by Regina Darcy
Her mind flashed back to a similar ball two years before when she had been speaking with her father’s acquaintance about the Napoleonic war. Oh how she had embarrassed herself! It was expected of women to be soft-spoken and submissive; two qualities Abigail struggled to display.
She had no particular accomplishments to speak of. She neither drew, painted, sang or played the pianoforte. She preferred eager debates and walks in the countryside. She had, as she so often did, spoken her mind and freely given her opinion of the Frenchman’s weaknesses and strengths. A woman speaking on issues of war was viewed very poorly.
Since then, she did her best to remain perfectly dull and did not vocalise her opinion in public. She had concluded that people only want to hear one’s opinion if it is in-line with theirs, otherwise it was best to keep one’s opinions to one’s self lest you risk being alienated.
And so, as Rose helped her into her dress and she helped Rose, she continued to go over and over in her mind what things she could and could not say, and last but not least, when to hold her tongue.
Over the years, as she had learned to apply these rules, she found that people flocked to her and enjoyed her company, so long as she did not descend into a heated debate about whichever subject had sparked her interest of late. Keeping conversations light and cheerful had earned her a reputation as a high-spirited young woman who was a delightful conversationalist. With that, of course, had come a line of suitors. A relatively small line, mind you, but a line nonetheless. But so many men were absolute bores, preoccupied by the vices of their positions. Nathaniel Hughes, Viscount of Wiltshire, was the perfect example of a man who cared little for anything but recreation.
Calm yourself, Abigail. You have never even met the man; he might not be such a superficial bore.
Knowing that her judgements of Lord Wiltshire were based solely on hearsay and gossip, she admonished herself to withhold her prejudice until she had actually met the man. He would no doubt be at the ball tonight. According to rumours, he had been seen at the Upper Assembly Hall on more than one occasion. Providing they even made each other’s acquaintance, she would endeavour to be at her best behaviour. The thought that she might be able to secure for them an invitation to visit his exclusive stables, had her smiling.
“Are you ready, Abigail?” Rose asked, hands on her hips while she impatiently tapped her foot on the floor.
Irritated that she had wasted time daydreaming about something that was very unlikely to happen, she shook her head and picked up her silver hairpin from the bureau.
“Almost,” Abigail replied, adjusting the pin in her hair.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her long hair, which she had bound into an elaborate braided bun, was enough to have people sending her unending compliments; the last thing she needed was for her crown and glory to come tumbling down.
“There!” she said as she found the perfect place for the last pin. “Finished. I am ready; let us be on our way.”
CHAPTER 6
Abigail took a deep breath as she entered the ballroom. The chamber looked easily over 105ft long. The Upper Assembly rooms where the ball was taking place were ornately decorated and reflected the latest fashion. The Lords, Ladies and gentry already present were attired in the highest fashion. Short of being invited to a private residential gathering, this was the best Bath had to offer. After all, it did cost one guinea to admit one gentleman and seven shillings each for two ladies. None of which could be afforded by a pauper.
“Look over there,” Rose said, nudging her and pointing to a well-groomed, handsome man. He was dancing with a beautiful young woman. “I just overheard someone saying that, that’s Nathaniel Hughes,” Rose blubbered excitedly. “Isn’t he just the epitome of a gentleman?”
Abigail groaned softly. She could not believe her eyes.
There he was, the man from the woodland. She had put the incident behind her and completely dismissed the man as some terribly handsome horse trainer out for a ride in the woodlands. This was the Viscount of Wiltshire!?
Her cheeks flamed as she remembered his compliment. She hated herself for agreeing with Rose. But he looked terribly handsome. He had a strong, chiselled jaw and clear blue eyes that shone even from this distance. Oh dear.
“I suppose so. That is if you like impeccably clothed men,” she answered Rose with as much indifference as she could muster. Her sister looked at her in confusion. Eager to change the subject, Abigail said, “Is that Lady Isabella Gerard he is dancing with?”
“I think so.” Rose replied. “My, she has grown to be so beautiful since last we saw her.”
“I know. She is stunning. It is a pity she has always had a terribly stormy demeanour. Rumour has it even her maids can hardly bear to be around her.” Abigail responded with a more sour disposition than she would have wished.
“Who knows, maybe she is changed?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. Not when she comes from a family like hers.” Abigail said and the girls both laughed.
“If you girls are done giggling,” Christopher said as he approached them, “Father would like to introduce you to his new partner.”
With a final chuckle, Abigail and Rose followed after their brother.
***
Later into the night while Abigail stood conversing with a new acquaintance, Miss Dawes, and Rose, she experienced the strange sensation that someone was watching her.
Casually scanning the room, her eyes met the Viscount’s! His face lit up in an amused smile, which completely transformed his features. Abigail felt her lips curl up at the ends, returning the smile. It was clear he had recognised her. She promptly looked away and scolded herself. She would not be taken in by his charms! He surely smiled like that to all women.
“Abi, he is looking at you,” Rose whispered into her ear. Abigail gently pushed her away.
“I can see that,” she frowned. “I am sure it is but fleeting curiosity,” she responded fanning herself. “Furthermore, my affections require more than a title to be aroused.”
“I thought you were not the type to pass judgement on someone you had not yet be introduced to?” Rose teased, prodding her in the ribs.
“Who claims I am passing judgement?” Abigail replied. But she knew that she was doing just that.
There was something about the Viscount’s demeanour that bothered her, though she could not quite discern what it was. She was sure it had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he had spent the last couple of hours dancing with every eligible young woman at the ball. Every eligible woman, but me.
She knew she was being silly. The Upper Assembly Rooms could easily hold 800 people. A fair few hundred were in the ballroom. If half of those were women, the Viscount would have been very busy indeed to have danced with all of them.
“Don’t look now Abi, but the Viscount is talking to father,” Rose whispered with excitement.
At this point, the two Baxter sisters had been ignoring Miss Dawes for some time and the young lady finally decided to remind them of her existence.
“What are you two whispering about?” she asked, her crossed arms giving the impression she was losing patience.
“I beg your pardon, Mary. We are being awfully inconsiderate,” Abigail exclaimed, apologetically. “My sister was just bringing the Viscount of Wiltshire’s attention to mine. She seems to believe he might ask to be added to my dance card.”
“Oh my, what a delicious turn of events. But why you would ever want to capture the attention of that insufferable man, I do not know,” Mary’s face shifted into a slight scowl.
“You take issue with him?” Abigail asked.
“Somewhat. Do not mistake me, he is as charming a gentleman as can be and I gladly welcome his company. But he lives only to drink and frequent the gentleman clubs.”
“Begging your pardon but it sounds as if you had your eyes set on him in the past?”
“I did, at one point. An arrangement was discussed. But, of course, he had no d
esigns for my person or my dowry. He wants for no woman.”
“What about the Lady Isabella? He looked to be quite taken with her during their dance.” Rose offered her thoughts on the matter and Mary cast an icy gaze her way.
“I am certain he was only being polite. A man like Lord Wiltshire would not fall for so haughty a woman as Lady Isabella.” Mary said, and Abigail thought she seemed rather put out that the Viscount had not been taken by her.
“Speak of the devil,” Rose said softly. “Here comes the Viscount now.”
Sure enough, Lord Wiltshire was approaching the three girls with Sir Baxter at his side. The two men were engaged in polite conversation as they walked.
“These are my daughters, Miss Rose Baxter and Miss Abigail Baxter.” Sir James said, introducing them. Both girls curtsied.
“A pleasure to meet you, Your Lordship,” Abigail whispered, staring fixedly at her shoes.
“No, the pleasure is mine,” he replied, grazing her gloved hand with his lips. “I would be honoured if you would have the next dance with me.”
As Abigail tried to force her mouth open to decline his offer, she found her head bobbing up and down. Her heart was beating erratically with inexplicable joy, as he led her on to the dance-floor.
CHAPTER 7
Nathaniel could not believe his good fortune when he laid his eyes on Abigail Baxter. He had come to the Thursday night ball in Bath in pursuit of the Marchioness. Though grand, the Upper Assembly Rooms were not a common place someone of his peerage would frequent. Under normal circumstances, he would have avoided a place that only required 1 guinea as an entrance fee. The venue was not fashionable enough for the Beau Monde. The wealthier members of society preferred evening amusements solely in the elegant splendour of private parties in Bath. He himself had thrown many such parties.
This was also why it made a perfect meeting place. No-one would notice the rendezvous with Lady Dudley. Especially not after 9pm, when the ballroom filled up, and hundreds of people were milling about.
He had attended two such balls already. This was his last one. The Marchioness had an excuse for why she hadn’t turned up the two previous times. An excuse she could not put in writing. Her last message had pleaded with him to come meet her one last time. As things stood, his attendance had started to be noticed. Any further lingering in the Upper Assembly Rooms and whatever rendezvous they set would no longer be discreet.
He was overcome with relief mingled with fear, when he realised his mysterious wood-nymph was a gentleman’s daughter and within his reach. So not a fat farmer’s wife then.
He could have approached her hours ago. Truth be told he wanted to. But he resisted the pull of her deep blue eyes for as long as he could. But watching her swirling around the floor with man after man, had put him in the foulest of moods. As she laughed away whatever sweet compliments her last companion had provided, he decided to approach her father. Now finally she was in his arms.
He had seduced many women, with only a smile or an eloquent dialogue, but faced with Miss Baxter, he found himself tongue-tied. Pull yourself together, he admonished himself. The quicker he established she was an empty-headed country girl, the quicker he would be over his infatuation with her. He cleared his throat.
“How happy to finally make your acquaintance Miss Baxter,” he said, swirling her with expertise across the ballroom.
“You remind me of a wood nymph I met once in Gloucestershire.”
“A wood nymph? Surely a man of your stature does not believe in imaginary being?” Abigail replied, trying to avoid inhaling the fresh seductive scent of the Viscount. It reminded her of the fresh pine trees of the woodlands.
“Only if those being are as enchanting as yourself,” Nathaniel whispered, briefly leaning in. She was awash with another whiff of his delicious scent. Oh my.
“I am sure there are more enchanting ladies here tonight my lord,” she managed to stutter. I sound deranged!
“But none as beguiling,” he retorted, his voice as smooth as silk. Somehow despite her long white gloves, she could feel the heat as he caressed her writs. Abigail swallowed hard. She was unaccustomed to such feelings, but she knew she dare not look the Viscount in the eyes, least he read her mind.
“No longer running around in the woods I see,” Nathaniel said.
“And you are no longer spying on innocent young maidens,” she retorted without batting an eyelash.
“I do not think the innocence or lack thereof of the maiden was established,” he retorted.
“Am I to conclude you doubt the innocence of this imaginary maiden?”
“I would never be so bold. I have no doubt any such comments on the young lady’s reputation would earn me a stern talking to,” Nathaniel said, thoroughly enjoying the obvious turmoil he was sure to be causing his dance partner.
“Yes …a ...hmn stern talking to would be the outcome,” Abigail stammered and then closed her eyes. The sensation the Viscount was creating with his thumb was making it difficult to concentrate.
Nathaniel smiled in satisfaction. Cupid had struck him twice with his bow and arrow. But he intended to be the one in charge in whatever relationship he and Miss Abigail Baxter were to have. Men of his standing did not marry the genteel. However, he did need a new mistress. But she is an innocent.
He frowned and looked at his partner. Her innocence might be feigned. She could already have a harlot’s heart, just like Lady Dudley. At the thought, he grimaced. Never again.
He was an expert in bringing women to their knees, begging for more. If his heart was already lost, he intended for this little wood nymph never to find out she already had it in her possession. Her lesson was about to start.
“Why talk when you can use your mouth for more pleasant things,” Nathaniel whispered in a smoky voice.
At the change of his tone, Abigail snapped her eyes open. Startled, she realised she had let him dance them straight out of the Upper Assembly Ballroom into a hidden away alcove area.
Before she could voice a protest, he kissed her. She stilled. Having never experienced the like, she opened her mouth to – protest? Ask for more? She did not get an opportunity to do either.
The Viscount quite scandalously did something only the most French of libertines would dare. He tasted his innocent seductress. Once, twice and then an infinite time. It was as if she was water and he was a thirsty man in the desert. He forgot she was an innocent and pinned her against a pillar, while he explored every inch of her mouth. His hand went through her hair and pulled out her combs so her beautiful locks tumble over her shoulder. The vision was so tempting that his sorely tested sense of control evaporated. Honour be damned, restraint be damned. Abigail Baxter was going to be his, this very night.
“M’lord,” an embarrassed voice whispered over his shoulder. Nathaniel lifted his head, coming up for air. Vexed he turned around to notice a footman motioning to him. “Your rendezvous is this way.”
Sighing in disappointment, he turned back to Abigail. Her bosom heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Her hair was loose, her pupils enlarged and her mouth deliciously rosy. Although he was the cause of her enticing state, Nathaniel felt miffed that any other would see his nymph like this.
“Pull yourself together. You would not like to be mistaken for a harlot,” he said in a voice that rang of velvet and steel. With no further ado he turned around and walked away. He heard her gasp at the insult and knew he had cut her deep, but better to do the cutting than be the one that was cut down.
Before too long, he found himself in the gardens surrounding the Assembly Hall. A cloaked figure approached him.
“Nathaniel, darling. It’s been far too long,” Lady Dudley whispered, her voice as sweet as honey.
It was as if time stood still and he reverted back to the insecure young man, in love with an incomparable beauty. For a moment, he was paralysed. Lady Dudley’s hands brushed his arms and accidently fell on his chest.
He remembered seeing that same
hand on another man’s chest, his brother! Firmly he moved her appendages away from himself and took a step back. The days when he was still tempted by Lady Dudley were long gone it seemed. He could not have been happier.
“What can I do for you Anne?”
“It is Marchioness, nowadays,” she replied haughtily.
“So I heard,” he retorted giving her a hard look. He would not give her the pleasure of seeing him rattled. With flourish he smiled and bowed elaborately.
“My apologies Lady Dudley. How may I be of service?”
Lady Dudley trailed her finger along Nathaniel’s chin.
“Why so cold? Once upon a time, you were eager for my attentions,” she whispered.
“This is no fairy-tale. And you are certainly no innocent princess,” he replied. “Besides, the memory of your loins wrapped around my brother is enough to cool the passions of any man.”
“Touché my Lord Wiltshire. Maybe we will both be better served just getting to the matter at hand?”
“Yes, let’s.”
“I need your assistance. It seems I am in dire need of an arranged escort out of the country.”
“An arranged escort? Pray tell what would motivate me to assist you?” he asked, eyebrow raised mockingly.
Lady Dudley looked around as if seeing danger in every corner. She provided him with a tight smile and then opened her reticule and pulled out a gold coin.
“I have a chest full of these and they will be yours if you can whisk me away to Alsace,” she whispered.
Nathaniel gave a short dry laugh.
“You must mistake me for a cit.” Shaking his head in dismay, Nathaniel signalled to his valet, who had miraculously emerged with his frock and hat. The question of whether or not Lord Dudley was a Napoleonic sympathiser would have to be resolved by another. The Duke had been right. He was not ready for this confrontation.