Lady Abigale’s Wager: Brides of Somerset Book Three

by Lynne, Karen

  Curious glances inspected them as he settled the ladies in his box. Mrs Notley sat on the end with her niece next to her, and him on the other side with Lady Abigale, and Miss Isabella in the middle. It had been a long time since he had attended the theatre with guests. The ladies leaned over, watching the audience below while whispering and sharing giggles amongst themselves.

  Lady Abigale turned towards him. The most dazzling smile lit her face, causing his chest to constrict. “Sir Andrew, do you like a comedy?” Her eyes glistened.

  Andrew watched her expectant eyes as the gaslight glistened across her face. “I like a good drama.” He admitted.

  She laughed outright, and the melodic sound spread throughout the booth. “I knew it.” She giggled, and her eyes continued to twinkle. “A stuffy, mature man that you are, I guessed it. You probably love a tragedy mixed in with your drama.”

  His eyes widened. He couldn’t have been more surprised had the lady slapped him. Stuffy? Mature? He wanted to lash out at her at that moment. “My lady, I am not as old as you may think.”

  Her eyes continued to glisten in the lamplight as a smile played about her lips. “I have offended you. Do you not take it so? Maybe if you would dress a little more—youthful, more— fashionable?” Her brows lifted.

  “And what is wrong with my dress?” He had always prided himself on his sober attire, and he felt a little piqued. Because of his youth, he had to work extra hard in the House of Commons to gain the respect needed to get his bills passed, and it had worked. He was finally able to do some good for his borough that he represented here in Bath.

  “For one thing, your cravat is too low, the points of your collar could be a little higher, and a little colour in your waistcoat would not hurt.” An impish grin played across her face.

  His brows furrowed with a look that quelled most people. “Lady Abigale, I begin to understand why you have not acquired a husband, with a tongue like that.”

  Her gloved hand flew to her mouth, covering her smile as she suppressed a laugh, and ducked her head. She looked at him from under her lashes. “You are right, Sir Andrew. My Aunt Lucy is constantly trying to get me to curb my tongue.”

  He felt a prick of guilt. Lady Abigale had made him lose control. He shouldn’t have spoken to her that way. Even with her bad manners, he should have remained a gentleman.

  She dropped her hand and lifted her head. Her playful grin returned. She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Because of your invitation to the theatre this evening, I am told I should have floods of attention, for which I do mean to acquire a husband this summer.”

  The music started with the Master of Ceremonies entering the stage. Lady Abigale’s attention turned to the production below.

  He was astounded. Lady Abigale had called him old and stuffy, corrected him on his clothing and then admitted to using him as bait to attract a husband. Was she really that scheming? He began to think she was goading him on purpose.

  After this night, he was determined to wash his hands of her. He had done his duty to Sir George, and Mrs Notley had taken charge of her. He could walk away, whatever trouble Lady Abigale got herself into, she deserved.

  The play continued, and he tried to ignore her. She took delight in the comic sketches. At the intermission, their booth was flooded with admirers wanting to be introduced to the ladies. He found himself annoyed as she carried on polite conversations with the gentlemen. She had an easy way and seemed to be able to talk to anyone. Except him. He began making plans to visit his tailor the next day.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday morning, Abby and her friends had a light breakfast before attending church at the Bath Abbey. King Edgar the first, King of England, had been crowned on this site, and every king since had followed with their coronation being held here. Abby was awed by the history this structure held as she listened to the service performed by the bishop.

  Abby and Isabella made their way through the parishioners into the sunshine when the services ended.

  “We must come back for a tour of the cathedral,” Abby suggested. She would love to hear more of the abbey’s history.

  “Yes, it is quite ancient. There is much to see,” Isabella agreed.

  “Miss Isabella and Lady Abigale,” two young gentlemen greeted them. “It is good to see you this fine Sunday morning.”

  Abby had recalled meeting these officers the other evening at the theatre and was trying to remember their names.

  “Mr Woodland, Mr Tingley, that is very kind of you.” Isabella greeted them.

  “Lady Abigale, we didn’t get a chance to speak much the other evening. Are you in Bath for the entire summer?” Mr Woodland asked.

  “I am, sir.” Abby paused. “I have only recently arrived. Mrs Notley has been showing me around the city.”

  “We have not seen you in town before. Is this your first visit to Bath?” Mr Tingley inquired.

  “Yes, Mr Tingley, I usually spend the Season in London, and the summer in the country.”

  “Ladies, are you going to the ball at the assembly hall this Tuesday?” Mr Woodland asked.

  “I do hope so. It promises to be entertaining,” Mr Tingley added.

  Abby and Isabella started to laugh, nodding their heads in unison. “Yes, gentlemen, we are planning on attending,” Isabella informed them.

  “Then will you both save a dance for us?” Mr Woodland asked.

  They each promised to save a dance for them. The gentlemen bowed and made their exit.

  Mrs Notley swept past. “Ladies, shall we catch the promenade in the park before luncheon? There will be lots of gentlemen to see.” Joanne filed past with a few lady friends in tow, following in her aunt’s wake.

  Abby raised her parasol and, entwining her arm with Isabella’s, they proceeded to follow Mrs Notley to the park.

  “Well, Isabella, shall we promenade in the park and see how many more gentlemen will request a dance? You were certainly right about Sir Andrew.”

  “Oh? In what way?”

  “Why being in his company would get the attention of society. It certainly has, like bees to honey. I am determined to fall in love this summer and find a husband while we bask in his shadow.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened. “How odd you are, Abby.”

  Abby turned to Isabella. “Why do you say that?

  “You just say, you’re going to fall in love and find a husband, as simple as that?” Isabella laughed. “I find most gentlemen are looking for a wife that will bring something, status or wealth, to the marriage. As I have neither, I’m beginning to wonder if I will ever find a satisfactory marriage.”

  Abby touched Isabella’s sleeve as she turned toward her. “Isabella, you mustn’t get discouraged. As pretty as you are, I know you will find someone. Why my friend Susan was penniless, and she married an earl.”

  “Do you mean Lady Malmesbury? Eliza told me about her. Didn’t she inherit from her grandfather, Lord Coventry?”

  “Well... yes, but not before the Earl of Malmesbury fell in love with her. He would have married her even if she hadn’t inherited. Anything is possible. Isabella, you just have to put your mind to it. Do you believe in destiny?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Abby explained, “Destiny, God’s will in our life. I believe there’s a time and a place for everything. I feel it. I will find love this summer, and you will too, Isabella when the time is right.”

  Abby had not forgotten her wager with William. She was determined. After all, she turned down many offers these past few Seasons.

  The weekend had been a success. Flowers and calling cards flooded in for the three ladies of the house. Mrs Notley sifted through the invitations, choosing which ones would be most advantageous. It was not bad, considering the height of the Season had passed, and the locals were settling into the long days of summer. Abby was content and looked forward to the ball.

  * * *

  Sir Andrew’s valet was in good spirits as he helped him dress fo
r the evening’s events. His clothes came in from his tailor, and more were to follow in the coming week.

  “I told you I would consider your advice, Baley, and after thinking it over, you had a good point. It was time I updated my wardrobe. I also felt it good to support the local tradesmen.”

  “You have made a fine choice, my lord.” His valet practically beamed as he finished tying his stiffly starched cravat. His boots had been polished to a high shine. Sir Andrew felt almost, but not quite, a dandy when his valet had finished.

  He slipped into the nursery before stepping out to the ball that evening. “Papa, Papa.” His son wrapped his small arms around his leg, balancing on his shiny boot. Andrew scooped the tiny figure up and wrapped him in his arms as he planted a kiss on his son’s soft cheek. The child giggled and snuggled into his father’s arms.

  “Book, Papa, book. Read me a book,” his son pleaded, and so, their nightly ritual began with Andrew reading to his son and tucking him in bed for the night. He kissed him gently before leaving the room.

  * * *

  Abby took extra care with her dress that evening, though she suspected the ball would be no different than those she attended in London. This time she had a purpose. She was determined to choose her husband. Betsy helped her with her hair, keeping it simple but elegant.

  The promenade had gone well on Sunday. Several more gentlemen from the theatre had stopped to pay their respects and enlarged their acquaintances, securing several more dances for this evening. Abby wasn’t sure if Sir Andrew would be attending, but if he did, she hoped to secure a dance, furthering her chances of securing a husband.

  Abby admitted she had never put her mind to the task before, preferring to enjoy life before settling into matrimony. Twirling before the mirror, she inspected her reflection. After all, White Hart was full of men of fortune, military, and naval officers. Abby tucked her dancing slippers into her bag and, checking her hair one last time, she swept from the room.

  * * *

  Andrew ordered the carriage earlier and, by the time he slipped out of his son’s door, it was time to leave for the ball. Mrs Notley agreed to allow him to escort her and her charges. The gas lamps were just being lit when the carriage pulled up in front of the townhome.

  “Sir Andrew.” The butler nodded as he opened the door. “Mrs Notley is in the parlour.”

  Andrew reached the parlour door when a swish of skirts was heard on the stairs. He looked up to see Lady Abigale descending, tucking slippers into her reticule.

  He waited to open the door. Lady Abigale turned, making eye contact when suddenly recognition dawned, her eyes raked him from head to toe, and a slight smile played about her lips.

  “Sir Andrew . . . is that you?” She slowly approached.

  “Lady Abigale, I see you are dressed for the ball.” He opened the parlour door, inviting her to enter. He did not want to give her the satisfaction of thinking it was because of her that he changed his attire. It had been an impulsive decision, but after seeing his valet’s eagerness and delight, he was glad he did, even if Lady Abigale had pushed him to it.

  She walked past him, entering the parlour. Her scent wafted through his senses as she brushed beside him, skirting through the door.

  Mrs Notley rose from a floral couch as she caught sight of him. “Sir Andrew, it is so good of you to escort us to the ball tonight.”

  Mrs Notley moved past him, and he quickly opened the door again as the ladies followed her out into the hall. Lady Abigale trailed behind her, bright eyes looking up at him as she passed. “Sir Andrew,” she whispered, “you look dashing this evening. I look forward to the attention you shall draw, like bees to honey.” She giggled as she slid by.

  What did she mean by that remark? She didn’t give him a backward glance as she walked out the door. The footman was helping the ladies into the carriage when he emerged onto the street. At least she complimented him. Dashing was better than stuffy.

  The young ladies shared a seat while he settled next to Mrs Notley opposite them. Lady Abigale’s eyes sparkled as she gave him an innocent grin. The assembly rooms were not far, so he gave Mrs Notley his attention as they made their way to the ball. His driver steered the carriage into the line, and they waited their turn to disembark.

  “Ladies, your dance cards should be full this evening if your number of callers this week is any indication.” Mrs Notley smiled.

  “Oh, yes, it should be a very entertaining evening,” Miss Isabella agreed.

  “Then I will be sure to claim a dance right away before they fill,” Sir Andrew replied.

  The carriage stopped, the door was opened by a groom, and he assisted the ladies out of their conveyance. Sir Andrew offered his arm to Mrs Notley as they proceeded into the assembly hall. They were greeted at the door and given their programme cards before the Master of Ceremonies welcomed them. “Sir Andrew, I am glad to see you graced our assembly.”

  Sir Andrew introduced them. “Mr Ames, you know Mrs. Notley and her charges, Miss Grant, Miss Dalton, and Lady Phelips, who is visiting Bath this summer.”

  “Mr Ames.” Lady Abigale nodded.

  They moved into the great room, lit with gas lamps installed that year. Andrew noticed it wasn’t as crowded as during the Season, for which he was much relieved. A couple of gentlemen, dressed in regimentals, approached on seeing his group enter. Andrew quickly snatched Lady Abigale’s card before she had a chance to attach it to her wrist. “Ladies, it seems I must claim my dances before the admiring horde’s approach.” He held his hand out to receive the other dance cards.

  Miss Grant giggled as she removed the card from her wrist, handing it over but refusing to meet his eyes. He quickly claimed the third dance, a quadrille. A safe choice that wouldn’t overly tax the young lady with his presence. He chose Miss Dalton’s second dance. He thought it better to get them engaging the attention of the other gentlemen early in the evening.

  A couple of ladies approached, giggling, their wide eyes assessing him before taking Miss Grant off just as the young gentlemen reached their intended targets.

  “We have come to claim our dances before your cards fill,” one of the gentlemen inquired.

  Miss Dalton happily handed her card over to the young officers as Lady Abigale tapped her foot, waiting for him to finish with hers. Andrew relaxed, taking his time, signing his name beside the two waltzes then handing it back to Lady Abigale.

  She gave him a sweet smile, but he could feel undertones of tension before she turned her attention to the eager gentlemen.

  Mrs Notley smiled, her eyes shining. They turned and moved along the wall. “Sir Andrew, I feel you have been tasked with keeping an eye on Lady Abigale, or is there something more?” She gave him a knowing look.

  “You are very perceptive.” Andrew smiled. “I did agree to watch out for her as a favour to Sir George. I confess I had not expected her to be so time-consuming.”

  “So, it is with young ladies, I find, but you will be glad to hear that her Aunt Lucy will be arriving at the end of the week. Which will be good, for I am called home to Bristol and will be taking Miss Dalton with me.”

  Andrew watched Lady Abigale as swarms of young men hovered around her and Miss Dalton, their dance cards filling quickly. They were becoming very popular. It had been a while, but it was time for him to make a show of dancing with the young ladies.

  He thought of his young son’s need for a mother. He didn’t want him to be raised by nannies as he had been. She would have to be unique, one that would be hands-on in raising his son and any other children that the marriage would produce. He was probably asking too much for the ladies in his circle. He watched the group before him, or maybe he was putting obstacles in his path, resisting matrimony and the obligations that it would entail.

  “I look forward to meeting Lady Phelips, Sir George’s sister. I shall invite her to the annual picnic at my estate,” Sir Andrew offered.

  “That would be very kind of you. I’m sorry to say we
will not be attending this year as my husband’s business will keep us occupied.” As Mrs Notley watched the young couples dance, a small smile played about her lips.

  “I am sorry to hear that, Mrs Notley. You shall be missed.”

  “Mrs Notley.” A well-dressed gentleman greeted her.

  “Mr Dalton, such a pleasure to see you.” Mrs Notley greeted Isabella’s brother.

  “Sir Andrew.” The young man gave him a bow.

  “Mrs Notley, might I impose on you for an introduction to Isabella’s friend, Lady Abigale?”

  “You certainly may, Mr Dalton, but your sister Isabella could just as easily make the introduction, could she not?”

  “Yes, she could, Mrs Notley, but I would prefer the grander introduction made by you.”

  Mrs Notley laughed at the young man’s reply. “Sir Andrew, would you excuse us?”

  He nodded as they moved off in the direction of his sister. Mr Dalton was a nice-looking young man, although he wasn’t much younger than himself. He was pleasant enough when not in the company of his parents.

  The music had started up from the small orchestra at the top of the room. Andrew moved on, greeting people as he went.

  * * *

  “Lady Abigale, I had hoped to get one of the waltzes.” The young officer pouted as he viewed her dance card.

  “Oh?” Abby leaned over and glanced at the card the young gentleman held for her to view. “It appears you may have to choose another unless you would like to wrestle one from Sir Andrew.” She gave him her most dazzling smile to soften the blow. It worked, for he happily signed his name to two of her dances before moving on as more gentlemen appeared, asking for introductions from Miss Isabella.

  Abby barely had time to think why Sir Andrew would take both of her waltzes when Mrs Notley appeared with a handsome gentleman in tow.

  “My dear Isabella, look who have I have found. He has come, asking for an introduction to your friend, Lady Abigale.”