Miss Watson's First Scandal (A Miss Mayhem Novella) (9 page)

“David. I mean Mr. Hawke. We didn’t hear your knock.” She rushed forward to welcome him with a slightly unsteady curtsey. He was so handsome. His smile as he bowed made her heart tumble over quite alarmingly. It was all she could do to remain still.

“So it would seem.” He turned to Imogen. “For the record, Miss George, my favorite K.L. Brahms title is
The Mischievous Miss
. Very witty. I recommend it to all my clients in need of a book to cheer them.”

Imogen’s smile widened. “It’s very difficult for me to admit to a favorite. I love them all,” she boasted.

It was terrible to be the only one in the room with no idea what they were talking about. Peter would not allow her to read the author’s books without his permission. The K.L. Brahms section of his bookcase he’d deemed inappropriate for a woman her age. But if Imogen read them, then she would, too. She would take David’s advice and start with the book he recommended. It would give her something to talk about with him when they next met.

The gentlemen made small talk and Abigail drew closer to Imogen. “Thank you for providing a distraction. I didn’t know you read K.L. Brahms. You never mentioned reading the author before.”

Imogen’s smile was sincere. “I’ve read all sixteen editions.”

“Sixteen?” Peter interrupted. “There are only fifteen published and it’s been a good long while since the last. I was starting to think he’d given up writing.”

“My mistake. It must be fifteen,” Imogen assured him, but something in her manner did not seem truthful to Abigail’s way of thinking. But with Peter now hovering and wanting to talk of this Brahms fellow again, she’d have to wait until they were alone to ask.

As Peter and Imogen discussed the books at length, Abigail eased away. They were really quite passionate about the stories in question and it was hard to understand the topic when she hadn’t a clue as to the subject matter.

David left them to the discussion and drew closer to her. “I understand you’ve been calling on Mrs. Metcalf recently. That was very kind of you.”

“Yes.” Abigail met his gaze. “She was quite lost without her husband for a good number of weeks. His passing was peaceful. He was there for dinner and gone before breakfast, she said.”

“Metcalf was entirely without fuss. It was one of the things I admired about him. I called on her today. She had her daughters and grandchildren visiting.”

Abigail smiled. “Her family wishes her to move to Hove soon but she will not go. She says Brighton is the only place to be.”

As she held David’s gaze, a warmth invaded her chest. She was very fond of him. She might even have fallen in love. The realization made her want to throw her arms about him and never let him go again. But he was only here for a few days more. After that, she’d have to wait a year to see him again. That was simply too long. But how could she arrange any better? She bit her lip, thinking it over. Peter’s situation cast a pall over all her plans. Would they even be living here when summer came round again? Would David feel inclined to visit her elsewhere once his business with Peter was done?

“Do you agree with her?” David’s low pitched question caused her insides to jump.

“I do love Brighton.”

But she didn’t know if she could wait an entire year just for another chance to see David. Who knows, maybe when he was away in London he had a lady hoping to see him. She did not like the idea of losing him to another. And she certainly didn’t want him kissing someone else.

“What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.

“London is simply too far away from Brighton.”

A look of agreement crossed his face. “I was thinking precisely the same thing, but it is not possible to move the great city based on only a wish.”

“Then perhaps it is time to move the people.” A movement at the doorway caught her eye, a sign that dinner was ready to be served. She winked at David, a very bold move to be certain given her brother stood several feet away and hurried to catch Imogen’s arm.

As they gathered in the dining room, she hoped tonight’s dinner would prove to David she was worthy of his notice. She wished with all her heart that he’d be so impressed by her skills as a hostess he would want her for his wife.

~ * ~

“You are to be congratulated, Watson. Your sister has become an exemplary hostess,” David said, meaning every word. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal more in a very long time. Abigail had been warm and gracious, including him in the conversation when Imogen and Watson had returned to their contention over the wide appeal of K. L. Brahms’ work. He could easily see Imogen found Watson’s views amusing that some of the novels touched on the vulgar. As the author, she alone knew the source of her topics and why she’d chosen to write of them.

Despite his opinion that the works were inappropriate for very young ladies, Peter Watson appeared to be an avid fan. Watson could recall the precise order of publication and he could even quote certain passages that appealed to him.

“She enjoys entertaining.” Watson pulled a bottle from a sideboard cupboard and filled two glasses. He passed one to David. “Not that we have done much of late.”

David sipped, noting the flavor was not as agreeable as he was used to enjoying in the great city. However, Peter had given him the opening he needed to start their business discussion. He just needed to follow through. He set the glass down, but the words clogged in his throat. He swallowed, for the first time ever, utterly speechless when it came to discussing his client’s finances. He had to do this. He coughed several times but nothing came to him as a way to start. In desperation, he returned to discussing Abigail. “I understand your sister had a successful visit to London,” he said at last.

“Not so successful that she made a match, though she had a fair few interested. A pity. She really enjoyed her time in London. She was disappointed to return home when our month was up,” Peter confided. He drained his glass and refilled it again.

It surprised him that Abigail had regretted leaving London when she’d been so dismissive of the gentlemen she’d met there. “I’m sure she was much admired,” David agreed, resting back in the chair. “I was surprised some lucky fellow hadn’t snapped her up.”

“They’d have to catch her first.” Peter shook his head. “My sister has very strong notions about marriage.”

If she had dressed as she had tonight, wearing the sheerest of gowns with tiny capped sleeves, then the gentleman would have been clamoring all over themselves to reach her. She could have had any man she wanted. Keep his eyes from her low bodice had taken a toll on David’s nerves during the meal. He’d imagined any number of ways to peel her out of the dress. “And what of you? We haven’t really talked since my return. Have you set your heart on making a match yourself?”

Peter stared at him steadily. “That’s unlikely.”

“The right woman could do wonders for your circumstances,” he said quietly. There, he’d done it. He’d introduced a subject that could lead to discussing Peter’s finances and securing a bride with a fortune at the same time. Abigail should be pleased with him.

Peter sat forward in his chair suddenly. “I don’t see a wife on your arm.”

“My circumstances are different.” He shrugged. “I’ve no need for a wife.”

“You have the money to support one,” Peter countered bitterly. “You’re as rich as Croesus. You could have a wife and a mistress and not feel the pinch to your pocketbook.”

“But I have little time for either.”

“And I have ample time, but barely any money to support anyone but my sister.” Peter loosened his cravat, face turning a deep shade of red at his confession. For a man normally full of jovial good spirits, the situation had severely curbed his lighter side.

David sighed. “I had hoped never to have this conversation with a friend. I wish our fathers had never started this. But you must understand what my partner demands I do while I am here. The debt cannot stand as it is. You must find a way out of this. A good marriage could considerably improve your life.” Slowly, David removed the sealed letter from his pocket and slid it across the table.

Peter stared at it. “How long?”

“A month. I will return on the day to take possession of the house,” David said quietly. He wouldn’t let his partner come to Brighton. Knight would not be kind or patient as the Watsons took their leave.

Peter’s shoulders sagged, his gaze dipping to the floor in defeat.

For the first time ever, David felt evil. He was robbing a friend of his home. He’d become the antithesis of all he had hoped to be in his career. He wanted people to live a comfortable life. He simply couldn’t do what he wanted for a man in Peter Watson’s position.

As he reached for his wine glass to wash the sour taste from his mouth, Peter spoke. “Leave.”

“Peter,” David started.

But his friend’s chin lifted. His eyes blazed with hate. “Take your money-grubbing ways out of my house. You are not to set foot within until month’s end.”

David sighed and stood. “As you wish.”

He strode from the room and picked up his hat and gloves from the entrance table. A movement inside the parlor drew his eye. Abigail waited with Miss George by her side, her clenched hands and panicked expression the final sign he could no longer call himself a good man.

He knew this could happen but it hurt far more than he’d anticipated. Rather than speak to her, and risk Peter’s temper, David backed toward the door and quickly let himself out. He should not have come to Brighton. He should have let Knight handle the matter himself and mourned the loss of friends at a distance.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Glass shattered within the dining room. Abigail rushed there to see what Peter was about. She ducked as a wine bottle flew over her head to smash against the cream-papered walls. “Peter, what on earth is the matter with you?”

But the brother she knew and loved had fled. In his place was a caged beast, striding from one end of the small room to the other, hands waving about in agitation. She had never seen him this way before and he frightened her. He tore his hands through his hair, almost as if he meant to rip it from his head, but he didn’t stop moving.

Determined to end the madness, Abigail stepped into his path. “Peter, stop a moment and tell me what’s wrong.” She grabbed for him, but he eluded her. He backed away quickly, and then spun for the door. Unfortunately, Imogen stood between him and the door and, in his haste, Peter didn’t see her. He crashed into Imogen and she was knocked to the hard floor, a startled
oomph
leaving her lips.

Abigail hurried across the room as Peter lifted Imogen to her feet, apologies tumbling from his lips so rapidly Imogen had no chance to respond. All of a sudden, Imogen captured his face between her hands and held him still. “Accidents happen, Mr. Watson. I’m uninjured.”

Abigail’s brother closed his eyes briefly as Imogen moved her fingers over his red cheeks, and then he wrenched himself away, rushing for the door and leaving without even taking his hat or gloves.

“Peter, wait,” Abigail called after him, but he never replied. She rushed to the front steps and peered down Cavendish Place. The street was deserted at this hour and after a time she had no choice but to shut the front door. He would come back soon. He and David must have quarreled, although she hadn’t heard a word of their conversation from the parlor.

He would calm down soon enough. He simply needed time to take it all in. She followed Imogen into the parlor, and then realized her friend was limping. “Imogen, you
are
hurt.”

“So it would seem. I landed somewhat awkwardly. I’ll be all right in a little while.”

Imogen sat on the couch, but it was clear from the way she winced that her injury resided on her bottom. “Where will he go, do you think?”

Abigail rubbed her temple hard. “I hate to speculate, but I hope he does not go to another hell. That won’t solve the problem.”

“No. Gambling now will not solve anything, but could get you deeper into trouble. I wish he would come back soon. I do not like to think of you here alone if he returns in a temper.”

“Peter is not a violent person. I am sure today is an aberration.” Abigail nibbled at her fingertip, uncertain of what to do next. It wasn’t like Peter to rush off into the night without a word to where he was going. Should she follow him?

Imogen pursed her lips. “Troubled times calls for family and friends to stick together not bottle everything up inside. Did he confide in anyone?”

“Not that I ever learned. He never really told me of his financial issues, remember.”

They both jumped as three knocks rattled the front door.

“Simpson will see who it is.” Abigail peered at Imogen as she gingerly repositioned herself on the couch. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”

Imogen shook her head. “It’s mostly my pride that is bruised.”

Simpson’s slow steps echoed in the hall and then male voices sounded. At last, Simpson came to the parlor doorway. “Mr. Hawke wishes to inquire if you are in need, Miss Watson. He is quite concerned.”

Abigail’s heart raced. If she asked David to find Peter and bring him home again, would he be willing? “Please ask him to come in, Mr. Simpson, so I may reassure him in person.”