"Then he was much too old for the position?"
"I wouldn't say he was old, no."
"He made you uncomfortable?"
"He was very polite."
"Oh." Isabel frowned. Her gaze moved to Emily and then the roof of the carriage.
Abigail bit her bottom lip. "I should have hired him," she said. Not for the first time, she acknowledged the fact that she had been treating the men who came to apply for the position in her home unfairly. Not only did they have Tuttleton to contend with, but also another man who had made an impact on her home and her heart.
"We do not have to go to the party, you know," Emily said. "You were already planning on staying with me. We can go to my home as soon as we reach Town, if you'd prefer."
"Thank you for the offer." Abigail shook her head. "But my sister will expect me."
"You can talk to us." Isabel peered at her over the rims of her spectacles. "You know that, Abby, don't you?"
She dropped her gaze to the hands she had folded in her lap. "There is nothing to talk about."
"We worry about how you might be feeling after what happened with Mr. Garrett."
"No need to worry about me." Abigail's laugh sounded ridiculous to her own ears. "I am doing fine." Her false smile died away quickly when she felt Emily's intent gaze remain on her. "Really," she lied.
Chapter 32
The whispers trailed after him like a mist as he moved through the crowded ballroom. He did not have to dodge the individuals who milled about the floor-they moved quickly out of his way. People to whom he had never spoken in his life waited until he passed before turning to whomever stood beside them to exchange their gossip. The open stares at his size and scarred face had once bothered him, the word being passed about him being a vile blackguard even more so. Now, however, the gossips had other stories to tell. The last the earl had heard, he had fought off a group of seven men intent upon doing his Bernice harm. In the process, his body had been riddled by bullets.
The truth was less remarkable-one man, one bullet. Neither of importance considering he had, in fact, kept Bernice from harm.
"Thank you, Sebastian." His wife barely glanced at him as he slipped a cup of cider into her chilled fingers. Her bronze gaze was distressed-clearly evident behind the spectacles that slightly enlarged it-and directed across the room.
"Black." Harriet nodded her thanks, downing her entire cup as her attention focused on the same point across the room.
Sebastian followed their gazes, seeing clearly above the heads of most of the other partygoers. "Tell me again why you cannot speak to her?"
"It's our fault, Sebastian." Bernice cast him another brief glance. "Had we never insisted she have a ... relationship with that man, things would not be so difficult for her as they are now."
Harriet, standing on the opposite side of the earl, nodded her agreement. "It was bad enough that he was in her home under false pretenses. I cannot imagine how she must be feeling after having followed our encouragement to ... well ... She eyed Sebastian from the corner of her eye before scowling. "It really is our fault."
"She must hate us," Bernice breathed.
Sebastian lifted a black-as-soot brow. He focused again across the room. Abigail looked up from her conversation with Emily and Isabel. She caught Sebastian's gaze, lifted a hand and smiled.
Sebastian waved back. "She appears to be overcome with wrath."
Bernice, the only person in the world bold enough to do so, glared up at the man towering over her. "It's not funny, Sebastian. I shall never forgive myself for what we made Abby do."
Harriet eyed one of the dancers moving across the floor. "Poor Augusta is going to have blisters by the end of the evening. I think she's partially afraid stopping will mean she must face Abby."
Bernice watched the other woman and her fiance move past them. "She was so certain it had the makings of a great romance. I was not much different." She sighed, glancing at her husband. "He reminded me of you, Sebastian."
"Forgive me, sweet"-Sebastian let one large hand rest against his wife's lower back-"but I think you overstep yourself in thinking you and your friends could have made Abigail do anything. She is a grown woman who has taken care of herself for a long time. I cannot imagine that anyone would make her do anything she did not want."
"We are friends, Sebastian. We listen to each other."
"I don't recall you listening to your friends when they told you I was a disreputable blackguard."
"No." Bernice almost smiled. "I did not."
"I would not go so far as to say we believed you to be a blackguard, my lord." Harriet cleared her throat. "We simply received some inaccurate information about your personal character." She smiled. "Once we knew how much Bernice cared for you and you her, we brought our confused meddling to a halt."
Sebastian looked down at her to inquire, "Was this before or after you knocked me unconscious?"
"After." Harriet nodded.
Sebastian inclined his head before he focused on Abigail's brother. He had positioned himself directly across the room from his sister. Lord Wolcott's distressed expression matched Bernice's exactly as he peeked at Abigail before turning back to the man with whom he had been speaking.
Sebastian's brows drew together. "What exactly does this Mr. Garrett look like?"
"Black hair," Bernice clarified. "Blue eyes."
"Large muscles," Harriet sighed.
"And he is a friend of Lord Wolcott?"
Harriet nodded. "That is all we really know of the man."
"So, Lord Wolcott could very likely have invited his friend here?"
"I couldn't imagine." Bernice shook her head. "Why ever should he force Abigail to be in the same room with the man again?"
"Why, indeed?" Sebastian wrapped his long fingers around his wife's much smaller hand, steadying her as she blinked and followed his nod.
Bernice gasped as she watched the black-haired, blue-eyed man leave Thomas Wolcott's side, walking directly toward Abigail.
He was aware that it was Emily Paxton who saw him first. Her unemotional features did not change, but her chin lifted as she reached for the wrist of the woman who stood between her and Isabel Scott. A moment after Emily turned to speak into her companion's ear, Abigail's lashes fluttered up and down, then lifted.
He had begun to think he had imagined it all; her peaceful bay gaze, the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose, her delicate features. Yet they were all there in the moment she met his gaze from across the room, and the realization that the pleasurable weeks he had spent with Abigail Wolcott had not been a dream almost brought him to a halt halfway across the ballroom floor. Instead of stopping in his tracks, the rush of emotion guided Calvin on.
He could not be certain it was his longing to see her again that made her so lovely this night. She wore a gown he had never before seen; powder blue muslin clung to the faint slope of her shoulders and cinched just below the swell of her breasts before spilling toward the tops of her matching slippers. Most of her chestnut hair was pulled up into braids that circled her scalp, but a few of the downy locks had escaped the ribbon used to hold the braids in place and curled against the pale skin of her nape. She bore most of her weight on a new crutch, he saw, made of dark wood that was stark against her white elbow-length glove.
Calvin wondered as he closed the distance between them if Abigail was aware of the range of emotions that crossed her features as he drew near. She had frowned at first, as if not quite believing her own eyes. Then her eyes had gone round with understanding, and less than a heartbeat later her lovely gaze shimmered with a sadness that almost broke his heart. By the time Calvin stopped before her and her companions, Abigail's chin had lifted and her eyes taken on a stubborn gleam.
The look was so familiar to him that he could not help but smile. "Good evening, Abby. Miss Paxton, Miss Scott." Though he included the other women in his greeting, his gaze did not waver from the one who stood between them.
&nb
sp; "Good evening, Mr. Garrett," Emily said.
"What are you doing here?" Abigail inquired frankly.
"Your brother has invited me to all Jeanette's parties since her coming out."
"I've never seen you at one before."
"I've never come before."
Abigail blinked.
Calvin had decided, upon arriving at Thomas's home, that he would carry Abigail away from the bustle of the crowd kicking and screaming if he had to. He needed her somewhere private where he could speak to her, explain himself. Standing at the edge of the dance floor watching her as she watched the dancers, a new thought occurred to him.
"I seem to recall you mentioning you loved to dance, Abby." He let his attention focus on her again, held out a hand. "Shall we?"
At first he thought it was Abigail who gasped, but it was the open-mouthed Isabel beside her. Abigail's lips pressed together for so long he wasn't sure she had heard his request.
Then she glared at him. "Have you lost your mind?"
"I thought I might," Calvin chuckled. "I find myself feeling better now." He glanced back over his shoulder again. "It looks as if the orchestra is about to begin a new tune. We had best find our place."
"What, exactly, are you trying to do, Mr. Garrett? Embarrass me by making a scene?"
"It is you who are making this difficult, Abby." He reached for her free hand. "I just want you to dance with me."
"I cannot." She tugged against his hold, but he would not relent.
"I think you can," Emily said, meeting her friend's horrified stare.
Abigail looked like a woman who had been betrayed. Her chin dropped, and her loud whisper was aimed at her feet. "I will like as not make a fool out of myself. Perhaps even fall before everyone."
"You will not let her fall"-Emily turned to Calvin-"will you, Mr. Garrett?"
"Never." Calvin took no pause to wonder at his new ally.
"Here, Abby." It was Isabel who reached for her crutch. "I'll hold that for you." ... .. ... . ... .. . ..
Abigail wobbled unsteadily, suddenly without the crutch, and Calvin moved forward. He caught her other hand in his as she watched in stunned silence while Isabel moved to stand behind Emily. The crutch she held carefully in both her hands well beyond the other woman's reach. She met Abigail's gaze with a brief, apologetic smile.
Abigail slowly turned back to Calvin. The breath that parted her lips was none too steady, and he thought he could feel the rapid beat of her heart through her hands.
The music came to a halt, and those who had been dancing erupted into breathless applause. Calvin stepped backward onto the floor, bringing Abigail along with him. He looked toward where the orchestra had positioned themselves in the balcony. Calvin nodded at Thomas, who, in turn, nodded toward the conductor.
"Ah." Calvin stepped closer to his less-thanecstatic dance partner as the orchestra began. "A waltz. I am no expert on dancing, love, but are we not to hold tightly to each other?"
Abigail peered up at him, more flustered than he had ever seen her. "What did you say?"
Their noses almost touched he leaned in so close to whisper, "Hold on."
Her body remembered. As if the abuse years before were a thing to be surmounted, her limbs began to move of their own accord. One of her hands settled lightly atop Calvin's shoulder; the other shook only a little in his warm grip. The waltz was familiar; she had danced to it a dozen times at least. Mostly when she was younger and trying to teach Jeanette the steps. She could almost hear the sound of their mutual counting as her feet stepped in time to the melody.
Abigail was barely aware of her surroundings, looking over her partner's shoulder as he guided her unerringly about the floor. She saw the faces of her friends in passing: Harriet and Bernice with their mouths slightly agape, Isabel looking chagrined, and Emily as composed as ever save for an unusual gleam in her eye. Abby tried to direct a scowl toward the first two women, but couldn't manage a dirty look for their abrupt and perplexing abandonment. It was when she saw Augusta, standing to the side with her fiance, Maxwell Darcy, that something inside her gave a lurch. When the two women's gazes met, Augusta's lips curved in a smile as brilliant as the moon shining outside.
Abigail finally looked at her partner. Her gaze started at the tips of his Hessians and traveled up over the breeches he wore, dark brown and tailored to fit across his legs. The shirt he wore was made of expensive lawn, his cravat tied in an elegant knot. Everything he wore rebuked any idea that he might be a servant, might have ever worn hand-me-down clothing. Everything except the jacket he wore.
Abigail's gift.
She was frowning over the black material when the music came to an unexpected halt. Abigail stumbled a little, but no one but she and the man who put a securing arm around her waist noticed.
Calvin slipped into a bow, the light from the chandelier above gleaming across his dark hair and then reflecting in his eyes when he straightened. Gazing into the dark blue depths, everything came rushing back to Abigail: the love and the betrayal.
She steadied herself on her good leg and dropped her gloved hands to her sides so she wouldn't have to touch him as she said, "Would you be so kind as to take me back to my friends now?"
He was smiling, she noticed belatedly, but the smile slipped away. "Not yet." He linked his arm through hers and began to guide her off the dance floor.
She scowled when she realized they were headed not toward any of her friends, but to the opened French doors not far away. "Mr. Garrett," she hissed so those they passed would not hear, "what are you about?"
"You are going to listen to me," he said as he lifted her without warning down the steps into the moonlit garden, "whether you like it or not." He halted once to glare at her in the little light that remained from the ballroom. "And, if you will recall, it is Calvin."
She huffed as he took her hand, moving them so the strains of the orchestra's latest tune grew farther and farther away. "How do I know that is your real name, sir, and not another lie?"
Calvin rounded on her so abruptly she released a startled sound. Abigail took a shaky step backward and encountered the rough bark of a tree. She used both hands behind her to hold herself upright.
"You go too far, Abigail."
She worried that she had pushed the man to his limits. His tone was enraged and his eyes gleamed like black fire in the muted starlight. He stepped closer, until the tree was biting into the skin of her back and she had to lift her chin even higher to hold his gaze.
"What I did, what brought me to your home in North Rutherford, I did for your brother. Thomas was worried about you. I believed I was going to play the role of servant, investigating Raleigh and his attempts to frighten you out of your land, to an aging spinster who needed protecting."
"And you found her, did you not?" Abigail's voice shook.
"No, Abby." Calvin shook his head, his voice suddenly dropping. "You were nothing like what I expected. You are damnably stubborn and independent, to the point you put your own life at risk."
"Is this supposed to be a 'compliment, sir?"
"And a quiet peace seems to surround you everywhere you go." Calvin went on as if she hadn't spoken. "You sit down for dinner with individuals others of your rank might never speak to and break the law to save an animal from ill treatment. The one physical flaw you have"-his hot breath beat against her cheek, and Abigail was certain she felt it steal around her nape and down along her spine-"only serves to further illustrate how perfect you are in every other way imaginable." He paused to take a breath, his gaze traveling her body like a caress. "Your inability to lie is amazing, as is your ability to make a man who has never been cared for in his life feel like he has finally found a home."
Abigail fought through the clouded awareness that filled her insides. She scowled. "You have a home, Calvin. A marquis does not simply appear out of thin air."
"The things I told you about my past were not lies." In the dim light, his jaw flexed. "My father was of rank and c
onsiderable wealth, but my mother was less socially accepted. Both my father and her penniless family abandoned her once she was with child, and she died shortly after my birth. I spent a few happy years with a kind parson and his wife, but when the lady of the house fell ill they had no choice but to send me to the workhouse. I left there when I was ten and seven and was beginning to make a considerable living aiding some other young men in stealing from the docks late at night, when the gentleman in charge of my father's estate found me. The marquis had died from a blow to the head while in one of London's lessthan-charming brothels. He had never married, and as far as anyone knew, I was his only living heir."
Abigail was stunned into silence. Her fingers hurt where she was digging them into the bark of the tree.
"Your brother," Calvin went on, "was one of the first who befriended me. There are few in the ton who do not know I am a bastard son who a twist of fate made into a marquis. Thomas did not particularly care about my past; he did not judge me as others found it so easy to do. You and he have a lot in common.
"Our father came into his title after his two eldest brothers died at sea. On the social scale," Abby explained, "we are somewhat lacking."
"Perhaps that is why you and I got on so well, Abby." His touch was light against her cheek. "We had more in common than we knew."
"Calvin." Abigail struggled against the rush to her heart at his touch. "You should have told me who you were. If not as soon as we met, at least before ... before I ..." Her gaze drifted into the darkness beyond his shoulder.
"Can you deny that you would have sent me away had I told you the truth after our first kiss?"
That is not the point-"
"It is the point, Abby. You would have sent me away, just as you did two weeks ago. Then you would have been left alone to fend for yourself against that bastard Raleigh and his cohorts. I couldn't let that happen."
"So instead you let me make a fool out of my- self"-her teeth clenched in an effort to hold back her tears-"by professing my love for a man I thought was my servant."
"I never thought you a fool." Calvin's warm palm wrapped about her nape; his thumb forced her chin to rise. "I believed you were the most wonderful woman I'd ever met."
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