An Invitation to Scandal (16 page)

The rational part of her knew her brother was right. But she could not let go of her outrage. It was the only thing holding her upright. If she let it go, she would have to examine her own failings. She would have to admit that regardless of her efforts, she had once again failed to protect her family. She didn’t know if she could survive that.

Turning back to her brother, she motioned to the ledger he had been pouring over. “How are the accounts looking?”

He made a face and returned to his desk. “Rather dismal, I’m afraid. We are coming up short again and the hole we have sunk into only becomes deeper with each passing day. Just when I think all of Uncle’s creditors have shown themselves, another one pops up. Letting out the country estate has helped a little but it is barely a drop in the bucket. We may have to sell some of the unentailed land.”

A soft scratch sounded at the door. Benedict and Abigail looked over as it opened and their mother slipped through. A vellum envelope fluttered in her hand and a brilliant smile lit her features. For a woman nearing fifty, Lorena Laytham had held up remarkably well. Her beauty had not faded with the years or the hardships she’d endured. Even the most recent scandal had not dimmed the inner light that shone through her. Was it any wonder Abigail’s father had risked his family’s wrath and censorship to marry the daughter of a poor country vicar?

“I have good news children,” she said, though both of them had ended their childhood long ago.

“We could use some,” Benedict muttered.

“What is it, Mother?” Abigail crossed the room to meet her half way.

“A dear friend has requested our attendance at her country estate. She is throwing a party and very much wishes us to be there.”

Abigail stood stunned. Could it be the tides had finally turned? Had society decided to forgive and forget? Though the forgiveness part was a sham. They had done nothing requiring anyone’s absolution.

“The best part,” her mother continued, “is both Caelie and Edythe have been included in the invitation.”

This news shocked Abigail even further. Neither Caelie nor Aunt Edythe had been invited anywhere since Uncle Henry’s death with the exception of the Doddington’s masquerade. Aunt Edythe had declined on both their behalf, finding the event distasteful. Just which dear friend did Mama have up her sleeve and where had they been for the past months?

“Do you think Aunt Edythe will accept?” Her aunt had stopped going out into society well before Uncle Henry’s death and her dour disposition did not make her a sought after guest.

Mother shook her head. “No.”

“And what of Caelie? Will she allow her to go?”

“I will do my best to convince her. Perhaps if I suggest it will further Caelie’s chances of making a good match it will sweeten the request.”

The barely restrained irritation in her mother’s voice spoke volumes. Aunt Edythe had never taken much interest in her daughter, never forgiving her for not being born a son. Caelie bore the rejection stoically, but Abigail could see the pain it caused reflected in her eyes. She did not deserve such treatment. Perhaps the idea of a party would brighten her cousin’s spirits. Though she never complained, Abigail knew Caelie had suffered horrible loneliness since the scandal and her broken engagement

“Who is hosting the party, Mother?” Benedict asked. Abigail hoped he wouldn’t try to beg off, claiming he couldn’t possibly leave. The break would be good for him. He needed to get away from barking creditors and ledgers that never balanced in their favor.

Mama lifted her chin, her smile never faltering. “It is from Lady Blackbourne.”

Chapter Ten

Abigail’s heart slammed against her breast.

Lady Blackbourne? Lord Roxton’s mother? Despite the countess’s warm reception of them at the masquerade and her attempt to rekindle the friendship with her mother, she couldn’t possibly have gone so far as to invite them to their country estate for a fortnight. They were still pariahs among society. Obviously Abigail had heard wrong.

“I beg your pardon?”

Her mother reached out a hand and placed it on Abigail’s arm. “I know how you feel about Lord Roxton, Abigail; you have made that perfectly clear to anyone who will listen.”

Had she really been so vocal? And why did it sound as if her mother chastised her? Lord Roxton deserved her derision, despite what everyone else seemed to think. She opened her mouth to say so, but her mother cut her off.

“Lady Blackbourne has been a good friend to us since we returned to London after your father and Roddy passed. She has been quite upset over society’s treatment of us and wishes to set things right.”

“How do you think Caelie will feel, attending a party thrown by the family of the man who orchestrated Uncle Henry’s downfall?”

“Orchestrated is a strong word, Abigail,” her mother said, making it clear she, too, did not agree. “I have spoken with Caelie. She is amenable to the idea of attending.”

“She is?” Abigail could not hide her surprise. She’d practically had to beg, cajole and plead Caelie to join her in the park the other week. Given the disastrous results of that outing, her cousin surprised her with her willingness to try again on a much more public scale.

“Yes,” Mother continued. “Now if we are to attend, I must have your word you will be civil and courteous. There can be no embarrassing outbursts like the one yesterday at Lady Perth’s garden party.”

Abigail looked down at the floor, unable to hold her mother’s pointed gaze.

“I would not call it an outburst,” she muttered. “More like a private conversation, and I merely inquired about Lord Roxton’s acting ability, nothing more.”

“I am sure.” Her mother’s dubious expression indicated her doubt that Abigail’s inquiry was as innocent as she portrayed it to be. “This so-called private conversation occurred in front of Miss Caldwell, and she in turn relayed it to Lady Blackbourne. Your unrestrained behavior made the young lady most uncomfortable.”

“All I said was—”

“It matters not what you said. What matters is that you must have a care, Abigail. If you continue down this path, you will turn into a harpy. And no one wants to marry a harpy.”

Abigail doubted Lord Tarrington would care one way or the other. He never listened to her anyway and so long as she had a functioning womb, she doubted he would even notice she had an opinion to harp upon.

“It was not my intention to make Miss Caldwell uncomfortable.” Although someone as stiff and tightly wound as Miss Caldwell could probably benefit from a little discomfort now and then.

Her mother took both of Abigail’s hands in her own, the lines around her mouth softening in sympathy. “Abigail, I know you want to save this family from ruin. Ever since your papa and Roddy died you seem to blame yourself, as if you held the power to save them, yet somehow had failed.”

Tears pricked the corners of Abigail’s eyes. She shook her head, more because she did not want to revisit that time in her life than out of disagreement. Her mother hit the mark with startling accuracy. Abigail did feel responsible. How could she not? She had fallen ill first. She had brought the sickness that killed Papa and Roddy into their home. Then she had recovered, as had her mother, but Papa and Roddy had succumbed. Thankfully Benedict had been away at school, or perhaps she would have lost him too.

“It was my fault.”

Her mother squeezed her hands. “It was nothing of the sort. You were ten years old and as ill as the rest of us. I am only grateful I did not lose you as well. You cannot blame yourself, nor can you hold yourself responsible for not stopping your uncle from the path he chose. He lost himself in his own desperation and was beyond all our reach. If you want to help this family, behave as the lady I know you are and accept Lady Blackbourne’s invitation in the spirit in which it was given.”

Her mother’s words, while not absolving her guilt over the past, settled upon her the importance of the present, and the possibilities of the future. Coming face to face with Lord Roxton again was the last thing she wanted, but if it helped her family, she would do it.

“I promise to be on my best behavior. I hear Sheridan Park is quite vast. Surely, I can manage to avoid Lord Roxton for the most part. And I have no doubt Lord Roxton will go out of his way to do the same.”

Her mother nodded, satisfied, then turned to Benedict. “Do we have any funds for new gowns for the event, Ben, darling?”

Benedict glanced down dismally at the ledger in front of him. Abigail knew his sharp mind tried to calculate any possible way he could accommodate his mother’s request, but in the end, one could not squeeze blood from the stone.

“I do not require new gowns, mother. I’m sure Muri can help alter any that require it. Let us not take on an extra expense if it is not needed.”

Benedict threw her a grateful look and she felt a sense of relief she could assist him at least in this small way.

“Very well then. We shall make do.”

Abigail excused herself and quickly made her way up the stairs to Caelie’s room to see for herself her cousin’s enthusiasm at attending an event thrown by the family of the devil himself.

Granted, he had not behaved like the devil when she’d taken him to task the day before. In truth, he appeared genuinely regretful for his actions. Despite her humiliation and anger over his deception, she had to concede he had been most determined to remove her from Madame St. Augustine’s party while keeping her reputation intact. And his contrition over what had transpired at the masquerade only confounded her further.

Though she would never admit it to anyone else, not even Caelie, she wondered if the others were right. Had her hurt feelings over his sudden dismissal of her affections made her jump too quickly to cast him in the role of villain? Was it easier than blaming her beloved uncle for his own actions?

Abigail shook the idea off as she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Still, regardless of whether Lord Roxton had been directly responsible for Uncle Henry’s death or not, nothing absolved him of the ruse he had perpetrated against her, nor the events that took place in the music room during the masquerade.

An honorable man, a good man, would never have behaved in such a manner.

But if she believed that, and she had willingly been a participant, what did that make her?

* * *

“I must see you again.” Opal grasped Nicholas’s arm and leaned into him.

He tried to pull away but she held fast and any movement he made only brought her closer. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. I’ve told you, I have left that part of my life behind. I have no desire to take it up again.”

“Liar!” She hissed, her hazel eyes blazing in the waning sunlight. The park was deserted, and he’d chosen a secluded area to meet. He had not wanted to come, but her threat to show up at his parents’ house if he did not proved too much. His mother would be horrified, and he refused to subject Rebecca to a woman such as Opal St. Augustine.

What had he ever seen in her?

Her skills in the bedroom were legendary, but then again, so were his. Had she been worth it? Had he truly derived enough pleasure from their time together to make up for all the damage it had caused?

No. He could say so now without hesitation. No amount of pleasure was worth the pain he had caused. And after his run-in with Abigail at the tea, seeing all he had done reflected in her eyes, her determination to make him pay regardless of the risk to her own reputation, he wished he could take it all back.

But what was done could never be undone.

Nothing he did could bring Lord Glenmor back from the dead. But he could ensure it never happened again. He needed to keep his passions and desires in check so he didn’t ruin anyone else’s life.

He had made great strides in accomplishing this too, until Abigail flew back into his life in a fury. It took only one kiss to strain the tenuous control he had on his passions. She had always done that to him. While the other young ladies of the ton pranced and preened and held tightly to their sense of propriety, Abigail barely maintained her balance on the fringes. She argued opinions and politics, never afraid to speak her mind. She smiled and joked, exuding such warmth and life that being with her was like standing on the bright side of the sun and basking in its glory.

As much as he had wanted her, he knew he did not deserve her. Maybe that was why Lord Glenmor’s refusal of his suit cut so deep. The truth of his inadequacy had come home to roost. Everything his father had ever said on the matter had raged to the forefront. He was a scoundrel, a pretender. A bastard.

He had not deserved her then. He deserved her even less now. Yet still—
still
—he continued to try and prove his worth, like a bad habit he did not know how to break, even though he knew the outcome he wished for would never come about.

“I have turned over a new leaf, Opal. I will no longer be attending your parties. You would do better to turn your energies toward finding a new protector instead of attempting to convince me to take up the role once again. I will not. It is over. You need to accept that.”

As he had to accept that despite the passion they had shared, Abigail was beyond his reach. He must forget her. He needed to stop thinking how her kiss had tasted sweeter than the most exotic of fruits, or how her ardor and enthusiasm had frayed the fragile grip he had on his emotions.

But knowing and doing were two different entities all together. He could not deny he wanted Abigail. When their bodies touched, the need for her overtook him. It went beyond the physical to somewhere deeper. Somewhere beyond his experience.

Opal released his arm. All around them, the quiet of an early summer’s night closed in. Only a few twitters of birds remained as most had settled in for the evening. Even the squirrels, who often foraged the grass for nuts and seeds, were nowhere to be seen, as if they sensed her wrath and had taken cover to avoid it.

“You will attend my next party, and you will not leave as soon as you did the last time. No one even knew you attended!”