by Bree Wolf
Miss Abbott’s aunt smiled, and Griffin thought to see a touch of red rising to the older woman’s cheeks. Realising that the dowager marchioness was probably quite used to being overlooked and taken for granted, Griffin could only imagine what her niece’s words, her utter devotion and loyalty, meant to her.
“Still, you should not have spoken to her as you did,” the dowager marchioness counselled in a rather apologetic voice. “She might−”
“I was polite, wasn’t I?” Miss Abbott interrupted, daring eyes meeting her aunt’s while the twitch that came to her lips spoke of suppress humour. “You cannot deny that I said nothing offensive.”
“Of course not, Dear,” her aunt agreed, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass in her hands. “Still, you ought not to have suggested a picnic, knowing that it would upset her.”
Miss Abbott snorted, “I do not care whether that woman is upset. All I want is to not see you so miserable any longer.” Nodding her head with determination, she grasped her aunt’s hand. “I shall speak to grandfather again. I’m certain he will find a way to fix this.”
The dowager’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid he will not be pleased if you bother him with this trifle. I’ve never known him to meddle in family affairs.”
“Meddle?” Miss Abbott gawked before she shook her head in disbelief. “I have to say you all have a strange way to look at family. It’s not called meddling if you protect the people you love.” The dowager was about to open her mouth, but Miss Abbott cut her off. “He cares for you,” she said, causing her aunt’s eyes to widen even further. “He will do this.”
The dowager swallowed. “No one has ever been able to make him do something he does not wish to do.”
Sighing, Miss Abbott laughed, “Yes, I’ve noticed he likes to appear like a cold-hearted monster. It seems to amuse him greatly. But mark my words, it is only an act.”
Watching Miss Abbott and her aunt head out to their carriage, Griffin found himself quite intrigued with the young woman he had loathed to meet before. Her compassionate and loyal side appealed to him greatly, and he could not deny that she was fascinating when she did not pretend to be the most awful woman in England.
Descending the front stoop down to the pavement, Griffin kept his gaze firmly attached to the duke’s carriage until it turned at the next street and was lost from sight. “I could like her,” Griffin whispered to the dark night, keeping his thoughts firmly away from the realisation that he already did.
Chapter Ten − Past Pain
“Grandfather, I need to speak with you!”
Looking up at his granddaughter, the duke rolled his eyes as he set down the paper he had been studying. “Did your father not teach you any manners at all?” he grumbled, gesturing at the door to his study she had pushed wide open without bothering to knock. “This is a ducal household, and we have certain rules here.”
Abigail smiled, closing the door and approaching the desk. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like me barging in here, Grandfather.” She lifted her eyebrows in challenge and delighted in detecting a telling quiver in her grandfather’s upper lip. If she was not at all mistaken, she would think he liked her.
A lot.
Clearing her throat, she reminded herself why she had come. “It’s about Aunt Mara.” Again, her grandfather rolled his eyes. “We met her grandchildren the other day at the park, and last night at the ball, the marchioness stormed toward her with a dark scowl on her face.”
Her grandfather’s gaze narrowed, and she thought to detect a hint of concern in his grey eyes. “What did she say to her?”
Abigail blinked her lashes, smiling sweetly. “Nothing.”
Her grandfather’s frown deepened. “Nothing?”
“Well, I happened to notice−”
“Ah!” her grandfather exclaimed, understanding lighting up his face. “I should have guessed. Then what do you need my help for?”
Leaning her hands on the top of his desk, Abigail met his gaze, hoping that she was not wrong, hoping that he could be swayed into helping his daughter-in-law. “Well, I−”
“Why don’t you sit down? I cannot say I’m overly fond of having to crane my neck to look up at you.”
Abigail snorted, “In the chair of torture?” Chuckling, she shook her head. “No, thank you. In this regard, your choices are fairly simple: either get a more comfortable chair or stand up.”
Her grandfather’s brows rose in surprise; yet, there was a touch of pride in the way he looked at her, a strange sense of recognition.
“But let’s not lose focus,” Abigail reminded herself as well as him. “About Aunt Mara. You need to speak to your grandson and fix this.”
“How I am suppo−?”
“I’m sure you can think of something.”
Holding her gaze, her grandfather leaned back in his chair. “This has been going on for years.” He sighed, and a sudden sadness came to his eyes. “Sometimes it is too late to change things no matter how much you wish you could.”
Straightening, Abigail swallowed. “Are you talking about my mother?”
Drawing in a slow breath, her grandfather nodded. “I made a mistake to let her go, to not go after her. I thought…” He shook his head. “I should have told her that…And then she died, and it was too late.”
Feeling tears sting the back of her eyes, Abigail stepped around the desk, her eyes intent on the old man sinking into the large chair. His eyes held such sadness, such regret, as she had never seen them before. “She died so long ago, and you never sent word,” she said, remembering a life wondering about the family she could have had. “Then why now? Why did you send Aunt Mara to bring me to London?”
“After I learnt of your mother’s death, I was…angry.” He shook his head as though to dispel the memory. “Then her loss sank in, and for a long time, I…”
Abigail nodded, feeling tears run down her face. “I know,” she whispered, remembering the sudden blow of losing her father, of having him torn out of her life, of being left utterly alone.
Looking up at her tear-streaked face, her grandfather rose to his feet. “After your father’s death, I received a letter through a Mr. Melton.”
Abigail frowned. Mr. Melton? He had been an old friend of her father’s. One he had not seen in years. How would he−?
“In it, your father…he begged me to look after you.”
Abigail sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide as her heart hammered in her chest. “He did?” she gasped, her hands shaking as she lifted them to brush the tears from her face.
Her grandfather nodded. Then his hand reached out for hers, slowly, tentatively, before it gently closed around her chilled fingers.
A sob tore from Abigail’s throat, and before she knew it her grandfather swept her into his arms, holding her tightly as she cried painful tears for the father she had lost too soon.
“I should have written,” he mumbled into her hair. “I’m sorry. At first, I could not and then…time passed, and at some point, I felt it was too late. I know I failed her as I failed you, but there is no changing the past. All I can do is give you all I have now.”
Pulling back, Abigail looked into her grandfather’s weathered face, his grey eyes full of regret. “But you haven’t,” she whispered. “You gave me a dowry, nothing more. But what I want…what I need is you…and Aunt Mara. We’re a family, and we can help each other through this.”
Blinking back tears of his own, her grandfather nodded. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Help me.”
Nodding his head, her grandfather squeezed her hands. “I will. Don’t worry. I will take care of everything.”
“Thank you,” Abigail sighed, impulsively hugging her grandfather to her chest before stepping back, her eyes holding his with a new sense of closeness. “And if you don’t mind,” she added, a teasing chuckle back in her voice, “withdraw my dowry so I can dress like a normal woman again and not like a
n insect.”
Her grandfather chuckled, “Oh, I don’t know. I liked the ladybird. The bumblebee, too, looked quite spectacular.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “How do you know what I wore? You never−”
“Don’t allow yourself to be fooled by an old man,” he chuckled. “I know everything that goes on in my house and beyond.” He grinned at her. “How is Lord Amberly by the way?”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed. “Are you still trying to find me a husband? Didn’t I just say that−”
“I know,” he interrupted her, his eyes urging her to listen, “and I’m not saying you need to choose a husband this season. However, I urge you not to discount all your suitors. There might be one among them who−”
“They want my dowry!” Abigail snapped. “Your dowry! They don’t care who I am.”
Her grandfather laughed indulgently, “Well, you’re not making it easy for them to get to know you, or are you?”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “I had to find some way to discourage them. They were swarming around me like moths to a flame. It was unbearable. You cannot fault me for thinking of a solution.”
“I’m not. I applaud you.”
Abigail frowned. “Excuse me?”
“You’re an intelligent, beautiful and−despite popular opinions−amiable young woman,” he said, his eyes shining as he looked at her. “And I think it is not a bad idea to make them work for you. You, not your dowry,” he stressed. “Still, at some point, you need to give them a chance to see you for who you are. How else will they ever have a chance to like you? The real you?”
“Well, it would seem they’re not interested in that at all,” Abigail huffed, getting slightly annoyed with her grandfather’s overbearing attitude.
A knock sounded on the door, and upon her grandfather’s call, Orwel entered. “Lord Amberly is in the drawing room awaiting Miss Abbott.”
As her mouth dropped open, Abigail noticed a knowing grin spread over her grandfather’s face that seemed to scream, I told you so, didn’t I?
Swallowing, Abigail tried to find her voice. “I’ll be right out,” she told the butler, wondering what on earth Lord Amberly was doing calling on her again. Had that moment at the lake been enough to convince him that marrying her might not be as awful as she had had him believe before?
Well, there was only one way to find out.
Chapter Eleven − A New Pact
Standing in the drawing room of the duke’s townhouse, Griffin wondered which of the two women would meet him. Would it be the hideously dressed, shrill woman who had squashed his toes on more than one occasion? Or rather the compassionate, fiercely loyal young lady whose smile he had seen in his dreams last night?
Quite honestly, Griffin preferred the latter.
Who wouldn’t?
Still, there was no way to know, and so when he heard approaching footsteps, Griffin drew in a slow breath, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation.
Then the door opened, and in its frame appeared a young woman dressed in a simple, yet elegant gown, its subtle yellow fabric shining against the dark of her flowing hair, here and there pinned up, with loose tendrils dancing down to her shoulders.
Griffin breathed a sigh of relief…until his gaze fell on the dark scowl on her face. Swallowing, he greeted her. “Good day, Miss Abbott. It is truly a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Miss Abbott said as though in trance, her eyes narrowed as she watched him with no small amount of suspicion. “Please, do sit.” Striding into the room, her long legs carrying her gracefully across the Persian rug, she kept her gaze fixed on his face as though hoping to unravel the mystery of his visit.
And surely it must be a mystery to her for as far as Griffin knew she had not received any gentleman callers in the past few weeks. Her act had driven them all away. Certainly, she had to be wondering what he was doing here, especially after her rather memorable performance at Hyde Park. Judging from the look on her face, she had thought herself successful in driving him away as well.
Then she cleared her throat, and a new determination flashed over her face. “May I ask what brings you here, my lord?” she asked, a sudden edge to her voice that had not been there before.
Griffin frowned, aware that she was displeased with his presence in her home. Had she decided to return to her act to rid herself of him?
An amused grin came to his face as he leaned back. “Do you care for an honest answer?”
His question seemed to surprise her for her eyes narrowed, and her voice returned to a normal pitch as though she had forgotten the role she had forced on herself. “Does your question imply that you generally do not speak honestly, my lord?”
Griffin laughed, “Do you?”
The muscles in her jaw tensed. “Well, I suppose honesty rests in the eye of the observer. I, for one, have observed that few people openly reveal their true opinions. Most hide behind civility, manners, social etiquette and, of course, their own ambitions.” Her brows rose in challenge as though she dared him to contradict her.
Holding her gaze, Griffin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you care to know what I have observed?”
For a moment, she hesitated, drawing in a slow breath. “Do tell.”
“Well, I have to admit it took me a good while to make sense of you,” he said, encouraged to forge ahead at her sharp intake of breath. “At first, your behaviour downright puzzled me. Why on earth would anyone act the way you did?” He shook his head, his lips twitching with amusement. “I wondered if there truly were people on this earth completely oblivious to how they are perceived by others. I could not fathom it to be true, and yet, you appeared to be one such unique individual.” He chuckled, “But you’re not, are you?”
Miss Abbott inhaled a deep breath, her hands curled into the fabric of her skirt. “What is your reasoning?”
“Everything changed that afternoon at the park,” he continued, watching her face intently. “Your concern for your aunt overruled your act, and from one second to the next, you were a completely different person.” He shook his head, laughing. “I admit I could not believe my eyes. For a moment, I thought I’d lost my mind.”
Miss Abbott swallowed, her chest rising and falling with each breath as she held his gaze, waiting. “Do you plan on…sharing your opinion with−?”
“No!” he answered her question before it had even left her lips. His gaze held hers, and he could see a touch of anxiety in her grey eyes. Did she wonder about his intentions?
“Then why are you telling me this?” she asked abruptly, annoyance chasing away all concern she had felt before. “Why are you here? If your intention is to…secure my dowry, I might as well tell you now that my grandfather would never force my hand, and I would never accept a man who−”
“That is not why I’m here,” Griffin hastened to reply as he saw the slight tremble in her hands. Did she truly think he would go over her head to enrich himself? “I do not want your dowry,” he stressed, holding her gaze, willing her to believe him. “Nor do I need it.”
Miss Abbott exhaled a slow breath, and some of the tension fell from her face. “So, you’re not here to propose?”
Griffin shook his head. “Not at present,” he said, surprising himself. Did he truly care for this woman? Or was it merely idle curiosity?
In answer, her eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”
“To get to know you,” Griffin said. “I admit I’m fairly intrigued by your charade. It speaks of a strong will, tremendous creativity and no small ability to act. For the woman you portray to the world is nothing like you, is she? You invented her to protect yourself, to rid yourself of your suitors, men who wished to marry you to secure your dowry, is that not so?”
Swallowing, she stared at him, shock clearly written all over her face. And still, Griffin thought to see a touch of pleasure in her grey eyes as though a part of her revelled in the fact that he had seen behind her mask a
nd noticed the real person underneath. “Is that all you’ve come for,” she asked then, “to confirm your suspicion?”
Griffin chuckled, “Partly, I came because…I have no choice.”
Her gaze widened, and he noticed a touch of curiosity. “Why is that?”
“A little while ago, I made a promise to my sister,” he admitted freely, realising that he owed her honesty in return for stripping her of her mask, “and now she is holding me to it.”
Miss Abbott swallowed. “What kind of promise?”
***
Watching Lord Amberly, Abigail noticed the amusement that never seemed to leave his eyes, and she felt herself relax when she failed to detect any kind of malintent. He wasn’t laughing about her. Not at all. He seemed merely entertained by the situation they found themselves in. A man who would see the humour in the world. “So, are you bound to secrecy? Or can you reveal said promise?”
For a moment, he seemed to think her question over before his gaze intensified on hers. “Only if you promise not to reveal it to another? Let this stay between us, and no one else.”
Intrigued, Abigail nodded. “From the way you speak, my lord, I must assume the worst.”
“Oh, it is quite dreadful, I assure you.” Still, there was a touch of mischief in his eyes that led her to believe he was teasing her.
“Well then?” she pressed, realising that she truly wanted to know.
Watching her intently, no doubt looking for her reaction, Lord Amberly took a deep breath. “Well, last fall, my sister suddenly decided that it was time she found herself a husband. However, she went about it in a most ridiculous way.” He shook himself as though trying to dispel the dreadful memory. “She started to make lists of her attributes and intended to match them to those she could discover in London’s eligible bachelors.”
Abigail felt her eyes widening until she was outright staring at him.
Lord Amberly nodded vigorously. “That’s exactly what I thought,” he answered her silent reaction. “I thought it was a ludicrous plan, especially since she’d already lost her heart to an old friend of mine but refused to acknowledge it because−as she put it−they would not suit each other.”