Her mother stared at her with the most tender of smiles. ‘You never could, my love. You are the best and brightest part of my life.’
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Before she could stand to open it, the Earl of Comstock poked his head into the room and grinned at them. ‘Begging your pardons, ladies, but I strongly urge you to come to the main floor. There is an incident occurring that I think you will enjoy.’
‘I am sorry, my lord. But my daughter is in distress and I cannot possibly think of parlour games at a time like this,’ her mother said in a tone that was firm and, for a change, surprisingly maternal. Then she walked to the linen press and got Abby a fresh handkerchief.
Comstock laughed. ‘Distress? If it pertains to Danforth, then we have just the thing to cure what ails you.’ He stood in the doorway for a moment, tapping his foot, as he waited for them to relent. Then he glanced over his shoulder, as if considering what he might miss if he dallied. At last, he looked back at them with a shrug. ‘Suit yourself. But you are expected to play a part in the unfolding drama downstairs. If you do not hurry, you will miss your cue.’ Then he hurried away, leaving the door open behind him.
‘What in heaven’s name was he talking about?’ her mother said, absently, getting up to close the bedroom door. But once on the threshold, she stopped, still and listening. Abby watched as her ears seemed to prick to the sound of distant voices, carrying from the hall below. Almost without thinking, she stepped into the hall to hear them better, instantly absorbed.
Unable to help herself, Abby rose from the bed and followed her. Once there, it was impossible to ignore the sound of the argument taking place in the main hall below them. At first, she thought that the Elmsteads were at it again. But the female half of the pair shouting on the main floor was far too vocal to be that lady and the man sounded far too familiar.
Heads were poking from bedroom doorways and a growing group of people was making its way to the main stairs, trying to pretend that they just happened to be heading down to tea and were accidentally about to interrupt the first public argument between Danforth and his mistress in the history of their long-standing relationship.
Before she had even reached the head of the stairs, Abby could hear the Duke announce, ‘Do not think I will stand here and allow you to besmirch the honour of a young lady.’
This was answered first by a crash of breaking china and the cry, ‘Young? Is that what you want?’
Comstock, who was standing at her side, whispered, ‘Lady Beverly is working her way through the curio cabinet in the main hall.’
‘Put that down that vase, you harridan, and listen to reason.’
There was a second crash as another Comstock heirloom was lost to posterity. As they started down the stairs together, Lord Comstock said in another aside, ‘Do not worry yourself about the china. We have plenty of it. Charity has told them which of the items are fair game.’
Her host was acting as if there was nothing unusual in what was happening below and had been eager for her to witness it. But was it really all for show?
‘Is it unreasonable to expect fidelity?’ Lenore’s shriek was followed by a woof of expended rage and a china shepherdess sailed across their field of vision.
‘Ah ha!’ There was a masculine cry of triumph instead of a crash, which led her to believe that the Duke had caught the thing before it could break. But the quick arrival of a second projectile resulted in a cry of pain as it struck him, followed by first one crash and then a second as he dropped the figurine that he had caught. ‘Blast it, Lenore. I made no promises to you. You knew I was in love with her months ago. If it weren’t for your meddling, we’d have been married by now.’
There was a gasp of surprise from half the house at this juicy titbit, making Abby wonder what the other guests would say if they knew it had surprised her as well. The gist of the statement was true, she supposed. She would have married him, had it not been for his friendship with Lady Beverly. But that he loved her...?
Then she reminded herself that the Duke of Danforth did not lie.
‘But I didn’t know you meant to abandon me.’ This was followed by a roar of rage and the large oriental vase by the door went rolling across the entrance hall floor.
‘That is Ming Dynasty,’ the Countess announced in a bland voice as it crashed against the opposite wall.
‘A cheap imitation,’ Lord Comstock muttered, pushing Abby ahead of him to hurry her down the stairs. ‘We buy replacements by the case lot. They are dead handy for holding umbrellas, but someone is always bumping into them.’
‘You thought I would hold my wife and Duchess up to derision for the sake of our friendship?’ Benedict stepped into view at the foot of the stairs, declaiming his lines with all the drama of Edmund Kean at the Drury Lane Theatre. ‘She was to be the mother of my children, Lenore. She would always hold the first place in my heart.’
Comstock was right. Whether the story performed was true or false, this was Abby’s cue to come down the stairs and play her part. Since Benedict was looking up at her with the devoted gaze of a penitent at the foot of an idol it was far too late to run back to her room and pretend that she had not seen him. She walked slowly down the stairs, still unsure what might happen when she arrived at the bottom. She assumed that they would give her some hint as to what was expected, for the whole thing seemed to be carefully scripted. Since she doubted that it would end with her being set upon, tooth and claw, by Danforth’s mistress, there was no reason she could not improvise a few lines and get it over with.
Because of the Duke of Danforth and Lady Beverly, every eye in the room was on her now, just as she had always feared they would be. Every ear tuned to hear what she would say to them. All minds wondered what she was thinking. She waited for the beginnings of the terror the situation should bring.
But Benedict was looking at her as well. His expression was calm, his smile steady and one hand reached out to her in encouragement. She focused on that hand, a lifeline to cling to in a choppy sea, and walked down the stairs towards it.
Though relegated to the background, Lenore was not quite ready to give up the starring role. She threw her hand across her eyes in a gesture worthy of melodrama. ‘Leave me, then. Abandon me to my shame.’
‘I am not abandoning you to anything,’ Benedict said, not bothering to look in her direction, clearly unmoved. ‘You are beautiful. I am not the only man in England who has noticed the fact. I doubt you will be alone for long. But I will not continue to associate with someone who thinks she can be more important than the woman I love.’ He was still staring up at her, watching her approach, his hand still outstretched. It was a pose worthy of an apologetic lover. Then his voice grew so quiet that only she could hear. ‘How could I ever betray a woman who would put her own reputation at risk out of needless fear for mine?’
‘I could not see you hurt,’ she whispered back. She had forgotten that she was expected to perform for the group. It was as if she could feel the whole house straining forward, trying to catch her words.
‘And I told you it would be all right,’ Benedict said in reply, then gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I would never, in a million years, have done what we did outside the sanctity of marriage if I thought you would be hurt by it.’ He looked directly into her eyes as he spoke, his green eyes soft with apology. He’d made no effort to play to the crowd, but someone must have heard him for there were whispers and an audible sigh of admiration.
‘I know,’ she mouthed.
‘And I will not allow you to be hurt, now,’ he said. Then, he dropped to one knee as she walked down the last stairs to him and raised his voice. ‘Please, Miss Prescott, I apologise for the dishonour I have brought on you. I want nothing more than to put it right in the only way I can, by renewing my offer of marriage.’ He paused, considering. ‘That is not totally true.’
The guests around them gasp
ed.
He continued. ‘I do want more. Far more than to offer in apology. I want you for my wife because I can think of no one I would rather have at my side, to share my life and my future.’
She was finally near enough so she could take his hand in hers and he bowed reverently over them before touching his lips to them. Then, he added, ‘Abigail, my heart, I am yours for ever, regardless of your answer. I love you. Will you have me?’
Then, his lips barely moved as he whispered against her skin, ‘I know you hate to be the centre of attention. But I thought a public display of my true feelings might be reassuring.’ The flat tone of the Duke of Danforth had returned, just for a moment, offering a didactic explanation and making her wonder if his proposal had been sincere.
And then she remembered that Benedict did not lie. ‘I do not think I mind so very much, as long as I am with you,’ she whispered. Then she realised that the audience in the hall was still waiting for her answer. ‘Of course, I will marry you,’ she said, pulling him to his feet. He was still a step beneath her, so she was able to lean forward and kiss him tenderly on the forehead.
Apparently, that was not enough to satisfy him. He let out a whoop of joy, totally out of character with his usual, taciturn response, and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her feet from the step and spinning her in his arms. Then, he kissed her properly, on the mouth.
For a moment, everything and everyone around her was forgotten and she could think of nothing but the feel of his lips on hers. When he ended the kiss, she was vaguely aware of the excited chatter and well wishes of the people around her. But none of it was as important as his smile, which was broad and genuine, and seemed to light his whole face from within.
‘You love me,’ she said, still amazed to see it.
‘I have been aware of that for quite some time,’ he said. For a moment, his voice returned to the carefully modulated, emotionless tones she had grown so used to. Then the grin returned and he could not help but laugh, just a little, before saying, ‘But it has been damned difficult to make you believe the fact.’
Before she could assure him that she did, he had swept her feet out from under her and tossed her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing at all. Then, before she or anyone else could object, he was racing up the stairs with her. She was halfway to the top before she even had the sense to speak, much less resist him. ‘We should not be doing this,’ she said, kicking her feet ineffectually in the air. She was not sure what was about to happen, but she was absolutely certain that it was improper and that she ought to be objecting much more strenuously than she wished to.
‘Pardon, ma’am,’ Benedict called as they passed her mother, who was still standing, open-mouthed at the head of the stairs. Then he continued at a run until he had reached his bedroom, tossing her on to the mattress and turning to shut the door.
‘We can’t do this,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Why ever not?’ he said. Now his smile was both expectant and satisfied. ‘Did you not just accept my proposal? Did I not just tell everyone in the house that my romance with Lenore was at an end?’
‘You had no romance with Lenore,’ she said, impatient. ‘And I did not actually hear you use that word, when you were arguing with her.
‘Because I never lie,’ he said.
‘You never claimed to love her,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘But you made it clear to everyone that things had changed between you. And you did say many wonderful things about me.’
‘All true,’ he confirmed. ‘You said the other night that you would not have me if people thought I was bedding someone else.’ He offered her a courtly bow. ‘I trust I have made it clear to the rest of the party where my heart and future lies,’ he replied, walking slowly towards her.
‘Then, perhaps I shall publicly forgive her for what has already occurred between you,’ she said.
‘You would do that?’ He gave her a smile of almost childlike delight.
She could not help but smile back. Each new tone and new expression was like a gift, another window opening on a man who had been a tightly closed mystery for years. ‘We will see how able you are to withstand the gossip when your wife and former mistress are thick as thieves and telling tales about you.’
‘She is a bad influence on you,’ he said, smiling.
‘But she has been very kind to Mother. I think it would be good for Mama to spend more time with a woman who values her independence as much as your friend Lenore.’
‘An interesting plan,’ he said, the corners of his lips quirking in a way that made her want to kiss him. ‘For all her peculiar habits, Lenore has a very good heart.’
‘Because of that, I see no reason that you can’t resume your friendship with her,’ she said, then added, ‘After she is through mourning your lost love, of course.’
‘After the wedding, at least,’ he said, pocketing the key to his room door and loosening his cravat. ‘I am not going to let you refuse me again, you know.’
‘And when will that be?’ she said. He was advancing on her with a deliberate pace and a look in his eye that would have made her knees go weak, had she been standing. ‘I do not want to hear any promises about finding a vicar only to have you change your mind once you are done with me.’
‘I will never be done with you,’ he said, dropping his neckcloth and pulling off his coat. ‘And I will have to marry you tomorrow, since the whole house knows where we have gone.’
‘I suspect my mother is weeping once again for the loss of my reputation.’
‘Tears of happiness,’ he assured her, starting to unbutton his waistcoat. ‘And I am sure it would ease her mind to see this.’ He reached into his coat pocket and pulled a piece of paper from the breast pocket. Then, he unfolded it and handed it to her.
‘Our marriage licence?’ she said, not just surprised, but shocked. ‘Why on earth do you have that here?’
For the first time since she’d met him, the formerly brooding Duke of Danforth looked sheepish. ‘It was in my pocket on the day of our wedding and I have not been able to bring myself to throw it away.’
‘But it has been three months,’ she said, amazed.
‘Almost three months,’ he corrected. ‘Eighty-nine days, to be precise. We have one more day left to use it. I am sure there is a vicar in the village who would be happy to perform the ceremony.’
‘The roads are still very bad,’ she reminded him.
‘I will carry him back on my shoulders, if necessary,’ he said, sitting on the bed next to her and pushing her back into the pillows. ‘After this afternoon, I will have several more reasons to rescue your tattered reputation.’
‘Several?’ she said as he plucked at the drawstring of her bodice.
‘Several,’ he said, though his voice was muffled against the skin of her shoulder.
‘In broad daylight,’ she said, suddenly embarrassed. Then his mouth moved lower and a flash of pleasure made her forget to object.
‘Everyone knows what we are doing,’ he whispered. ‘Just as they knew when I was with Lenore. They know all manner of things, some of which might even be accurate. But I intend to make sure that when they talk about us, there will always be something wonderfully shocking to speculate on.’
He kissed her and, for the first time in her life, she could not imagine anything nicer than the sort of scandal he was describing. ‘Then let them talk,’ she said as they fell back on to the bed together.
Chapter Twenty-One
Abby woke the next morning to find that her lover had gone.
For a moment, the utter trust she had placed in him on the previous afternoon was shaken to the core. The thought that she was the subject of talk had been much easier to accept when he had been only inches from her, smiling into her eyes and laughing about it. But now she was alone, wrapped in his bedsheets and unable to summon a maid to help
her to her room. She could not risk the bell pull for it was unlikely to bring anyone but the valet and he would be no help at all.
There was a knock on the door, followed by a rattling of the knob.
She dived under the covers until only her eyes were visible and waited.
When the door opened, Lady Comstock appeared, followed by a maid, two footmen bearing a bathtub and her mother. Of the four of them, only the Countess seemed to be treating the matter as just another day. ‘Good morning,’ she said, pulling back bed and window curtains to let in the light. ‘Danforth said we were to allow you to sleep. But it is already half past seven and men know nothing about the necessary preparations for a day like this.’
‘What sort of day?’ she said cautiously as her mother helped her into a dressing gown, shielding her from the men filling the bathtub.
‘Danforth said you were to be married today.’ The Countess checked the watch that was pinned to her bodice. ‘And if he means to be done before the licence expires at noon, he is late in returning.’
‘The roads are barely passable,’ Abby said, hopping out of bed and going to the window. ‘He did not have to...’
‘Yes, he did,’ her mother said, all traces of waffling and whimpering gone. ‘I will ring for your breakfast, as you take your bath. The Countess has found a fresh muslin for you and a veil as well. You will have to make do with a bouquet of whatever garden flowers that the storm has spared.’
‘I do not need a bouquet,’ she said. She was tired and confused and not even sure she needed breakfast, much less another wedding that had been organised without her input.
‘You will accept it and be grateful,’ her mother said with a firm smile. ‘You may think me a foolish old woman, Abigail, but there has been far too much nonsense between you and the Duke. It must be put right immediately before your father reappears and your husband-to-be lands in another duel.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ she said, still dazed and surprised at how quickly things were moving.
The Brooding Duke 0f Danforth (HQR Historical) Page 21