by Bree Wolf
Strangely enough though, when his gaze came to rest on her, the smile slid off his face as though she had just insulted him, and his eyes took on a hard expression as he turned to his sister, open accusation in the way he looked at her.
At a loss, Abigail turned to her friend, who ignored the young man’s glare and gestured for the two of them to enter. “Abigail,” she began, smiling at her with a strange new glow in her eyes, “you remember my husband, Lord Chadwick. And this is my brother Lord Amberly. Brother, may I introduce you to Miss Abbott.”
Abigail swallowed as the young man stepped forward and then inclined his head to her, the look on his face one of utter displeasure−quite in contrast to the words that followed. “Miss Abbott, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“It is indeed, my lord,” Abigail replied without thinking, still trying to understand what was happening. Quite obviously, something was very much amiss! She could have sworn if it had not been for her presence, Lord Amberly would have lashed out at his sister for…something.
Winifred in turn raised her eyebrows at him…almost triumphantly while her husband tried his best to suppress a smile.
As though lightning struck her in that moment, Abigail suddenly understood with perfect clarity what was going on! Her new friend, whom she had come to trust, whom she had almost shared her secret with, had lied to her for Winifred’s own motivation for seeking her out now seemed quite clear.
To introduce Abigail to her brother. To persuade her to accept his proposal when it came. To forward her own agenda of seeing her brother well settled.
Lord Amberly, on the other hand, seemed more than a bit reluctant to pursue her. Indeed, he kept a safe distance, barely even looking at her, as though she had the plague.
Quite obviously, brother and sister were of opposite minds regarding whom he ought to marry.
“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” Abigail said, lifting her chin defiantly, unwilling to reveal how much Winifred’s−Lady Chadwick’s!−betrayal hurt her. “My aunt is expecting me.” Then, without another word and ignoring her hostess’s pleas for her to stay, Abigail rushed from the room, gathered her coat, shawl and hat from the footman in the foyer and left without a look back.
Stepping out onto the street, she sighed, her heart aching with the loss of a friend she had come to care for.
Alone once more.
Chapter Four − Trust Given & Received
The moment he heard the front door close, Griffin felt himself explode.
“How dare you!” he growled, glaring at his sister with never felt outrage. “Have I not made it clear that I have no interest in Miss Abbott whatsoever? She is not the kind of woman I wish to marry, and I demand that you respect that!” Gritting his teeth against the string of words that threatened to spill from his mouth−words he had never thought he would say in his sister’s presence, let alone to her!−Griffin silently counted to ten, clenching and unclenching his fists, hoping to relieve some of the anger that surged through his veins.
“You demand?” Gawking at him, Winifred shook her head, clearly oblivious to the rage that held him in its clutches. “Do you remember what you promised me, dear brother? Or shall I help you refresh your memory?”
“I know very well what I promised you!” Griffin hissed, casting a glance at his friend, who stood silent as a pillar of salt, observing the siblings’ exchange with rapt attention. “However, I doubt that you do. I never forced you to socialise with a man you disliked. Why would you force Miss Abbott on me when I’ve made it unmistakably clear that−no matter what!−I will not marry her?”
Chuckling as though all of this was a terribly amusing misunderstanding, Winifred stepped forward, her gaze focusing on his, and he got the distinct feeling that she was about to catch him in a lie. “Are you certain?” she asked, a clear challenge in her dark brown eyes.
Griffin swallowed, wrecking his brain. Was he? “Of course, I am.”
Shaking her head in what he assumed to be disbelief, Winifred laughed. “Your memory is faulty indeed, dear brother. Well, then allow me to enlighten you because you did force on me the company of a man I disliked. Not even you can deny that?”
Frowning, Griffin stared at her, unable to make sense of what she was saying. “How can you say that? Lord Haverton was a perfect gentleman in every regard, and you cannot deny that you liked him.”
Winifred shrugged. “I do not deny it.”
A low growl rose from Trent’s throat, and Winifred glanced at him, a teasing smile coming to her lips.
“Then who do you speak of?” Griffin demanded, feeling his pulse speed up once more. “After all, he’s the only gentleman you spent a considerable amount of time with. Yes, I made other suggestions here and there, but they never led anywhere, and I never forced you to pursue them, did I?”
“You did not. At least not with these gentlemen.”
“Then who?” Griffin snapped, raking his fingers through his hair. “Who on earth do you speak of?”
Her brows drew down into a frown as a soft chuckle escaped her. “You really don’t understand, do you?” Then she glanced at her husband, whose gaze grew dark as though promising retribution. But for what?
“I’m talking about my husband,” Winifred finally said, a touch of annoyance in her voice.
Griffin’s eyes bulged. “What? You cannot be serious? I never−”
“Yes, you did,” she insisted, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed into slits. “I told you that I disliked his company−”
“But−”
“No! I did, didn’t I?” Winifred demanded.
Gritting his teeth, Griffin nodded.
“And still, you kept forcing him on me−”
Trent chuckled, but a dark glare from his wife shut him up instantly.
“Don’t even for a moment believe that I didn’t see what you were doing, leaving us alone together, always coming up with these last-minute excuses for why you couldn’t stay.” Her lips twisted into an angry snarl. “Do you have any idea how angry I was with you for that? Did you even notice?”
“But you liked him!” Griffin insisted, unable to understand what his sister was saying. “You even loved him.” Shaking his head, he pointed at his best friend. “You married him! How can you say−?”
“I told you I did not want to see him, didn’t I?” his sister demanded, growing more annoyed when he stared at her blankly. “Didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did, but−”
“No but!” Winifred snapped before she drew in a slow breath and her features began to soften, her voice calm again. “I told you then just as you are telling me now. And just like you, I feel as though I see something you don’t seem to be aware of.” She nodded. “Yes, you were right. I loved Trent, and I’m glad you did what you did.” Stepping forward, she took his hand in hers, her soft eyes looking into his, asking him to trust her. “Now, let me do the same for you.”
“But I don’t love her,” Griffin objected, wondering what his sister had seen that had eluded him.
Winifred scoffed, “Of course not, how could you? You’ve barely spoken a word to her.” Sighing, she squeezed his hand. “I’m not asking you to go and ask for her hand right now. All I’m saying is that I want you to give her a chance. She is not the woman you think she is, and I truly believe that you would be a good match for each other.” A soft smile curled up the corners of her mouth. “As much as I love teasing you, I would never jeopardise your happiness. I can only hope you know that.”
Griffin nodded, remembering when their roles had been reversed, when he had asked her to trust him, promising that he would do what he could to ensure that she would not end up with the wrong man. Fortunately, she had not. But what about him? Could his sister be right? What had she seen in Miss Abbott that would make her believe that they would be a good match?
“I admit that night at the ball,” Winifred continued, “when I asked to be introduced to Miss Abbott, I wanted to see you squirm.�
� The left corner of her mouth twitched. “But that is all. I would never make you unhappy. I would never want you to be with someone who would make you unhappy.”
“I know,” Griffin whispered, pulling his sister into a warm embrace. “I know you wouldn’t.” Stepping back, he looked into her eyes, drawing a slow and somewhat agonising breath into his lungs. “Fine. I trust you. I will give her a chance.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Griffin nodded, hoping that that was true.
Chapter Five − Honest Words
Alone, Abigail stood in the corner of the room, gazing at the dancing couples.
Well, not alone. Aunt Mara was with her.
Still, Abigail had hoped to spend some of her time with her new friend. Someone her own age. Someone who would understand in ways Aunt Mara could not. Someone she could confide in.
Well, that someone had not been Winif−Lady Chadwick.
Swallowing, Abigail brushed her hands over her dark purple gown, laced with brown ornaments, giving it a mud brown impression. Again, the modiste had flinched at her choice, and again, Abigail had insisted. After all, her plan seemed to be working more perfectly every day.
Where her dance card had been bursting full in the beginning, it now had gaping holes, forcing on her many moments of inactivity. Moments in which Abigail wished she had a friend to talk to and laugh with.
Well, that seemed to be a hollow dream.
At least, at present.
“Smile, my dear,” Aunt Mara encouraged, a gentle smile on her kind features. “You’re far too young for worry lines. Look, there’s Lady Chadwick with her husband. That ought to put a smile on your face.”
Abigail swallowed as her gaze involuntarily shifted to the beautiful young woman in a stunning dress, walking into the ballroom on her husband’s arm. She looked happy. Truly happy!
Abigail sighed, realising that despite her own insistence to the contrary, she envied Winif−Lady Chadwick. What would it feel like to−?
Lady Chadwick’s gaze met hers, and her warm brown eyes seemed to light up. A soft smile drew up the corners of her mouth, and after leaning closer to her husband to whisper something to him, she released his arm and hastened toward Abigail.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Abigail wished she could simply run from the room.
“Good evening, Abigail,” Lady Chadwick greeted her, a warm smile on her face as her gaze shifted from her to her aunt. “Good evening, Lady Bradish. It is truly wonderful to see you here.”
As Aunt Mara returned the kind greeting, casting a questioning gaze at her niece, Abigail took the moment to square her shoulders and lift her chin a fraction. No matter what, she would not beg for Lady Chadwick’s friendship…even if she began to feel the loneliness that threatened her heart.
“May I speak to you for a moment?” Lady Chadwick asked, her eyes pleading, and Abigail felt herself nod in agreement before she had even made up her mind.
“I shall see if they have any lemonade,” Aunt Mara mumbled, squeezing Abigail’s hand before she walked away.
“I feel the need to apologise,” Lady Chadwick began once they were alone, “although I have to admit I do not know why.”
As her head whipped around, Abigail stared at the other woman. “You cannot mean that.”
Lady Chadwick shrugged, an apologetic smile on her face. “I saw how upset you were the day you met my brother−I can only assume it was him because you’d met my husband before−however, I do not know why. From what he said, I do not believe the two of you are acquainted so I cannot understand how meeting him could have upset you thus.”
Abigail stared at her former friend, wondering if the honest confusion she saw on Lady Chadwick’s face was genuine. Or was she simply a good actress? “Why did you introduce me to him?” Abigail asked, her voice faint as though a part of her was afraid of the answer.
Lady Chadwick shrugged as though that ought to be obvious. “Because I thought you would suit each other. Because you are both important to me, and I wanted you to get to know one another.”
Abigail could not deny the surge of joy that swept through her body. Still, could she trust it? Could she trust Lady Chadwick’s words? “Why did you speak to me that night at the ball? Why did you ask to be introduced?”
Lady Chadwick frowned. “I already told you that.”
“But was it the truth?”
Lady Chadwick’s frown deepened, a touch of concern in her warm eyes. “Of course, it was. Do you have any reason not to believe me?” Her gaze searched Abigail’s face. “Why do you think I spoke to you? Why do you think I introduced you to my brother?”
Abigail swallowed, then opened her mouth before she had even made up her mind how to reply. However, that was as far as she got for Lady Chadwick’s mouth suddenly fell open and her eyes widened as sudden realisation showed on her face. “That’s why you dress like this!” she exclaimed, quickly lowering her voice as a head or two turned in their direction.
Abigail froze, unable to resist as her friend pulled her aside.
“This is an act, is it not?” Lady Chadwick asked, her gaze seeking Abigail’s. “You hope to drive away your suitors, but why? Do you not wish to marry?”
Abigail drew in a deep breath as the need to share her worries grew in her chest. “I do. Perhaps not so soon after my father’s death when I hardly know my own heart. But in general, yes, I do.”
“Then why−?”
“Because I do not want a man who merely seeks my dowry,” Abigail hissed under her breath. “The moment the size of my dowry became known, men flocked to me as though I were a siren.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “I wager my grandfather only did this to rid himself of me. He doesn’t care about me. Why would he? He never even cared about my mother.” Feeling tears sting behind her eyes, Abigail turned her head away, blinking her lashes rapidly to dispel them.
Following, Lady Chadwick sighed, “I admit the ton is mostly persuaded into marriage by superficial attributes,” she said, a hint of bitterness in her tone as though she despised that truth as much as Abigail did. “However,” she grasped Abigail’s hand, “I did not single you out because of your dowry. You have my word on that, and I hope that you can believe it.”
Abigail swallowed. “Then why?”
Lady Chadwick smiled. “Did I not tell you already?”
“You did. Still, I−”
“It’s the truth,” Lady Chadwick insisted. “Although I admit that my brother is currently unable to see past your masquerade,” a soft chuckle escaped her, “I do believe that once he does, he will care for you.”
Abigail’s eyes opened wide as panic spread through her. “You will not tell him, will you? Please, I−”
“I won’t say a word,” Lady Chadwick promised solemnly, “if that is what you wish.” Again, she chuckled. “Perhaps it would do him some good to have to chase after a woman instead of having them always swoon at his feet.”
Abigail frowned. “Why would he chase me if he dislikes me?”
Lady Chadwick wiggled her eyebrows, amusement colouring her cheeks. “Oh, that I cannot say for I gave my word. However, be assured that he will seek you out. All I ask is that you give him a chance. Nothing more. Will you do that?”
Completely overwhelmed, Abigail nodded, her gaze suddenly drawn to the tall dark-haired man entering the ballroom.
As though the two of them were magnets, as though he knew exactly where she was, his gaze found hers and Abigail’s breath caught in her throat.
Never had she truly looked at the many gentlemen vying for her hand. Never once had she asked herself whether she could like them. Always had her mind been made up by their interest in her dowry alone.
Could Winif−Lady Chadwick…oh, blast it! Could Winifred be right? Would they suit each other? And even if, did she even want a husband here and now? Or was it too soon? Too soon to know who she was and what she wanted? After all, grief had a way of clouding one’s heart and mind. What if she decided now,
only to realise down the road that she had been wrong? What would she do then?
No, it would be safer to continue her masquerade as Winifred had called it. If her brother would truly seek her out, she would not make it easy for him.
Perhaps that was wise. If he truly cared, he would have to fight for her.
A soft smile came to Abigail’s face.
No one had ever fought for her. Not the way her parents had fought for each other.
But did she want him to?
Chapter Six − A Brother's Suffering
Hideous.
There was no other word for it. The woman looked hideous. As though a bucket of mud had been dumped over her. No, not a bucket. A cartload.
Although Griffin had to admit he knew very little about women’s fashion, he could not fathom why anyone would voluntarily choose such a hideous gown. Or such a coiffure. It looked like a bird had made its nest on top of her head, feathers sticking out every which way.
Shaking off a sense of dread, Griffin turned his gaze away, his eyes beholding a more favourable young lady.
Dressed in a dark green gown that shimmered in the light from the chandeliers, her golden hair framing her soft face in smooth waves and dancing curls, Lady Adeline, daughter of the Earl of Kingston, danced past him in the arms of a gentleman. The moment her gaze caught his, she smiled, and Griffin only too well remembered the night of the New Year’s ball at Stanhope Grove.
Then, he had been taken with her ethereal beauty, almost forgetting his promise to his sister of scouting the ballroom for eligible bachelors. Instead, he had asked Lady Adeline to dance, and it had felt heavenly.
“Not her,” his sister spoke from behind him, the touch of a warning in her voice.
Inhaling a slow breath, Griffin faced her. “Why not?”
Winifred’s gaze narrowed as she turned scrutinising eyes to the young woman in the dark green dress. “I admit she’s beautiful,” she finally said, now turning those scrutinising eyes on her brother. “But that’s as much as you know about her, isn’t it?”