aunt who’d only weeks ago declared her utterly ruined and forbidden her from even corresponding with Penelope. Abigail endured the awkward embrace with a forced smile.

  “My dearest niece! You are looking wonderful indeed! Town life suits you!”

  Her uncle, only slightly less enthusiastic, glanced around and behind her, as though waiting for somebody else to enter. “His Grace is not at home? I was quite looking forward to meeting with him this evening as well.”

  Penelope kissed the baron on his cheek. “Hello, Father. I assume you had an uneventful journey?” Noticing the attire both her parents wore, travel clothes—a bit wrinkled—she raised both of her brows. “You have come directly to Cross House?”

  Aunt Edith waved her hand dismissively, “Oh, pish, Penelope! But of course, we were quite anxious to see our daughter and niece! Your father finished his business at home, and we set to the road as soon as we could.” Turning to Abigail, she continued effusively, “I am so very sorry, my dear, that I could not travel with you and Penny last week! It was just that there has been so much to do to prepare for the wedding.”

  Abigail furrowed her brows. What had her aunt and uncle found necessary to do for her wedding?

  At the confused look on her face, Aunt Edith laughed and continued. “Oh, darling, there have been so many letters to write! All of our family must be invited to witness your nuptials! A duke? A duke! Splendid, my dear! However did you manage such a coup?”

  At these unfortunate words, an awkward silence fell in the room. Abigail glanced in the direction of Penelope’s horrified gaze.

  Monfort himself stood, quite unmoving, stoically observing her aunt. Abigail’s breath caught at the coldness in his eyes.

  As immaculately turned out as ever, Monfort appeared arrogant and unapproachable. He wore a maroon jacket over a waistcoat finely trimmed out in gold embroidery. His breeches had obviously been tailored to fit him perfectly, and the gold buckles on his shoes gleamed nearly to a sparkle. He wore no pomade in his hair but had tied it back, emphasizing his hawkish appearance.

  And his eyes flashed the color of ice.

  Abigail’s uncle stepped forward first and made an awkward bow. “Your Grace, it is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

  Monfort merely inclined his head. Aunt Edith made several rapid curtseys before placing one arm around Abigail and squeezing her in an unfamiliar affectionate manner. “We stopped over at Raebourne before setting for London. Abigail’s parents shall be embarking on their own journey here within the next few days as well.”

  “I am aware of this, as it will be one of my carriages in which they shall travel.” The duke’s words were clipped. He was not angry; that would imply some sort of passion. Abigail suppressed the urge to shiver at his tone.

  Her aunt effused obliviously. “We are in agreement that upon the arrival of my dear brother and his wife, little Abigail must remove herself to Oak Manor. But it is like a second home to her! And then, after the wedding, like a baby bird in flight, we shall release her into your esteemed protection once again, Your Grace. For it is only proper that a lady be with her family before her wedding.”

  The duke turned his eyes toward Abigail, his jaw tight. “If that is your wish, my dear?”

  My dear? My dear? He’d never addressed her with any sort of endearment before.

  Abigail struggled to locate her voice. “I…er…yes, I suppose that would be best.” And then she could not help but to smile at her betrothed. My dear, indeed! “Aunt and uncle’s house, here in town, is not far. It won’t be troublesome to visit during the daytime to continue all of my lessons. Do you think that Margaret…er…Lady Clive will have any objections to this?”

  Aunt Edith looked confused and looked to the duke for an explanation.

  But the duke did not explain anything to anybody. “She will not,” was all he said. Then making a slight bow in Abigail’s direction, he turned on his heels and left the room. Ah, yes, here was the true Duke of Ice. He could be quite adept at freezing people out when he so chose. He could also be warm…

  But had her aunt really deserved it? What had the duke overheard her saying? Something to the effect of Abigail having made an advantageous match? Yes. Well. She had at that. Although not due to any effort on her own part to do any such thing.

  “I will have a special guest room made up for you at Oak Manor.”

  Remembering the small attic room her aunt had provided to her for her come-out, Abigail could not help but grimace at Penelope.

  Her aunt continued, oblivious to the secret exchange between the two girls. “Countless relatives shall be arriving in London over the next few days. For the wedding, of course! All in your honor! Dozens of Hector’s relations shall be descending upon town, as will all of my own sisters and brothers and cousins and their parents. This is so exciting, Abigail.”

  Abigail turned her attention toward her aunt once again. The words my dear echoing in her brain.

  “Mother.” Penelope interrupted her mother’s recitation of relatives of whom Abigail had never heard. “The carriage is waiting for us. My bags have been loaded, and I’d like to settle in at Oak Manor sometime today.” Rolling her eyes heavenward she added, “As must Papa.”

  Uncle Hector was in fact fidgeting to leave. Apparently, he wasn’t keen on staying around with only women for company.

  Abigail embraced Penelope one last time and suffered through another from her aunt, before bidding them goodbye, with promises to call upon them tomorrow—if she could find time, that was. The only problem with having a cousin such as Penelope was that in order to see her, she had to endure her parents.

  And then as her own parents came to mind, she decided Penelope must think likewise.

  Her own parents.

  They would be arriving in London shortly as well.

  Would they be an even greater embarrassment? Her mother often spoke loudly and without much thought to what would be flying out of her mouth. And her father…well, he was fine as long as he did not dip too deeply into any available spirits.

  Abi
gail worried her bottom lip with her teeth and climbed her way back upstairs. She had just a quarter of an hour before deportment lessons commenced, and she did not wish to waste it with worry. What good would worrying about her parents do anyhow? She could no more control their actions than she could hold back the tide.

  ****

  Alex disliked the Rivertons, specifically the baron.

  The last time that man had deigned to speak with him, he’d all but called his niece a whore. And yet, after the wedding, he’d be a relation.

  And then there were Abigail’s own parents to consider. He’d not met her mother, but he’d not been overly impressed by the man who deigned to call himself her father either.

  Most of all, he was unimpressed with the manner in which they’d handled the attack on Abigail when she’d been just a girl. Either Abigail’s father or her uncle ought to have called the cad out. It wouldn’t have taken much to put a period to his existence, or to merely force him to leave the country. Why had nobody done this for Abigail?

  Monfort had been developing a theory as to who the perpetrator was. His suspicions had begun to develop when he recalled the horror on Abigail’s face in Ravensdale’s drawing room nearly two months ago.

  At the sight of the three bounders, Alex remembered, Abigail had gone white. Would any of them have been present during the season in which Abigail had been ruined? Ruined, hell, she’d been raped!

  Damien Farley had never been known as an honorable gentleman.

  Alex was grateful, in an odd turn of thought, however, that nobody had forced the bounder to marry her. The criminal—the bastard—the sorry excuse of a man would have made her life miserable.

  But.

  But she would have been able to keep her child.

  Alex experienced that far too familiar stab at the memory of losing his own children. What had it been like for Abigail? And then his own words came back to haunt him as well. You do not wish to have any little boys to chase after? No little girls’ hair to braid?

  He’d been goading her. Taunting her for her inability to obtain herself a husband.

  And she’d already lost a child. He wondered if it had been a boy or a girl.

  ****

  Although Monfort had promised a surprise the next morning and Abigail generally didn’t appreciate surprises, she was not nervous.

  She trusted Monfort.

  He would not do anything that would hurt her. She didn’t understand why she believed this, but she did, nonetheless. She found him thoroughly dependable.

  Yes, he could be cold and arrogant and dismissive; he was a duke, after all. But when her dress had ripped and she’d been alone with him on that damn boat…he’d been kind.

  And he’d told nobody about it.

  Taking a bite of toast as she awaited him early, she surmised how that fact alone caused her to trust Monfort a great deal. He’d never mentioned it again.

  Even when he’d touched her on that morning. She nearly shivered at the memory of his hand caressing her leg. She couldn’t forget it. He’d taken liberties, but he’d left her in control.

  She swallowed hard, flustered even contemplating the memory.

  It was as though, by his touch alone, he could relax all of her muscles and turn her bones to liquid. And as odd as the situation had been, she’d wanted him to continue touching her. To move his hand just a few more inches and—

  “Good morning, Abigail.” His voice pulled her into the present as he entered the room and took his seat. He wore no cravat this morning, and his coat appeared softened and worn—like an old favorite. Watching those capable, long-fingered hands take hold of the coffee pot, Abigail squirmed. Only moments before she’d been remembering the sensations those hands had created in her most personal…Those hands had touched her intimately.

  “Good morning,” she returned, attempting to focus on the day’s planned excursion. “Are you going to tell me where we are going yet?”

  “I am not.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and just when she thought he was going to rebuke her for asking, she realized he was teasing her! This was the duke being playful! One side of his mouth pulled up slightly. The footman placed a dish before him, and he dug into it heartily.

  Abigail’s heart lightened to watch him do such an ordinary thing as eat. He was a duke, but he was also a person. In the time Abigail barely dented the morsels of egg, bacon, and fruit on her plate, the duke had eaten most everything set before him. Rather than stand or leave, he placed his cup solemnly upon the table and absentmindedly smoothed down the linen.

  He dismissed the servants who’d been attending them and then met her eyes.

  “Abigail.” He lacked his normal resolve as he searched for his next words. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in any way. In fact, I’m sure you would prefer never to have this conversation. But as your fiancée there is something I must do.” He watched her carefully, as though waiting for her to make an objection. But she could not speak. Her heart lodged in her throat. What was he leading up to? Did he wish to cry off? Roaring filled her ears, but she forced herself to listen.

  At her silence, he continued. “It is my duty to mete out justice upon your attacker. I will only say a name, and all you need do is say either yes or no. I must be certain, you see, before taking any action.”

  Oh no! No, no, no. She did not want him to do anything! It would bring it all up again. She pushed her plate away from her and went to stand up, but the heavy chair behind her would not move. Seeing her difficulty, Monfort himself rose and pulled it out for her. Not wishing to have to look at him, Abigail paced over to the window. He would think her a coward again, for not allowing him to defend her honor. He would accuse her of putting her head in the sand. But it was for the best. Surely he must understand this? She gazed unseeing at the spectacular greenery of the nearby park. The sun had not quite risen yet, but an orange glow lit the sky.

  She could not allow him to pursue this course of action. “Please, Alex, Monfort, Your Grace. Do not. I beg of you. It will only make matters worse.” She was shaking her head. “Can we not simply allow the matter to rest?”

  He watched her closely but only considered her request for a moment. “I cannot. I will not, Abigail. Something ought to have been done years ago, and I cannot allow such a deplorable situation to remain unresolved.” He pressed his lips together into a straight line. “It will not be done in a way that will expose you to ridicule. When I demand satisfaction from him, it will not be done publicly. You have my word. This situation will be righted, Abigail. As it ought to have been long ago.”

  Abigail covered her face with her hands. She did not want to think about this. She did not want to speak of it to anybody, let alone Monfort.

  “Was it one of the men at Raven’s Park?” His voice sounded gentle, and yet it also carried an edge of steel.

  She dropped her hands. “How?” How did he know? Were people still speaking of it?

  Monfort returned to his seat. “At Raven’s Park. You looked as if you’d seen a ghost when Danbury and the others entered the room. I know that at least one of them has been a pestilence upon society for years.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as though they were discussing the weather.

  Feeling quite foolish, Abigail returned to her own seat and drew her plate forward in attempt to appear unaffected. Her hands shook, though, as she spread jam on her toast, which surely must be cold by now. She did not want to reawaken all of this. She wished to look to the future. Leave the past in the past. “Please, let it be.”

  Monfort’s eyes bore into her as though he could read her thoughts. And then, apparently willing to table it for now, he reached for his coffee and took a slow sip. Abigail hoped it was the end of the matter, but his easy capitulation gave her reason to suspect otherwise.

  They sat silent for several moments after that, Monfort perusing the newspaper that had been placed beside him, and Abigail lost in thought. Abigail was surprised at how contented she felt in his presence, eve
n after such an uncomfortable discourse.

  Desperate to change the topic of conversation, Abigail happily recalled a question she’d been wanting to ask him. “Have you made any plans for what we shall do following our wedding ceremony? I was not certain if you would wish to remain in London or return right away to Brooke’s Abbey.”

  Glancing up from his newspaper, Monfort grimaced. “I would rather not stay in town for the season. Were you wanting to participate in the Little Season?”

  “Oh, heavens, no!” Abigail nearly flinched at the thought. “I am most at home in the country. At Raebourne, I had a garden to tend. It is too late to plant anything this year, of course, but I was hoping you would allot me a small plot that I could begin preparing for the winter months. I also would like to meet some of your tenants, other landowners, and villagers who abide nearby. That is, if you do not have any objections?”

  He merely waved a hand in the air. “You will be free to do all of that at your leisure. I was rather thinking of a wedding trip. I have an estate—actually it’s a castle—near the sea, just west of Cornwall, which I haven’t checked in on yet this year. If you are amenable, we could spend a few weeks there and return to Brooke’s Abbey before the cold sets in for the winter.”

  Cornwall? Abigail’s heart dropped. It would be fine. No one would remember her from before. It had been ages, and she had been kept quite—quite—isolated. She forced her lips to smile before he suspected her misgivings. A wedding trip would be good for them. It might allow them to come to know each other better as husband and wife. She did not want him to change his plans. “That sounds delightful.” She did enjoy the sea. It would be nice to be away from London again. The city was not one of her favorite places.

  “Very well, then. We will travel south the day after our nuptials.”

  At which point, she would be his wife in truth.

  She nodded in response, and Monfort returned his attention to the newspaper in front of him. Abigail picked up her knife and toyed with her food for a few minutes before giving up on it completely. She was intrigued by his consideration of her wishes and yet his utter confidence that she would fall in line with his plans.