An Invitation to Scandal (26 page)

“Then I am yours,” she said, finally. He could hear the smile in her voice.

Nicholas’s heart soared, but reality tempered it. There were still obstacles to overcome. His father’s dictate that he marry Miss Eugenie Caldwell the most immediate. Despite his own insistence otherwise, Blackbourne did not give up easily. He would have to tread carefully there.

Chapter Seventeen

I will make this right.

The words echoed in Abigail’s head until she could think of little else. It had been two days since Nicholas had whispered them into her ear, before they parted. He had headed to the stables and she to the main house, their stories firmly intact so as not to arouse suspicion.

For two days her head swam with possibilities. Would Nicholas regret what they had shared and change his mind? She had told him from the beginning he owed her no promises for taking her innocence.

No. Not taken. She had given it willingly, lured by the warmth and yes, the torment, that clung beneath his charming surface.

But could she marry him after all that had transpired? She thought of the afternoon in the cabin. His hands on her naked skin. The pleasure he’d given her. The promises he’d whispered. How perfectly right it felt being with him.

How could she not marry him?

If he proposed.

In the time since they had made love, they’d had no contact save for longing glances across a room. Fate conspired against them, devising activities that prevented them from stealing any time alone. Even now, as she sat with an unread book propped in her lap, the men were off hunting, while the women drank tea and chatted over needlepoint or cards. From across the room, Caelie’s soft laughter drifted as she and a few other young ladies played a game of whist. It did Abigail’s heart good to hear that sound again. It had been too long since her cousin had known joy.

She herself should feel joyful as well. If Nicholas proposed, her worries were over. Not only would she avoid marrying Lord Tarrington, but her family’s fortunes would turn around as well.

If
…

The word nagged at the back of her mind, mingled with the worry Nicholas had regained his senses and decided marrying her was a foolish proposition. It wasn’t as if she had anything to offer him, save a family name in tatters and no dowry to speak of. Not that he cared about those things, but the Earl of Blackbourne did, and the earl held the largest portion of Nicholas’s wealth in his tight fist.

Her hand left the book and rested and against her flat stomach. What if their tryst had resulted in her carrying Nicholas’s babe? If he did not propose, should she tell him? Or carry on and marry Lord Tarrington, passing the child off as his, knowing all the while it belonged to another man? She thought of Lady Blackbourne, of Nicholas’s life living with a man who despised him for just such a scenario and she knew she could not do it.

Fear rooted deep within her. She was in a fine pickle, but pride prevented her from going to Nicholas and begging him to address her concerns.
If
he proposed, then he must do so out of love, because he truly wanted to be with her. She could not bear the thought of marrying the man she loved, knowing he did not return the sentiment. It was one thing to say the words during the intimate encounter they shared, but something else to mean them and be ready to commit your life to them.

Was Nicholas ready for that kind of commitment with her?

Abigail’s thoughts were interrupted as Miss Caldwell sat down next to her at the window seat without invitation, a cup of tea carefully balanced on her lap. She took a moment to carefully arrange her skirts, smoothing out any wrinkles without spilling so much as a drop of tea.

“Good afternoon, Miss Laytham. I trust you are enjoying the book?”

Abigail glanced down at the thick tome in her lap. In truth, she hadn’t even looked at the title when she pulled it off the shelf. It could be on animal husbandry for all she knew.

“It has failed to capture my full attention, I’m afraid.”

“Hm.” Miss Caldwell lifted the tea cup to her lips and took a dainty sip. The movement appeared practiced, as if she’d spent hours in front of a mirror perfecting it. “Are you enjoying your time at Sheridan Park?”

Abigail could feel the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. “I am indeed.”

Miss Caldwell smiled.”It was quite generous of Lady Blackbourne to have invited your family.”

“Yes, it was.” Abigail set aside the book and reached down to the basket at her feet. She picked up her needlepoint. She needed something to distract her thoughts.

“I must say, the invitation surprised me.” Miss Caldwell gazed about the room. “Your family has not exactly been in the public eye since…well, for the past little while.”

Abigail followed where Miss Caldwell’s gaze. Caelie and Rebecca had moved to the pianoforte, smiling and talking. The two had gotten along famously since their arrival here. At first, Abigail wondered if it hadn’t been due to Nicholas’s coaxing, but in truth the two seemed to genuinely like each other and Abigail found it difficult to imagine an ulterior motive.

“We have been in mourning,” she pointed out. “It would not have been appropriate to attend a string of parties.”

“Yes, of course.” Miss Caldwell took another sip before turning her dark brown eyes on Abigail. Her unwavering gaze unnerved her, the intelligence lurking behind it making it even more potent. “And I am certain your financial situation does not make it any easier. It is obvious you have not purchased new gowns this season.”

Heat pulsated beneath Abigail’s skin. “I beg your pardon, but—”

“There is no need,” Miss Caldwell cut off Abigail’s indignation and turned to face her. “I merely state the obvious. Certainly, I do not mean any harm in doing so. It is merely a prelude to my point.”

Abigail reined in her anger and tried to stay calm. “And your point would be?”

When Miss Caldwell spoke, her tone remained soft and even, but a core of steel lay beneath it. “My point is, it would make perfect sense for you to play on any misplaced guilt Lord Roxton may feel for your family in the hopes of reeling him in and forcing a proposal. His wealth would certainly be a boon, and I understand it is much needed. But make no mistake, Miss Laytham, yours is not the only family in need of a fortune, or with debts to pay. I too have a responsibility to marry well. I have two younger sisters. My marriage to Lord Roxton will help secure them the most suitable of husbands and alleviate my father’s worry, not to mention the financial strain a houseful of daughters can put upon a man.”

“I was not aware—”

“No, of course you weren’t. You have been too busy with your own wants and needs to consider those of others. But do not think I will stand idly by and let you use whatever hold you think you have over Lord Roxton to ruin my plans.”

Abigail had spent the past week watching the other woman strategically place herself with Nicholas or his family members at every turn. She did nothing to attract attention, heaven forbid, but instead maintained a quiet grace, like a marble statute one could not help but admire. There was much more to Miss Eugenie Caldwell than met the eye.

Miss Caldwell’s assessment of her character stung, partly because it held a grain of truth. She had been blind to the pain of others. She hadn’t seen Nicholas’s suffering and she hadn’t considered Miss Caldwell’s.

“I have no intentions of setting my cap for Lord Roxton,” Abigail said. The lie tripped off her tongue and a strange sense of guilt wrapped around her heart. She had always thought Nicholas and Miss Caldwell an odd match. She had never considered Miss Caldwell would have her own motives in marrying him. The knowledge set her back. She understood the desperation Miss Caldwell alluded to. If she were to marry Nicholas, she put Miss Caldwell and her family in the same precarious position hers now experienced. It did not sit well.

“I know Lord Tarrington hopes to make a match with you. If I were forced to choose between a man thrice my age and a handsome, young man such as Lord Roxton, it would be no contest. We may be forced to marry for profit but there is no law indicating we can’t make the best choice possible.”

“Why do you believe I have chosen Lord Roxton?” Were her true feelings toward her former enemy so obvious? Did others suspect their mutual attraction as well?

“I am aware of your past attachment.” Tension pulled at the edges of Miss Caldwell’s mouth and her eyes turned a dark obsidian. “But I warn you now, I will be the next Lady Blackbourne and I will brook no interference on your part. My family is counting on me and I will not let them down.”

The words, so familiar to Abigail, set a torrent of fear whirling in her stomach. Miss Caldwell may have the reputation of a proper young miss, but Abigail sensed a will of iron beneath her poised veneer. She had no doubt Miss Caldwell would fight until her dying breath to get what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Nicholas. Or at least what his title and fortune could provide.

Abigail had underestimated the obstacles standing in the way to her future happiness with Nicholas. Yes, she had suspected Miss Caldwell would be disappointed, and his father likely enraged, but had certainly thought Miss Caldwell would understand in the end what a horrible match they were and ultimately be relieved to have avoided making such a lifelong mistake. As for Nicholas’s father, when was the man not in a rage over something Nicholas had done?

But as Miss Caldwell determinedly sipped her tea, her gaze fixed on the current Lady Blackbourne, Abigail realized Miss Caldwell had no intention of going down without a fight. And it appeared Miss Caldwell had a lot of fight left in her.

* * *

Nicholas took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. For several days he had worked this conversation through in his head, discarding several versions and abandoning even more. He did not want to hurt her. He simply did not want to marry her, and the more thought he put into it, the more he realized the truth of it.

He wished he had been able to spend more time with Abigail, to gauge her level of interest after what had transpired between them. Had she experienced a change of heart? Did she regret the rashness of their passion? Knowing her mind would have made what he had to do easier, but the fates had conspired against them. For three days now he had been unable to get her alone. He wondered if the earl had something to do with it, or if perhaps it was Abigail’s own way of letting him know she had changed her mind.

Either way, he took a chance, made a decision and now sat in his mother’s private receiving room on the second floor. He prayed he would not regret his actions.

“I hope you can forgive me. I did not mean to lead you on or give you false hope. In truth, I had hoped we would be well suited, but as time has passed it has proven to me that such is not the case, and—”

“Well suited?” Miss Caldwell’s dark brows knit together, the only hint of expression on her placid face. It always struck him as odd how one so beautiful could be so lacking in emotion. Nicholas straightened in his chair, the stiff back most uncomfortable. His mother said she often sat the guest there if she wished their stay to be brief. He hoped, in this case, his visit would follow suit.

“Yes. Of course. Did you not hope to have an affection for the man you marry?”

Didn’t most women hope for that? Granted the chances of such a thing were not always in their favor, but still, one would hope over time affection would grow. In truth, he simply did not see that happening with Miss Caldwell, even if he had not already given his heart to another. How could he? Miss Caldwell, in the entire time of their acquaintance, had not once displayed even the merest hint of interest in him personally.

At times he had wondered if a well of passion hid behind the veneer of propriety she showed the world. If so, he had never been able to access it, and in the end had to assume it simply did not exist. She did everything that was expected of her, said what a young lady of impeccable manners would say and behaved in a way completely acceptable. What Nicholas would have given to have her stumble just once. Or say something inappropriate or unexpected. Or to laugh.

Unlike Abigail, whose emotions rippled across her beautiful features with alarming clarity giving her face life and interest, Miss Caldwell’s own face remained a stone wall, her thoughts and feelings carefully concealed.

“My duty does not allow me to wallow in such frivolous pursuits,” she told him. Her brow smoothed out and once again her expression became unreadable. They could have been discussing the weather for all the sentiment she put into the conversation. “I am to make the match my parents feel is appropriate and settle myself into being the best wife I can be.”

Nicholas sat back in his chair. “Would not being the best wife you can be entail having an affection for your husband?”

“No,” she stated flatly. “It would entail keeping his house to the standards he wished and providing him with the heirs he required and seeing to their well-being. It would mean behaving in an appropriate manner at all times so as not to bring embarrassment and strife upon my husband.”

Nicholas tried to imagine Abigail providing such a role for Lord Tarrington and his stomach churned. She would die a slow death married to the elderly lord. She possessed far too much passion and intelligence to live within such stringency.

“But what of passion?”

A sharpness edged Miss Caldwell’s features and her eyes cold turned cold. Strange, he thought. Up until now, he had always considered brown a rather warm color. He would have to adjust his perspective in that regard.

“Passion?”

“Yes, passion. Do you not have a passion for anything?”

Her back stiffened, her spine ramrod straight. “Passion is for those who do not have the strength of character to conduct themselves with decency and decorum.”

It sounded to Nicholas as if she were quoting words from a book. Did she honestly believe such nonsense?

“What of painters who have a passion for their art? Is that indecent?”