“So you were the one who put her into a tizzy and sent her off in a rush.” The maid moved to close the door again. Reginald wedged his entire leg in the doorway. “Step off,” she demanded, her face settling in a scowl. “Anyone who could upset Miss Abigail as much as you is not welcome here and besides, I told you she—”
“Went out of town,” Reginald interrupted. “Yes, I heard you the first time.” He was ill accustomed to being treated with such disrespect by a servant, but he expected no less from one of Abby’s employees.
When they’d been young she had been the one who insisted he learn not only the names of every staff member in his household, but their likes and dislikes as well. ‘Treat them as you would like to be treated’ she used to be fond of saying, ‘and they will do the same not because they have to, but because they want to’. He was glad to see her opinions had not changed with time, even if it meant dealing with an impertinent maid.
“Do you know where she went?” he asked with forced patience.
“To the country. Sussex, I believe. Or was it Hampshire? I am afraid I do not recall.”
“Perhaps this will help your memory.” Fishing through the pocket of his trousers, he pulled out three sovereigns and held back a smile when the maid’s eyes doubled in size.
“Now that I think of it,” she said hastily, “I believe she went to Sussex to visit a friend of her niece’s. Lady Charlotte Graystone, I believe it was.”
Reginald extended his arm and dropped the gold coins into the maid’s outstretched arm. She tucked them, quick as a wink, inside her white apron. “Do you know where in Sussex?” The name Graystone sounded familiar, but he could not immediately place it. He knew Abigail had a niece, a girl by the name of Dianna, if memory served, but he could not recall much more than that.
“Miss Abigail sent word yesterday for additional trunks to be delivered to an estate outside of Brighton. That is all I know. It is,” the maid insisted when Reginald raised one eyebrow. “What is all this to you, anyways?”
“I am in love with her,” he said simply.
The maid frowned. “Since when?”
“Always.”
“What do you mean, you are having a ball?” Clutching the invitation in one hand and the edge of the curved banister in the other, Abigail froze halfway down the stairs to glare accusingly at her niece’s best friend. “You never said anything about a ball when we arrived.”
Charlotte merely smiled. “It was an impromptu decision,” she said. “To celebrate Gavin’s birthday.”
“Gavin is not here.”
“A fact he will thank me for when he returns. He loathes balls, you know.”
“I loathe balls.”
“Do you?” Charlotte blinked. “I had no idea.”
The girls, Abigail decided immediately, were up to something. Trotting down the rest of the stairs with the invitation held high above her head she sailed past Charlotte and out the front door. The late morning sun greeted her and she raised her arm against it, looking this way and that before she spied Dianna lounging in the shade of a beech tree. Picking up her skirts to protect the hem from the dew still clinging to the grass she marched across the lawn with all the precision of a military officer.
“Good morning, Aunt Abigail,” Dianna said pleasantly, although there was no mistaking the mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes nor the slight hitch in the corner of her mouth she couldn’t quite disguise. “How are you today?”
“I found this” – she thrust the invitation at Dianna – “while I was looking for paper to write a note.”
Leaning up out of her reclining chair, Dianna plucked the invitation from Abigail’s grasp and read it aloud. “You are cordially invited to an end of the summer ball to be held at the country residence of Mr. and Mrs. Gavin Graystone on the seventeenth of this month in celebration of Mr. Graystone’s thirty second year.” She shrugged. “What is wrong with that? I think it is lovely.”
But Abigail wasn’t finished. From within her beaded reticule she plucked another piece of paper. This one was long and rectangular in shape with a list of names scrawled down the middle.
“You found the invitation list.” Dianna sat up a little straighter and swung her legs onto the ground. Beneath her yellow skirts her small feet were bare, a freedom allotted only in the country. Resting her chin her hands, she sighed. “I had to invite my parents, Aunt Abigail. I know you and my mother do not always see eye to eye, but it would have been horribly rude not to. Trust me,” she said with a grimace, “I do not want her here either. Hopefully they will not be able to attend.”
“I do not care about Martha and her husband!” Abigail screeched. Crumpling the paper into a ball, she threw it at the grass in a fit of frustration. She had endured Dianna and Charlotte’s schemes in the past, but this time they had gone too far. “Why on earth would Reginald’s name be on this list?”
“Is it?” Dianna asked innocently. “So many people were invited I fear I quite lost track.”
Abigail growled.
“Well if I suppose his name is on the list, it’s only because Charlotte’s husband often does business with nobility.”
“But Charlotte’s husband is not even going to be here!” Abigail cried.
“I suppose we did not think of that.” Looking rather like the proverbial cat who had just swallowed the canary, Dianna smiled and said, “It is much too late to rescind the invitation, of course. Not to worry, Aunt Abigail. I am certain Ashburn is a very busy man, especially since he has been out of the country so long. I doubt he will be able to attend.”
“You had better hope so, for your sake.” Reaching down, Abigail picked up the crumpled invitation list and stuffed it back inside her reticule. “This is not a game, Dianna.” Struggling to rein in her temper, she took a deep, calming breath. “You are interfering with things you cannot possibly comprehend.”
“What is so hard to understand?” Dianna argued. “You and Ashburn loved each other. He only broke the engagement because of his dastardly father. For heaven’s sake, Aunt Abigail, Reginald left the country so he would not have to see you and be reminded of what he had given up.”
“He went to France because his wife was French,” Abigail said stubbornly.
“He went to France because he was still in love with you!”
Something cracked inside of Abigail then. Something she had been holding together for a very, very long time. Her throat aching with suppressed emotion and her eyes burning with tears, she whispered, “I cannot do this. Not after all this time.” Whirling away, she pinched the bridge of her nose so tightly her head spun.
“Aunt Abigail, you have to do this.” In an instant Dianna was on her feet and had her arm around wrapped around Abigail’s trembling shoulders. “Ashburn made a terrible mistake all those years ago and you both have been paying for it ever since. But he wanted you then, and he wants you now. Give him one final chance. He loves you. I know he does.”
Running her thumb under her eyes to catch her falling tears, Abigail sniffled and said, “How? How could you know? You have never even met him.”
“Because I know you,” Dianna said softly as she squeezed Abigail tight. “I know you more than I know my own mother, and I have loved you since I knew what love was. When you know love you recognize love, and I recognize it in you when you speak of him.”
“Just because I am still foolish enough to love Reginald does not mean he feels the same way about me.”
“He came for you, Aunt Abigail. The very second he was free, he came for you. Not for his children, not for his family, but for a girl he should have forgotten years ago. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”
Unable to escape the ring of truth in Dianna’s words, Abigail closed her eyes and leaned heavily against her niece. “I do not know if I am strong enough to risk my heart again.”
“Oh, Aunt Abigail.” Leaning in close, Dianna pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Your strength could move mountains. You just have to l
et it.”
Later in the evening, beneath the very same beech tree, Dianna and Charlotte met in private. The air carried with it a distinct chill warning of colder nights to come, and both women tightened their shawls as they discussed the day’s events in hushed tones.
“I hope we are making the right decision,” Dianna whispered, biting fretfully at her bottom lip.
“It was your idea,” Charlotte reminded her.
Dianna’s shoulders moved restlessly beneath her shawl. “Yes, well, the masquerade ball worked for you and Gavin, did it not?”
Recalling the passionate embrace she had shared with her soon-to-be husband when he was dressed as a pirate lord and she a fair Georgian lady, Charlotte’s cheeks blossomed with color and she grinned. “You know it did. Everything will be fine.”
“Everything will be fine if Ashburn shows up, you mean.”
“And your aunt does not toss him right back out on his ear.”
Dianna groaned. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“It will be fine,” Charlotte repeated firmly. “After all, it is quite romantic.”
“How so?”
“Well, if things had worked out differently, Ashburn and your aunt may have met under similar circumstances. It’s rather like we are turning back time, if you think about it.”
Dianna pursed her lips, considering. “I suppose it is,” she allowed. “If Ashburn was an earl or a baron they might have met at a ball just like this one and fallen madly in love. Why, it is almost as if we are not interfering at all.”
“I don’t know if I would go that far.”
“I will if it ends badly,” Dianna muttered under her breath. Not for the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if she was mistaken about Ashburn? What if he truly was a cad? What if he did not come? What if he did come but Aunt Abigail gave him the direct cut? There were so many variables it made her head pound just to think of it, and she pressed her fingers to her temple.
She hoped she was making the right decision. If anyone deserved love, it was Abigail. The woman was as selfless as they came; always thinking of others before herself. The number of sacrifices she’d made for Dianna alone was staggering. How many nights had Abigail stayed by her side while her parents went flitting from one ball to another without a care for the young daughter they had left behind? Had many times had Abigail held her while she cried herself to sleep, unable to understand why her parents wanted nothing to do with her? Too many to count, that was for certain. If not for the loving attention of her aunt, Dianna knew she would have been raised by nanny after nanny, never knowing genuine love or kindness.
“This will work,” she whispered fervently, although whether she was convincing Charlotte or herself she wasn’t certain. “It has to.”
Chapter Eight
The ball came faster than Abigail would have ever thought possible. It seemed one moment the event was eight days away, and the next only a few hours.
As she changed into her attire for the evening with the assistance of Tabitha, Charlotte’s own personal maid, Abigail was filled with both excitement and dread. Excitement at the thought of seeing Reginald again… and dread whenever she tried to imagine what she would say.
Twisting her hands fretfully together she went to the window and peered out across the far lawn where a small army of servants were placing the finishing touches on a dozen elaborately set tables.
Given that the mansion was not yet suitable to host a full-fledged ball, Charlotte had come up with the brilliant idea of moving the entire affair outside. Using poles and white linen tents she had turned her side lawn into a whimsical garden wonderland. As the sun sank low on the horizon, the surrounding trees and shrubbery glowed with paper lanterns and a lively waltz played on the breeze, delivered by a quartet of musicians set up on a makeshift stage.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tabitha asked from behind her.
Turning to face the maid, Abigail managed a smile despite the butterflies dancing frantically in her belly. “It is. Charlotte did a wonderful job. And you did as well,” she added, turning towards the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom to study her reflection.
Her attire for the evening was a midnight blue gown boasting fitted sleeves, an empire waist, and black satin trim. It fit her body perfectly courtesy of a seamstress from the village, and she could not remember a time when she had ever worn a gown quite so glamorous.
Using what she could only assume were magical pins and a deft hand, Tabitha had transformed her limp, lifeless hair into a work of art. Swept back from her face and twisted into an elaborate coiffure, the sleek style gave Abigail the appearance of sophistication without appearing stuffy. She had even forgone her customary cap for the evening and her hair gleamed like gold in the flickering candlelight, the heightened color courtesy of the beeswax Tabitha had rubbed in.
Sapphire earrings – borrowed from Charlotte’s own extensive jewelry collection – bobbed at her ears as she did a slow turn in front of the mirror and the matching necklace glittered like blue fire at the base of her throat. There were even jewels on her dancing slippers, little diamonds that winked in the candlelight when she lifted the hem of her skirt and peered down. Now that everything was put together, she felt… well, she felt like a duchess.
“You look radiant,” Tabitha complimented with a shy smile.
Dropping her heavy skirts, Abigail turned towards the maid. “Thank you. I give you all the credit in the world, of course. If it were left up to me I would have stuck my hair under a bonnet and been done with it!”
The maid’s smile deepened, revealing a dimple high on her left cheek Abigail had never noticed before. She really was a pretty thing, Abigail thought. Tabitha’s scalp tightening hair and the drab clothes she insisted on wearing did not help matters, but beneath the Plain Jane appearance was a young woman with a delicate figure and lovely features. “Then I am glad I could be of service, for that would have been an absolute shame,” she said. “Is there anything else you require? Otherwise I will go see how Miss Charlotte and Lady Dianna are faring.”
Abigail waved her hand towards the door. “Go, go. I am just going to take a moment to collect my thoughts and then I will be right behind you. The girls are getting ready in Charlotte’s room, are they not?”
“They are,” Tabitha confirmed.
“Please tell them I will be along shortly.”
With a nod, the maid spun on her heel and darted out of the room.
Left alone, Abigail did another slow turn in front of the mirror before she returned to the window to watch the last minute preparations. By now the sun had completely set but the moon was full and the stars were bright, staining everything beneath the endless obsidian sky in an ethereal silvery glow. A long line of carriages stretched down the drive, each one marked by a bobbing lantern, and the murmur of voices was growing steadily in volume as more and more guests began to arrive.
Pressing her fingertips against the cool glass of the windowpane, Abigail closed her eyes as she struggled to compose herself and calm her racing heart. Was Reginald in one of those carriages? Had he come for her, as Dianna said he would? Or had he already moved on, as she feared? After all, there was nothing special about her to draw him in. She was a middle-aged woman now, bereft of a fortune. Reginald was still a duke of great wealth and so handsome it was sinful. He could have any woman he desired. What could he possibly see in her?
The sound of the door creaking open was magnified by the silence in the room. Without taking her gaze from the window Abigail asked, “Did you forget something, Tabitha? If you are looking for more hair pins I believe you left a few on the dresser.”
The door closed, the lock making a sharp clicking noise as the tumbler slid into place. “I did forget something,” a rough, masculine voice said, “and it was not hair pins.”
As her heart lodged itself somewhere in the vicinity of her throat and every nerve in her body prickled with awareness, Abigail whirle
d in a flurry of blue skirts. “Rocky,” she whispered, her childhood nickname for him flying from her lips before she had time to swallow it back. “Why… What are you doing here?”
He stood silhouetted in the doorway, his rugged countenance bathed in shadow. From what she could see of his expression he was solemn, his mouth held in a hard flat line and his eyes dark with emotions she could not easily decipher. “I was already on my way to Sussex when I received your niece’s invitation.”
Abigail’s brow creased. “Already on your way? But why—”
“I was coming for you, Abby. It has always been for you.”
In an instant he was beside her. One hand curved around her back with aching familiarity while the other rose to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the sensitive line of her jaw. She leaned into the pressure and breathed in the scent of him, still unchanged even after so many years. In that single moment her doubts vanished and her worries slid away. She was a girl again and Reginald was a boy and they were naively, hopelessly, madly in love.
“I have missed you,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted him. She needed him. But it seemed some words, the most important words, could not always be spoken aloud. Fear crept in, slicing through her heady wave of euphoria like a blade. Stiffening beneath Reginald’s touch she started to pull away, but his grip was insistent.
“No,” he said. “Now that I have you I am not ever letting you go again.”
“You married someone else!” she cried, repeating the same words she’d thrown in his face when last they’d met in her townhouse. “You had me, but you chose someone else. I know why,” she said before an explanation could spill from his parted lips. Twisting in his arms until they were chest to chest, she cupped his face and tipped it down until their eyes met. “And I forgive you. But Reginald… Rocky… Aren’t you afraid?”
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 31