An Invitation to Scandal (19 page)

“You should say hello.” Ben’s title helped insulate him somewhat from the scandal, but even he had not been immune to the distancing of old acquaintances. It saddened her, knowing how popular her brother had been. His easy going demeanor and handsomeness were, at one time, much sought after. Perhaps now, with Lady Blackbourne’s public acceptance, he could reclaim some of what he’d lost.

“I don’t want to leave you. Mother is quite involved in a conversation with the Dowager Blanchard—about what, I cannot imagine—I should stay and keep you—”

“Nonsense.” Caelie patted his arm. “Your sister and I will be perfectly fine on our own. This is not our first trip around the ballroom.”

Benedict looked at them both uncertainly, his lips pursed as he wrestled with his choices. Abigail knew he worried about leaving them unprotected, given how many still felt about their presence here. While Lady Blackbourne’s invitation and acceptance had helped thaw some of the ice, it did not melt the hearts of all.

“If you do not leave us, I swear I will hike up my skirts and run around the perimeter of the room and sing at the top of my lungs like I used to as a child,” Abigail threatened.

Benedict sighed. “Somehow I don’t doubt it.”

“Off with you then.” Caelie nudged him with her arm. “I promise to keep her from doing anything too foolish.”

They watched him go. He looked over his shoulder as if to see they kept their promise, or perhaps to ensure no one had yet accosted them with their opinions. Knowing her brother, it was a little of both.

“Oh bother,” Abigail muttered as her nemesis threaded his way through the crowd making a beeline directly toward them.

“It appears, Abby, that Lord Roxton has an uncanny way of finding you, whether in a lake, a wide open field, or a crowded ballroom. Do you not find that odd?”

Abigail forced a smile and spoke through gritted teeth. “I find it proves once and for all the only luck I have seems to be of the bad variety.”

“Good evening, ladies.” Lord Roxton executed a perfect bow. He exuded enough masculine charm in that one small gesture to make the other dandies prancing about pale in comparison. It irked her to no end. At least he had not tried to kiss her hand. She did not want to explain to her cousin why her face turned crimson and her knees shook.

Caelie responded to Lord Roxton’s greeting with one of her own, while Abigail fought to hold her smile firmly in place. She would not give others the satisfaction of witnessing her discomfort.

“Please tell me I am not too late to claim a dance on your cards.”

Abigail squirmed. She could keep up her charade of politeness for the length of a greeting, but the length of an entire dance in such close quarters was another matter entirely. But Caelie’s eyes lit up at the idea. It had been too long since her cousin had enjoyed herself. If Lord Roxton chose her as his partner, perhaps others would follow suit. She stiffened her backbone. She would do what she must to ensure Caelie would not be designated a wallflower tonight.

“It would be our pleasure, Lord Roxton.” Abigail said.

Chapter Twelve

“Shall we?”

Lord Roxton held out his hand and Caelie accepted, joy imprinted over each inch of her face. Caelie loved to dance, even more than Abigail did. Despite the animosity she held toward Lord Roxton, for this one concession she was thankful for his presence.

“Perhaps I may ask you for the next, Miss Laytham?”

Abigail accepted with a nod of her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat at seeing her cousin happy.

Abigail watched as he led Caelie to the dance floor. Several gazes turned their way, their surprise obvious. Caelie’s natural poise and her newfound ability to keep her emotions well hidden beneath it made it difficult to tell if her cousin noticed the attention their entry onto the dance floor created.

She looked around. Her mother had moved on from the Dowager and was now lost to her sight; her brother had joined old friends. Only she stood alone, left behind to watch the others. No one approached her for conversation. No one asked her to dance. She found herself counting the steps until the end of the quadrille.

A sense of relief filled her as Lord Roxton and Caelie approached her. The light laughter of her cousin made the interminable wait worth it. But before she could reach them, Lord Huntsleigh interrupted their progress and whisked Caelie off for the next set.

Unfortunately, Lord Roxton continued on his way, directly toward her.

“Would you care for some punch? I believe we have a few minutes before the next set begins.”

“Certainly.” Abigail needed the time to collect herself before the music started and she must spend time in his grasp. She glanced down at her gloved hands, thankful for the thin barrier. She could not bear the idea of her bare hands in his. She watched his broad back weave through the crowd to the refreshment table, trying not to think how she had clung to those shoulders in passion only a week ago.

“Did you see who Lord Roxton danced with?”

Abigail froze as the tidbit of conversation floated past her from behind. She did not dare turn around.

“Lady Caelie, if you can believe. How chivalrous of him to do her such an honor. Why only a true gentleman would overlook such scandal and pay her attention.”

Another lady chimed into the conversation. “I’m certain Miss Caldwell will not be pleased to know he has done so.”

“Nor should she. It is quite disconcerting. I must say, I am most surprised Lady Blackbourne would go so far as to invite them. And even more surprised Lady Caelie would agree to come. Especially after the ghastly rejection she experienced from Lord Billingsworth. Though one can hardly blame the man. Why her family did not even seek recompense for the embarrassment.”

“As well they shouldn’t. A gentleman as eligible as Lord Billingsworth should never be forced to continue an engagement when the circumstances were so egregiously altered after he’d made his proposal.”

Abigail could stand no more. She knew she had promised her mother to be on her best behavior but their comments went beyond her limits. Satisfaction filled her at their shock when she spun on her heel to face them. The ladies faces turned beat red and their eyes widened in surprise.

“Miss Laytham,” Lady Martin said, her mouth stretching into a tight smile. “We did not see you there.”

“Obviously. What a shock it must be to both you and Lady Portsley to be talking about someone behind their back only to discover they were standing in front of you the whole time. Takes much of the fun out of it, does it not?”

Both ladies sputtered, their mouths agape. Any true lady would likely have ignored the slight and walked on, but Abigail had never been the type to let such remarks go, even less so since they started coming in droves upon Uncle Henry’s downfall and subsequent death.

“And tell me, Lady Martin, how is anything my family has experienced much different than yours? Was my Uncle any different from your own Lord Martin and his string of mistresses?” She leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Actresses, I hear? Oh, I know it’s not the thing to mention, but since you both seem open about airing others’ dirty laundry, I thought you wouldn’t mind a bit of your own as well. And you, Lady Portsley—”

“—it is gambling, I believe, is it not?” Abigail started at the sound of Lord Roxton’s voice next to her. He gave her a conspiratorial wink, handing her one of the cups of punch he had returned with. “Hers, not his.”

The ladies gasped in unison. Lady Portsley’s face burned an ugly red that did little to enhance her already ruddy complexion. Her hand groped blindly for something to hold onto and found Lady Martin’s. Lady Martin pulled away and snapped her fan, waving it rapidly in front of her.

“This is all too much. Too much. How dare you—”

“How dare you, Lady Martin. And you too, Lady Portsley,” Lord Roxton said. “My mother has graciously invited you into her home and you repay such a privilege by insulting her guests? She will be most displeased to hear of such behavior. I know I am.”

Abigail wanted to hate Lord Roxton for jumping to her rescue when she already had things well in hand. Still, the sense of victory in seeing the gossips squirm at the implied threat of Lady Blackbourne’s censorship made up for it.

“We meant no disrespect.” Lady Portsley scrambled to restore the good favor she had lost.

“What did you mean then?” Lord Roxton inquired, his intense gaze burning into both ladies until even Abigail felt the effect of it.

“Forgive us, Lord Roxton.” Lady Martin curtsied, as if the motion were enough to satisfy. It was not.

“It is not my forgiveness you should seek.”

Both Lady Martin and Lady Portsley paled as their gaze slid from Lord Roxton and onto Abigail. Obviously, the notion of apologizing to her for voicing thoughts everyone else present echoed sat alongside having a hot poker stuck in your eye. Still, neither wished to be dropped from Lady Blackbourne’s invite list and self-preservation could make one do things they thought unfathomable only a moment before. A fact she knew too well.

Lady Martin cleared her throat and straightened her spine. “Miss Laytham, we are sorry if our words caused you any great concern.”

“Indeed,” Lady Portsley echoed.

Thin as far as apologies went, but Abigail did not expect more. It was all a farce either way. Neither of them experienced one iota of regret over what they had said, only that Lord Roxton had overheard and took them to task for it.

Lord Roxton took the cup of punch back from Abigail and shoved both into the hands of the other ladies, caring little for politeness.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said, turning to Abigail and offering her his arm. “The next set is starting and I believe I am promised this dance.”

Abigail took Lord Roxton’s arm and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. She wanted desperately to laugh at the stunned faces of the two older women who stood equal measures aghast and humiliated. They had been properly set down, first by her and then, even more effectively, by Lord Roxton.

He had come to her rescue once again. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. Any more than she could deny the unwelcomed thrill that shot through her as she placed her hand upon his.

The truth of it, and what it meant, left her unsettled.

Nicholas pulled Abigail into his arms. The candlelight caught the pearls in her hair and made them sparkle, enhancing her regal beauty. Had he realized the next dance was the waltz, he may have rethought his exit strategy a little better, but he had been so incensed to come upon Abigail being spoken to thus that his ability to think had been left somewhat muted. He wanted to toss both ladies out on their well-heeled behinds and wash his hands of them, and anyone else who shared their opinion of Abigail and her family.

“If you had done that, your mother would have no one left at her party save for my family and a few servants” Abigail said, startling him. He had been quite unaware he spoke his thoughts aloud.”

Her words were so matter of fact, so accepting of how things were. Is this what his actions had subjected her to? Did she have to put up with such treatment day in and day out? No wonder he rarely saw them out in society. His estimation of her rose significantly having witnessed firsthand what she endured on a regular basis.

Yet still, she carried herself with such dignity, refusing to bow her head or hide away. He admired her courage. She may be a mere slip of a thing, but it did not stop her from taking others to task if they dared hurt her family. She possessed a sharp mind and even sharper tongue and she did not back down from using either.

The late Lord Glenmor was right. He did not deserve her.

If only he had realized this earlier, perhaps he could have altered his behavior to affect a different outcome. He would never know.

“Better your family and a few servants than a ballroom filled with two-faced sycophants,” he said.

“Otherwise known as society.”

How could she be so cavalier? Each word spoken against her stabbed his heart. Rage and helplessness warred within him. He wanted to protect her from it, shield her from the barbs and pointed remarks and stares, but how could he, when the reason they existed lay with him.

He spun her around, the other dancers nothing more than a haze of softly colored gowns and shining jewels set off by candlelight. Holding her in his arms, everything else faded into the distance. She brought him a sense of calm. A peace he had sought for most of his life. Yet, at the same time, she agitated every one of his desires, causing them to strain against the confines he had placed upon them. The dichotomy left him off balance.

She
left him off balance.

“How can you ever forgive me for putting you in such a position?” The words escaped him before he could think better of it. When he was with her, his thoughts flowed freely from his mind and out his mouth. It had always been that way. It was one of the main reasons he thought she would make the best wife. He could be himself with her, and she did not hold it against him.

Abigail arched one blonde eyebrow and the hint of a smile played about her pretty mouth. “Who says I intend to?”

“Touché.” He could not help but smile in return. When no answering glare came, an absurd amount of joy filled him and with it came a small sliver of hope. Could he gain her forgiveness? A ridiculous thought for reasons they both knew too well. “I am a despicable human being.”

“A fact I do not dispute.”

He wished she did not agree so readily but he could hardly blame her. He had done nothing to give her reason to think otherwise.

“Perhaps I could redeem myself in your eyes.”

“Doubtful. Besides, I cannot imagine why you would care one way or the other.” Her gaze drifted somewhere past his shoulder. “I am nothing to you.”

She was everything to him. The thought came swift and unbidden. He clamped his jaws together tightly to keep the words inside and prevent mortifying them both. Where had
that
come from?