Deception (Daughters of Mannerling 3) (15 page)

‘What a coil,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘I have not enjoyed myself so much this age. What an exciting life you do lead. About to marry one of the infamous Beverleys! And yet, after Devers’s performance tonight, all are saying that they are more sinned against than sinning. Is it true that they would do anything at all to get their old home back?’

‘You are a wicked rattle-pate,’ said Lord Burfield. ‘No, it is not true. All gossip.’

But a shadow crossed his face. Once again he saw Abigail clutching the gates of Mannerling. He was a rich man. Would she, once they were married, try to get him to buy it for her? He realized he hardly knew anything about Abigail Beverley.

‘Would you do me the honour of granting me this dance?’ he said.

She took his arm. ‘No, it is the quadrille and I am tired of leaping about. Let us have something to drink and a comfortable coze.’

The duchess saw them walk together to the refreshment room. Lady Tarrant said something, her eyes with their ridiculously long lashes flirting up at Lord Burfield, and saw the way he laughed and began to worry. It had been assumed that Burfield was besotted with Abigail, hence the engagement, but there had been nothing loverlike about his behaviour.

Lord Burfield could only guess later that his subsequent behaviour had been the result of too much champagne combined with a desire to escape from his forthcoming marriage. He found Lady Tarrant extremely amusing and very desirable. And so, when he thought that the refreshment room was temporarily empty, he leaned forwards and planted a kiss full on Lady Tarrant’s generous mouth. Lady Tarrant kissed him back and then said with a laugh, ‘It is just as well I am a woman of the world, Burfield, and recognize that kiss as the act of a man suffering from wedding nerves.’

But little Lizzie, tucked away in a corner of the refreshment room with a glass of lemonade, saw that kiss and felt that life was becoming worse and worse as the see-saw went up and then down. How terrible it had been when they had seen Harry arrive, and then how wonderful it had been when he had shown himself in his true colours. And now, down into the depths again. Lord Burfield was kissing a lady who was not Abigail.

Abigail meanwhile danced on, behaving so correctly that her gentlemen partners who had hoped to find a femme fatale found instead a young debutante of deadly politeness. But Abigail thought she was acquitting herself very well.

Lord Burfield was silent in the carriage home. He had asked Lady Tarrant to go driving with him and she had accepted. A rebellious little voice in his head was telling him that he deserved a little fun.

Abigail climbed sleepily into bed, feeling more comfortable than she had done for some time. Miss Trumble, who had been sitting up waiting for them, on hearing of Harry’s terrible behaviour smiled with satisfaction. ‘Excellent. Now everyone will be fighting for an invitation to the wedding in case he turns up and makes another glorious scene.’

‘But it is to be a very quiet wedding, with just family present,’ protested Lord Burfield.

‘We know that,’ Miss Trumble had said. ‘But they do not. We will be showered with invitations.’

So it was all quite successful, thought Abigail, settling herself back against the pillows. Then her bedroom door opened and in the faint glow from the rush light in its pierced canister beside the bed, Abigail made out the figure of Lizzie.

‘Why, what is it, Lizzie?’ she called softly.

Lizzie scampered over and jumped on the end of the bed. ‘I must tell you,’ she said breathlessly, ‘that I saw Lord Burfield in the refreshment room with a lady I found out later to be the widowed Lady Tarrant. He kissed her on the lips and she kissed him back.’

A lump like ice began to form in Abigail’s stomach. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, very sure. They did not see me. Then he begged her to go driving with him this very afternoon and she said, “You should be looking after your little fiancée.” And he said, pulling a mournful face, “Too much time for that after I am shackled!” ’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Abigail. ‘What am I to do?’

‘You should be asleep,’ came Miss Trumble’s voice from the doorway. Lizzie flew to her, crying out all about Lord Burfield kissing Lady Tarrant and how he was to take her driving that day. It was five in the morning.

Miss Trumble lit a branch of candles and drew a chair up to the bed. ‘Did you ever wonder why Lord Burfield really proposed to you, Abigail?’

‘Now, I do not know,’ said Abigail. ‘I thought . . . I thought it was because he was being heroic, riding to our rescue to save our reputations.’

‘No gentleman is that altruistic,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘I think he was fascinated by your spirit and intelligence. I have noticed that you are uncharacteristically dull, Abigail. It is possible he finds you a bore.’

‘Then I will release him from the engagement,’ cried Abigail.

‘Think before you do. Here is a handsome and rich man, very attractive to the ladies, a fact which seems to have escaped you, Abigail. Before you throw up your hands and let him go, therefore creating more gossip and scandal, I think you should try to charm him. Come now, Abigail, you were always a fighter. Beauty in itself is not enough. Lady Tarrant has little, but I believe most men find her fascinating. Think about it. Come along, Lizzie. It is far too late for you to be still awake.’ She blew out the candles and led Lizzie from the room.

Now Abigail was fully awake. She thought and thought about Lord Burfield. She had simply treated him like a brother. He had never kissed
her.
Somehow she had to get him to kiss her, and before he went out driving with Lady Tarrant!

They had plenty of callers the next day, the men they had danced with, various London hostesses anxious to mull over the horror that was Harry Devers. Abigail joined in the entertainment of their guests but her eyes were always straying to the clock. Five o’clock was the fashionable hour to go driving. Her eyes flew to Miss Trumble for help as the hands of the clock began to move up towards five.

‘The weather has turned fine,’ said Miss Trumble, looking out of the window. ‘My lord, why do you not take Miss Abigail out to the Park for a drive? She has been indoors too much.’

‘I am afraid that is not possible,’ he said. ‘I have a prior engagement.’

‘How interesting,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘What engagement is that, my lord?’

He looked across at her, a glint of anger in his blue eyes, and said evenly, ‘That is my business.’

He stood up and bowed all around and then made his way quickly from the room. Abigail watched him go and felt the beginnings of anger. She excused herself, went to her room, and changed quickly into a carriage dress.

She went out of the house and round to the mews in time to see Lord Burfield driving off in a highperched phaeton. But he also had a curricle, she remembered.

‘So you escaped from your chains?’ said Lady Tarrant, laughing as he drove her around the Park. Lord Burfield was becoming conscious of the stares and raised eyebrows in their direction. Of course, he thought angrily, they were still all abuzz with rumour, gossip, and speculation after the ball last night. Now people might believe that Abigail had actually coerced him into marriage. He had not seen Lady Tarrant for some years. But her damped muslin gown left little to the imagination, and as her bold, flirtatious eyes turned up to his, he realized with a little shock that Lady Tarrant had probably got a certain reputation.

But there was worse to come. He suddenly became aware of the fact that he was no longer the focus of attention. Carriages were stopping, some men were standing up to get a better look.

And then, in front of his horrified gaze, Abigail Beverley drove towards him in his racing curricle, drawn by two of his most spirited horses, driving them well up to their bits. As she swept past him, she threw him a mocking smile.

‘Was not that your little fiancée?’ asked Lady Tarrant.

‘Yes, and driving my racing curricle, and without my permission!’

‘She is a superb whip. You should have no fear for your horses. I would advise you, Burfield, not to confront her or rail at her with so many fashionables watching. Let us continue our drive as if nothing is amiss.’

‘You must forgive me. I cannot continue to go on with any air of calm. I will take you home and then await Miss Abigail’s return.’

‘As you will. But do not be too stiffly on your stiffs. If I am not mistaken, Miss Abigail discovered that you were taking me on a drive and now she has thrown down the gauntlet.’

‘I think she has run mad,’ he said furiously.

‘Did you see that?’ said Prudence Makepeace to her mother and father, and they all craned their heads to watch Abigail and then swung back to witness the angry departure of Lord Burfield.

‘I do not understand,’ said Prudence. ‘That lady with Burfield did not look at all respectable. Her dress was so thin, you could see her garters.’

‘That was Lady Tarrant, a widow,’ said Mr Makepeace. ‘She is good
ton.’

‘I do not understand,’ wailed Prudence again. ‘I was not invited to the duchess’s ball, but Hetty Dempster was and she called to crow over me and tell me all the gossip. What hope have I if he is going to court a tart as well as marry Abigail?’

Abigail drove competently into the mews. The first person she saw was Lord Burfield, standing outside the stables and slapping his leather driving gloves angrily against his thigh. He saw her and called to the grooms, who came running out to the horses’ heads.

Abigail swung herself down from the curricle with a tomboyish ease.

‘How dare you!’ shouted Lord Burfield. ‘How dare you lie to my head groom and tell him you had my permission?’

‘Because he would not have let me go otherwise. I am an excellent whip,’ said Abigail, ‘but most men would not believe me.’ Actually, she had never handled such mettlesome horses as those of Lord Burfield and was glad to be safely back in the mews, but she was not going to tell him that.

‘Do not ever,
ever
, do such a thing again!’ he roared. Then he became aware of the grinning grooms and stable hands.

‘Come, let me escort you back to the house,’ he said in a quieter voice.

‘You may find my behaviour odd,’ snapped Abigail as she fell into step beside him, ‘but what of yours? To be seen so soon before your wedding driving a hussy in the Park is hardly the behaviour of a gentleman. Was that the famous Harriet Wilson?’ Harriet Wilson was the best-known prostitute in London and had been dubbed the Queen of Tarts.

‘The lady with me is all that is respectable. Lady Tarrant is an old friend, and you will speak of her with respect.’

‘So that you may kiss her again in the corners of ballrooms with a free conscience? If this is the way you mean to go on once we are married, I do beg you to be discreet. If I take a lover, believe me, no one will know of it,’ said Abigail blithely. Privately, she did not know what had come over her, never having been a prey to sexual jealousy before. She only knew she was suffused by anger, an anger which was banishing all her previous hangdog shame. She suddenly did not care whether he cried off. He should not have been driving in the Park with a tart.

He coloured with embarrassment and then rallied.

‘I am sorry you learned of that. I was a trifle foxed.’

‘That was ever Harry Devers’s trouble. Always about in his upper chambers. Brandy, I think.’

He looked down at her glowing face and large sparkling eyes. He felt once more all the old attraction she had held for him. But some devil prompted him to say stiffly, ‘I do not like your impertinent manner. I trust when we are married you will behave like a lady.’

‘I shall follow your example, my lord,’ said Abigail sweetly, ‘and kiss gentlemen at balls. But, like you, I shall not tell you about it. And if I plan to go out driving with some disreputable gentleman, I shall not tell you about that either!’

He grasped her upper arm, stopped, and swung her round to face him. ‘You are to become my wife and you will behave modestly as befits your station. Do you forget what you owe me?’

Abigail’s face flamed. ‘Oh, we are never, ever to forget that, are we? Then, my lord, I am quite happy to release you from this engagement.’

He suddenly felt like a pompous fool. She looked dazzling in her anger, blue eyes sparkling, cheeks pink, bosom heaving. He startled Abigail by beginning to laugh. ‘What a coxcomb I did sound. Pax, my sweeting. I will drive only you in future and kiss only you. Truce?’

He smiled down at her and she felt breathless, nonplussed, and then deliriously happy. ‘Truce,’ she agreed. From an upstairs window, Miss Trumble who had been watching them as they stood in the street below, heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing could go wrong now.

But Abigail’s troubles had only just begun. Trouble arrived in the form of a visit from Lord Burfield’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Drezby. They were an elderly, dignified couple. They treated the Beverleys with courtesy but could not disguise the fact that they were sadly disappointed in the forthcoming marriage and worried about their son. But chaperoned by the eminently sensible Miss Trumble and on their best behaviour, Abigail and her sisters were making a good impression. Unfortunately, their mother decided to join the company. Lady Beverley was graciously patronizing. She sighed over the speed of the wedding and said that had not the couple been so obviously in love, she could not have given her permission. The countess bridled. ‘Indeed! I understood the reason for the haste was to restore your daughter’s damaged name, Lady Beverley.
You
talk to me of objections! What of the sensibilities of this parent, who learns that her precious son is to ally his good name to that of a penniless girl who was prepared to marry a man in the place of her sister and ran into my son’s bed instead! If I had my way, this marriage would never take place.’

‘We are not to be spoken to in such a manner,’ said Lady Beverley, beginning to cry. ‘We are the Beverleys of Mannerling!’

Miss Trumble rose swiftly to her feet and led her weeping employer from the room. There was a dreadful silence.

Abigail was the first to find her voice. ‘My lord, my lady,’ she said earnestly, ‘you must forgive Mama. When we lost our home, I fear it affected her wits. She has not been herself since then . . . Believe me, if your son does not want this engagement, I can release him and so I have told him.’ She said the words with quiet dignity.