In the parlor, their voices hushed and their expression worried, Dianna and Charlotte discussed Abigail’s unusual behavior.
“She has been acting odd for days,” Dianna confided. Biting her lip, she set aside her untouched glass of lemonade and began to pace the middle of the room, her shoes sinking silently into the thick Persian carpet. “I never should have told her the Duke of Ashburn was returning to England.”
“And let her receive the shock of her life when he turned up on her doorstep?” Charlotte arched one russet brow. “I would think not. You did the right thing. Now we have to decide what to do next.”
Needing to do something with her hands, Dianna plucked a crystal swan off a side table and absently stroked its long feathered back. “I do not know if we should interfere.”
Charlotte snorted. “So says the woman who dragged me to an illicit masquerade ball so I could woo a stranger into marrying me.”
“It worked, did it not?”
A warm smile captured the corners of Charlotte’s mouth, curving her lips upwards even as she rested a hand over her growing belly. “It certainly did. You know her better than I, but I would imagine there is a reason she never married even after all these years and it is not because she is unattractive or ill suited. Why, your aunt has to be one of the most intelligent women I know.”
“She is absolutely wonderful,” Dianna agreed without hesitation, “and most deserving of her own happily-ever-after. I just wish I knew if Ashburn is the one meant to give it to her.”
Charlotte was quiet for a moment before she said, “I of all people know how it feels to be pressured in marrying someone you do not love. I can imagine that pressure is ten fold when you are destined to inherit a dukedom. I am sure Ashburn did what he thought was right at the time, even knowing it would cost him the woman he loved. And he could have come back and tried to make her his mistress, but he stayed away all of these years.”
“Do you really think Aunt Abigail is the reason he lived in France?”
“Why else? His family and his holdings were all in England. True, his wife was from France, but it is customary for the woman to follow the husband, not the other way around, especially given all of the political drama between our countries.”
Dianna sat heavily on the edge of an ivory chaise lounge. “I never thought of it that way. It makes sense, however. Thirty years without a word. You would think he forgot all about her, wouldn’t you? But then his wife passes and he is on the first ship back to England.”
“Highly suspicious,” Charlotte agreed.
“And romantic, if you forget he broke her heart. Poor Aunt Abigail. She loves him still. I know she does.”
“We have to do something.”
“Yes, but what? She does not want to see him. I think she is afraid.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Of going through it all again. What if he breaks her heart a second time? I do not think I would be able to do it.” For the briefest of moments Dianna allowed herself to think of the one man she had allowed close enough to touch her own heart. She’d given it to him willingly, and he’d held it with such care until the day he had crushed it beneath the heel of his boot and never looked back. If he ever returned, would she be willing to risk her heart again?
“You are choking my swan.”
“What?” Dianna asked, startled.
“The crystal swan. It is already dead. You needn’t kill it again.”
Glancing down at her lap, Dianna saw that she did, in fact, have her hands wrapped around the swan’s dainty neck. “Oh my,” she exclaimed before hastily returning the swan to its place of honor in the middle of the table. “I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.”
Charlotte was not fooled for a second. “You were thinking about him, weren’t you?” She sighed. “How could you not? The similarities are uncanny.”
“I do not want to talk about him,” Dianna said sharply.
“No, you never do. It is all right,” she said, holding up a hand. Dianna promptly closed her mouth, swallowing back the words she had been ready to spit out. “Cad that he is he does not deserve another second of your time. Let us focus on your aunt, and save Miles Radnor for another day.”
Even hearing the name of her estranged fiancée gave Dianna cause to wince, but she lifted her chin and forcefully shoved any thought of him from her mind. He no longer concerned her. He very well could have been dead for all she knew, although there was no sense of satisfaction in wishing for his untimely demise. She had loved him once, after all. Or at least she had loved the boy he used to be. A severe case of the pox would suit her lust for revenge just fine. Heavens knew he could stand to lose a bit of his handsomeness. Dark hair, piercing green eyes, and a face that belonged to an angel. Was it any wonder she’d lost her heart to him?
“I have been thinking of ways to get Aunt Abigail and Ashburn together,” she admitted, lowering her voice to a whisper on the off chance anyone was listening, “and I believe I have the perfect idea…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The damn woman had disappeared.
Thinking to give Abby time to acquaint herself with the idea that he was not going away, Reginald had attended to some affairs of a personal nature. He owned two properties in London and one on the outskirts, a brick mansion that had been abandoned and closed up long before he was born. It was a graceful old lady set far back from the street and protected by a line of towering oaks, their leaves already turning yellow and red in preparation for the long winter ahead.
Of all the estates he owned the brick was by far his favorite. It possessed fine bones beneath the layers of neglect and had been built with an eye for the nature that existed beyond its walls. Gardens, overgrown and running wild with weeds, surrounded the house. Climbing ivy covered the entire east wing. Inside everything was covered with dust and drop cloths, but natural light abounded, streaming in through the oversized windows.
He imagined Abby sitting in the parlor reading one of her beloved books, her face bathed in sunlight and the faintest of smiles curving her mouth. Her hair would be loose around her shoulders and he would walk up behind her and tangle his fingers in the soft, silky ends before gently drawing her head back for a kiss.
Their tongues would entwine, their hearts racing in tandem. His hands would cup her breasts, his thumbs circling leisurely around her hard nipples. When she clung to his shoulders and sighed against his neck he would carry her upstairs to their room and they would slowly undress each other, taking pleasure in exposing their bodies a bit at a time. The sun would dapple across her ivory skin as he laid her down on the bed, creating dancing prisms of light he chased with his mouth.
She would moan his name as he pleasured her, and when they finally came together he would close his eyes with the certainty that this was what heaven felt like.
It was a perfect image and one Reginald would have turned into reality in a heartbeat… if he knew where Abigail was.
He’d arrived at her townhouse with flowers in hand and a perfect speech in mind, ready and willing to lay his heart at her feet. When a maid answered the door and informed him Miss Abigail was out of town he felt as though someone had landed a sucker punch to the side of his face, so unexpected was the news of her departure.
“She’s gone? Are you quite certain?” he asked the maid, a plump young woman with rosy cheeks and brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Yes,” she said shortly before she began to close the door. Reginald stopped it with his boot and the maid crossed her arms. “Miss Abigail did not say she was expectin’ any visitors before she left. Who are ye and what do ye want?”
Reginald tugged at the side of his cravat. “I am… an old acquaintance.” It was, he supposed, the best way to sum up their relationship as any. At present they were neither lovers nor, he feared, even friends. When last they met Abigail had been openly hostile, not that he could blame her, and he had certainly not won himself any favors by stumbling over his own
tongue and breaking her table. “I paid her a visit just last week. Do you know when she left?”
“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 broke the engagement to honor his mother’s wishes and uphold his obligations as duke, even though it meant marrying someone he did not want to. For heavens sake, Aunt Abigail, he 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, “If he loved me he never would have left me. If he loved me he would have married me, not her. He would have lived with me. He would have had a family with me. I cannot do this.” 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 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 let 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.
The Spinster and the Duke Page 6