An Invitation to Scandal (29 page)

Abigail advanced on Muri. Her anger rose with each step. Intuition screamed at her to pay attention, that Muri’s words provided the missing piece of the puzzle of this living nightmare.

“Explain yourself!”

Muri’s mouth moved but no sound came out.

Abigail came nose to nose with her maid. “Tell me now, or you will be dismissed on the spot without references.”

The color drained from Muri’s face and the indignation she had worn over the past week crumbled.

“She offered me a position in the Blackbourne household. Better than what I had here and more quid.”

Queasiness roiled in Abigail’s stomach. “What did you do?” But she already knew. And it sickened her.

“I told Miss Caldwell about the key party.” Though she whispered the words, they thundered through the bedchamber with a deafening roar.

“No…”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. Ain’t nothin’ wrong in tryin’ to elevate one’s circumstances. I just—”

Abigail cut her off with a cold glare. She did not care what Muri’s motives were. It changed nothing.

“Get out.”

“But miss—”

“Out!”

Rage poured through her, pure and unadulterated. She had been betrayed by someone she’d given her trust, but it hadn’t been Nicholas. Instead her future with the man she loved had been traded away for the promise of a few extra quid.

Everything made sense now. Miss Caldwell must have used the knowledge of Abigail’s own impropriety to force Nicholas’s hand. He did love her, after all. He had only been protecting her, keeping her reputation, and her family’s, intact by sacrificing his own happiness.

And hers as well.

Stupid, stupid man!

If he had only come to her. If he had only told her, she would have convinced him it didn’t matter. So what if there was a scandal? Once they married all would be forgiven. The ton had a strange sense of morality in that regard. So long as Nicholas married her in the end, nothing else mattered. The rest of their bizarre courtship would become a tasty little bon mot for a short time, then fade into myth.

But no. He had chosen another path. He had chosen to marry Miss Caldwell instead.

Abigail sunk to the edge of her bed and dropped her head in her hands.

What was Nicholas thinking?

And what did it mean now with his father dead and he the new Earl of Blackbourne?

No doubt Miss Caldwell’s talons would sink even deeper into his flesh now that she stood on the precipice of becoming a Countess. Quite the elevation from a mere miss.

Abigail leaped from her bed and rushed to the armoire. She had to find Nicholas. She needed to know if they could avert this impending disaster before it ruined both their futures.

But by the time she had picked out her outfit and attempted to dress without Muri’s help, her movements slowed and her determination waned. His family would now be dealing with the death of their father and all that entailed. They would not have time to deal with the meddling of a broken-hearted young woman. She would have to wait. And in the interim, provide the family whatever support they needed during this trying time.

If they needed any from her at all.

* * *

Dead. The words rang in Nicholas’s head. The earl was dead.

Nicholas walked to the large window that overlooked the gardens. Clouds covered the sky, blocking the sunlight and shrouding the world in shadow, as if the earl reached from beyond the grave to cast a pall over them.

He shook off the maudlin thought. The earl wasn’t even in the ground yet, though that would soon be remedied. In the distance, the spire of the old stone church stabbed the sky. In a matter of hours they would arrive there, listen to the ceremony, and watch them bury the man who’d acted as his father for his entire life.

He tried to feel something, but only regret floated to the surface.

Regret that he didn’t feel more.

Regret that the earl hadn’t been a different kind of man, and he, a better kind of son, even if it was in name only. Maybe then their lives would have been easier, different.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have wasted half his life trying to live up to a reputation his father had labeled him with as a child.

But he couldn’t blame it all on Blackbourne. He may have laid the groundwork, but Nicholas had done nothing to knock it down. Instead he had embraced it, determined to verify the earl had been right in every respect and to prove he didn’t care.

Except that he had.

All he had wanted was the earl’s acceptance. To know he belonged. Yet all he had ever received was rejection.

Now the man was dead. Amends would never be made.

His valet approached him. “Is there anything I can do for you, m’lord?”

“No, Desmond. I’m fine.” It was the standard response he’d given since Lord Blackbourne’s passing. He didn’t even know what it meant any longer.

Many of their guests had stayed on to attend the services. Nicholas wished they would all leave. The constant slew of sympathy and condolences made him feel like a charlatan. And being referred to as Lord Blackbourne made him uncomfortable, as if he had woken up one morning to find he’d become someone else. It didn’t sit well with him. He wanted to run away, back to the cabin, back to Abigail. Back to the one perfect moment when he lay entwined with her in the small bed and laid his heart bare. In that moment, he had been accepted. Loved. Hopeful.

Those sweet emotions had now been replaced with numbness and misery. He was not fit company for anyone.

“Perhaps you could set out my suit for the service?”

“As you wish, m’lord.” Desmond nodded and left him in peace.

He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before he turned and followed Desmond from the room. He had a funeral to prepare for.

* * *

Reverend Barnaby kept the service brief and thankfully did not drone on endlessly, nor did he attempt to build the former Earl of Blackbourne into a great man who bore little resemblance to his true nature. For that, Abigail was thankful. Being the direct recipient of the earl’s machinations, she was not warmly predisposed to him. Death did not change that fact, though she kept such thoughts to herself.

Not that she had anyone to talk to about it. No one knew the true cause of her heartbreak, save for Ben, and even he did not know the full scope of what had transpired. Just as well. Had he known, they might have been burying two Earls of Blackbourne today. Either way, he had been most solicitous toward her since the night following Nicholas’s engagement to Miss Caldwell. He had offered to take her home the next day, despite Lord Blackbourne’s death, but Abigail wouldn’t have it. She wanted to be here to lend her support to Nicholas. She understood better than most the conflicted feelings he must have over the earl’s death.

Not that they’d had any opportunity to talk. Miss Caldwell stuck to him like a burr, as if she were already the new Lady Blackbourne and took it upon herself to stay latched to his side every minute of the day.

Most of the guests had left and taken up residence elsewhere nearby to allow the family privacy while they mourned the earl’s passing. Only a select few had stayed at the estate at the request of Lady Blackbourne. Miss Caldwell and her family, Lord Huntsleigh and Mr. Bowen. And finally, her family. It did not surprise Abigail. Her mother and Lady Blackbourne had reignited the friendship they’d lost and the countess appeared reluctant to let that go at a time when she needed close confidantes around her.

Once the majority of the guests had left, the house plunged into silence. Black crepe hung on the door, symbolizing this as a house of mourning. Even now, when the guests returned briefly for the funeral service and burial, a pall of gloom remained in the air and voices were dampened to a hush. Abigail looked forward to escape, to leaving Sheridan Park behind, returning home and letting her wounds heal.

The service ended, Nicholas and five others lifted the coffin onto their shoulders and made the long solemn walk behind Reverend Barnaby to the family plot at the top of the hill. Abigail wished she could find a moment to speak to Nicholas, but he had been holed up since the earl’s death and his family planned to leave for London directly after the burial. It would be another week before they would accept condolence calls.

The separation wore on her. She wanted to tell him she knew what he had done and why, but an appropriate time had not presented itself.

Was this to be it then? Was this the end?

Lord Tarrington had warned her he planned to spend the majority of his time at Maynerly, which meant her time in London would be rare. And when she did see Nicholas, the idea that they would be relegated to polite chit chat at crowded social events broke what remained of her shredded heart.

Perhaps it was better this way. Seeing him, knowing he belonged to someone else would only twist the knife in the wound a little deeper. Perhaps the best outcome would be to keep her distance in the hope that eventually time would dull the pain.

She decided not to hold her breath on that account.

Chapter Twenty

“I do not miss him,” Nicholas admitted. He took a drink and the liquid slid down his throat with welcomed warmth. He had come to the club, anxious to leave the house and seek the comfort of his friends. The earl had been in the ground for a fortnight and the constant barrage of condolence bearers had worn him out, and while he did not like abandoning his mother and sister, he needed out. To breathe. To wrap his head around what had happened and what it meant for his future. He needed to speak freely, without fear of judgment or censure. “Part of me is glad to be rid of him. How awful is that?”

“Not so awful,” Spence said. “Blackbourne was a bastard. I doubt anyone in their right mind would miss him over much.”

“Lady Rebecca will,” Bowen pointed out. Nicholas nodded in agreement. His sister did indeed mourn her father, and he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it. She had received the best of him, such as it was. Any love Blackbourne had inside of him, he had bestowed upon his daughter.

“She will be the only one, is my guess.”

“Spence,” Bowen sent a warning glance to his friend.

“What?” Spence feigned innocence.

“The man is dead. Show a little respect.”

“No,” Nicholas waved the comment aside. “Spence is right. He was a vile man. Death doesn’t eradicate that.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He just wished…

Well, he wished it could have been different.

Spence signaled for another drink. “So what now?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Now I get to enjoy the rest of my life.” A scowl twisted at his mouth.

Spence sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward. “You can’t seriously be planning to go through with this sham of a marriage, are you? Blackbourne is dead. He cannot force you to—”

“They are engaged, Spence. The announcement has been made. What other choice does he have?” Bowen said, though he didn’t look any happier in stating the fact than Nicholas felt in hearing it. “If he does not go through with it, he will be in breach of promise. Only Miss Caldwell can call off the marriage now.”

“What are the chances of that?”

“Nonexistent.” Nicholas took another drink. If only the aged scotch could wash away the desolation wallowing in his gut, but it didn’t. “Her family is in dire need financially. With no male heir, most of what they own will go to a distant cousin upon Baron Caldwell’s passing. Miss Caldwell, and her two younger sisters need to make good marriages to secure their futures.”

“Can’t she simply find another poor, unsuspecting sod? She’s certainly not hard on the eyes, if you like that kind of cold, remote beauty.” The face Spence pulled made it clear he did not.

“Why would she, when she already has one? I am a certainty. Besides, the better the match she makes now, the better chances for her sisters when it is their turn.”

“Then you must convince her marrying you would be a catastrophic mistake,” Spence said.

“And how do you propose he do that?” Bowen asked. “He has already told us, Miss Caldwell has few options and strong motivation.”

Spence leaned forward in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “What does Miss Caldwell value most? Aside from your bank account and title.”

“Propriety,” Nicholas answered without hesitation.

“Exactly.”

“What crazy scheme are you cooking up now?” Bowen asked, his voice rife with suspicion. With good reason, Nicholas supposed. Most of Spence’s schemes did not end well.

Spence held up his hands to ward off Bowen’s warnings. “All I suggest, is that Nick consider which of the two she holds dearer and then find a way to ensure she does not get it, making the prospect of marriage to him so unappealing that she has ample incentive to break off the engagement.”

“How would I do that? I can’t very well empty my bank accounts or give away entailed lands and property.”

“No. But you could stage a scandal.” Spence shrugged. “It really isn’t too difficult.”

“From the mouth of the master,” Bowen muttered.

“And how, exactly, would I do that?”

Spence grinned and accepted the drink from Humphries. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

* * *

“Abigail?”

Abigail glanced up from the mound of dirt she had been toiling over for the better part of an hour. In the past week, she had taken to the task, determined to coax her family’s pitiful gardens back to their full splendor. She had no idea if what she did served any purpose other than it kept her hands busy and gave her something to focus on besides Nicholas.

She had paid a condolence call on his family yesterday, hoping to find a private moment to speak with him, desperate to convey what she knew, but only Lady Blackbourne and Rebecca were there to receive them. Thwarted at every turn, her thoughts turned desperate. She had even entertained the idea of sending Nicholas a direct missive to request a meeting. The scandal, if word got out, stayed her hand in that regard, but the idea lingered.

She shielded her eyes from the sun and addressed Caelie. “He is here, then?”

Her cousin nodded and Abigail’s shoulders slumped in response. Lord Tarrington had sent a notice the day before requesting a meeting, first with Ben and then with her. It could mean only one thing.