An Invitation to Scandal (30 page)

He meant to propose.

Her stomach plummeted and she stared down at her earth-covered gloves. Time had run out. She pursed her lips to keep their sudden trembling under control. Much as she wanted to pound her fists into the ground and wail her frustration for all to hear, she could not.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” Caelie said. She had been opposed to the association from the first moment Aunt Edythe had promoted it in the hopes of recapturing their family’s former glory. That she had to sacrifice her niece to do so did not even signify.

“Oh, Caelie, I wish that it were true.” She stood and pulled off her gloves. “But what other options do we have?” Since returning to London two weeks ago, creditors continued to bang at their door. Ben managed to hold them off, but for how long? Eventually they would demand their pound of flesh.

Caelie grabbed her suddenly and pulled her into a tight hug. “I hate this,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “You do not deserve such a fate. None of this was your doing. Papa lost his mind and now you are being made to suffer for it and it just isn’t fair! It should be me. He was my father. I should be the one to pay the price!”

But they both knew that could not be the way. Being Uncle Henry’s daughter, coupled with her broken engagement to Lord Billingsworth, had put Caelie on the shelf, possibly permanently. No gentleman seemed the least bit inclined to look her way now. Even at the house party, though she’d had several dance partners, none of those men went out of their way to pay her special attention. Despite her beauty, despite her high birth, she remained a pariah.

Abigail pulled out of Caelie’s embrace and squared her shoulders. “Do not fret, Caelie. After all, it is just a meeting. Nothing is written in stone yet.”

She forced a smile in the hopes of easing Caelie’s fear that her closest friend marched to her doom. Even if her bravery proved nothing more than a false front, she needed Caelie to see it, to believe she made the choice freely and without resentment.

“Come,” she said, slipping her arm through Caelie’s. “Let me go ready myself and then we shall see what Lord Tarrington has to say.”

“Ah, my dear. You look lovely.” Lord Tarrington stood, leaning heavily on his walking stick to vault himself out of his seat on the sofa.

Abigail acknowledged his compliment with a curtsey, stopping several feet away from him. She chose a chair opposite him on the other side of the low table. A tea service and plate of biscuits sat atop it. Her stomach growled. She had spent the lunch hour in the gardens and now paid the price of skipping her midday feast.

Her mother and Aunt Edythe flanked either side of her. Her aunt rarely made an appearance to see guests, but she usually made an exception for Lord Tarrington. Abigail often wondered why her aunt didn’t marry the man himself, but then again, Lord Tarrington only wanted a wife to provide him a son and Aunt Edythe had long passed her birthing years.

Abigail glanced at her brother. He lounged by the fire but had turned slightly away from them and did not return her look. Her stomach dropped a little further. This gathering could mean only one thing.

“My dear cousin has made a most generous offer,” Aunt Edythe said, with what Abigail assumed was meant to be a smile. If one called a tight pursing of the lips a smile. In all of the years Abigail had known the woman, she had never once seen a genuine smile grace her face, nor heard her laugh. Abigail found it difficult to reconcile any relation between her and Caelie.

Benedict finally turned and came to stand behind Abigail’s chair. His hands rested on her shoulders and she could feel a slight tremble. Was that from her, or her brother? She could not be certain.

“Lord Tarrington has made an offer of marriage,” he said, picking up where Aunt Edythe had left off, taking control of the conversation. She reached up and placed one of her hands over his, suddenly needing his support.

“Has he?” Her voice came out light as a feather. The words ruffled the air, barely there.

“It is quite a generous offer, my dear,” Lord Tarrington beamed. He seemed quite proud of himself, as if his offer made him heroic, a savior. And though it held a grain of truth, his puffed up sense of self disgusted her nonetheless. A part of her still wanted to fight, to find another way that didn’t leave her as breeding stock for an old man, and her brother and cousin mired in guilt because they had failed to save her from such a fate. She had come so close at the house party, tasted freedom and happiness on the tip of her tongue only to have it turn sour.

Nicholas thought his actions would save her. In truth, he had thrown them both to the wolves.

“I will settle most of your family’s debts. However, in doing so, I will also take control of several unentailed properties and advise young Glenmor on how best to manage his business and assets.”

Benedict’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. She knew how much Ben despised the older man’s interference. In truth, her brother had done a spectacular job keeping their family afloat as long as he had, finding ways to cut expenditures and improve investments. If they had more time, she had no doubt he could turn their fortunes around. But the creditors had tired of waiting.

“Where you have no dowry to speak of,” Tarrington continued, “I feel this is a fair settlement. We will have a short engagement as well. I wish to retire to Maynerly Park. Four weeks should suffice. That will allow time for the banns to be read. A small service will be all that is required. Given the family’s current social standing, I believe anything extravagant would just appear garish.”

“I see,” Abigail managed. Despite bracing herself for the inevitability of this moment and her determination to see it through for the sake of her family, desperation clawed at her insides. It took every last ounce of her will not to throw Ben’s hands from her shoulders and bolt from the room.

“Can I take that as your acceptance of my generous offer?”

Abigail opened her mouth and tried to force the words out, but the ones that came were not the ones she had planned.

“I’m sorry, Lord Tarrington. It is a very generous offer indeed, but it is also an important decision, and if it please you, I would like a few days to consider it.”

Lord Tarrington’s face turned stony.

“Don’t be a foolish girl!” Aunt Edythe lurched forward in her chair. Anger splintered from her dark eyes.

Abigail’s mother stood. Her face had paled and her features drawn tight, but her voice came strong and steady. “Taking the time to weigh such a decision is not foolish in the least, Lady Glenmor. If my daughter wishes to take a week to decide, then she will be granted a week. If Lord Tarrington is not willing to give her such time, he may rescind his offer. I am sure he has any number of young women lined up, eager to take Abigail’s place.”

The hard expressions on Aunt Edythe and Lord Tarrington’s faces said otherwise. Though a titled lord with a bank account to match, he was an unpleasant man and not well liked. Few families cared to bind their daughters into such a marriage if an alternative existed. And with his advanced years, Lord Tarrington’s time to produce a male heir ran low.

The weight of power shifted slightly. For the first time, Abigail realized he needed her as much as her family needed his money.

“I will grant Miss Laytham the time she has requested.” Tarrington pushed himself up from the sofa. “But I will not extend it one hour past that. I will return in one week’s time. By then, I will have her acceptance of my offer, as I believe we all know there will not be another one forthcoming.”

Ben squeezed her shoulders, then his grip loosened and slipped away. “I will show you out, Tarrington.”

Not until the doors to the receiving room closed behind them did Abigail let out a long breath and let the tension flow from her muscles.

She had bought herself a week.

The question was—what was she going to do with it?

* * *

The meeting was perilous despite the early hour that found most of their peers still snug in their beds. Nicholas should have dissuaded her. This was sheer folly. But Abigail’s missive read most urgent, and in the end, he could not deny her. She requested no reply, simply stating she would be at the indicated spot at the appointed hour, and that he meet her there.

The thought of her standing beneath this secluded alcove of thick oaks alone did not put his mind at ease. What other choice did he have but to meet her and ensure her safety? Finally he could explain to her why he had betrothed himself to Miss Caldwell. But not without great risk. Was it worth it?

Yes.

If he could see her, hear her voice, hold her in his arms, for just a few minutes, the chaos of his life would recede and things would make sense again.

And the moment he let her go, it would reclaim him once again.

Oh, but for those few glorious moments…

So he waited. Waited and hoped beyond all reason she would forgive him, that she would hear him out. He knew his chances were slim, but when she’d contacted him with a request to meet in secret, hope had flared and he clung to it like a lifeline.

Above him, songbirds woke with the early morning sun, their warbled songs a balm to his savaged nerves.

Through the mist, a dark figure slowly emerged. Though faint at first, he recognized her instantly, despite the dark hooded cloak she wore covering her from head to toe. He stepped away from the tree to greet her, drinking in the sight of her as she approached. The early morning fog swirled around her like a specter. The maid who had escorted her stopped a discreet distance away. A different one than the maid she’d had at the country estate, shorter and heavier.

She stopped just beyond his reach. He longed to cross the space and enfold her into his arms, but he held back, unsure of her feelings. He had hoped her request to meet meant she had forgiven him, but he refused to give in to such fancy. Knowing Abigail, she had arranged the meeting to give him a proper dressing down for what he had done and to demand an explanation and apology.

“You said it was urgent,” he said. “Is everything all right?”

It was a stupid question. Nothing had been right since he’d announced his engagement to Miss Caldwell.

Abigail’s hands clasped in front of her and she squared her shoulders. “I know why you are marrying Miss Caldwell,” she said. She wasted no time with pleasantries but rather jumped right in.

“You do?”

“My previous maid, Muri, confessed she told Miss Caldwell I had attended Madame St. Augustine’s party. It appears she sold her loyalty for the promise of a better position in a loftier household. As such, she is no longer employed at ours.”

“Nor would such a woman ever come under my employ.” Nicholas’s heart pounded in his chest. Was that all she wished? For him to ensure her maid did not gain from her betrayal? If so, it was done.

Abigail waved a hand, dismissing the issue. “It matters not. She will reap what she sowed eventually. That is not why I asked you here.”

“Then why did you?”

“To confirm my suspicions. Did Miss Caldwell use the information to coerce a proposal from you? Are you marrying her to protect me?”

Nicholas tried to form words of denial but none came. He did not want Abigail to bear the burden of the decision he made. He wanted her to be free, of all of this. To carry on and have a happy life. But she did not look happy. He recognized the depth of misery in her eyes and the lies would not come.

“I would have never agreed to a betrothal otherwise.” He took a step toward her, removing the divide and took her hands in his, wishing the gloves did not exist so he could feel her soft skin. “I went to her to inform her there would be no engagement between us, that I loved another. She informed me if I did not announce our betrothal at the ball that night she would let it be known you were at Opal’s party. She would ruin you.”

Abigail nodded and stared down at their hands. Sadness softened her pretty features, giving her a melancholy beauty that cut deep into his heart. “I suppose I have only myself to blame. It was my decision to attend the party.”

She lifted her head and even in the early morning gloom, a sheen of tears brightened her impossibly blue eyes.

He squeezed her hands. “This is not your fault.”

She gave him a knowing look. She would not be placated so easily. She did not seek absolution, nor did she shirk her own responsibility for their situation. Despite wanting to protect her, he had never admired her more.

“We both know if I had not been so foolish as to traipse off to Madame St. Augustine’s party that night, none of this would have happened.”

“Perhaps. But without that night, none of
this
would have happened.”

Despite the hurt, he would never regret what had occurred between them. It was the one thing he had left to sustain him. The memory of the love they’d shared would linger long in his memory to see him through the dark hours of his future.

Chapter Twenty-One

Something in Nicholas’s voice caught Abigail’s attention and made her pause.

None of this would have happened.

His words rang true. She would not be standing on the brink of scandal. He would not have been forced to marry a woman he did not want. And she would not be counting the hours down before she had no other alternative but to accept Lord Tarrington’s proposal to save her family from financial ruin.

She should regret attending Madame St. Augustine’s party. But how could she? Despite everything, she had found love and passion with a man she had once adored, then learned to despise. He had opened her eyes, made her look past her pain to see the truth. She had learned the power of forgiveness. And the healing strength of love. She had experienced the intense intimacies between a man and a woman and felt cherished and beautiful. Fulfilled in every way imaginable.

If she had not gone to that party, she would not have discovered the true Nicholas Sheridan beneath the mask and realized that despite his actions, he was still a good man. A man struggling to change his life and do the right thing.