Chapter Nine − An Act Observed

Dressed in a bright red gown decorated with large black buttons−turning her effectively into a ladybird−Abigail sat in her grandfather’s carriage, watching her aunt twist and turn a handkerchief in the seat across from her. “You’ll rip it in two,” she warned, her voice teasing, hoping to distract Aunt Mara from the one thought that had occupied her mind since their afternoon stroll through Hyde Park.

Blinking, her aunt met her gaze. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been awfully distracted lately. I−”

“I’m not complaining,” Abigail reminded her. “I’m worried. I want you to talk to me. Tell me what is on your mind, and I promise we shall do what we can to put you at ease.” Inhaling a deep breath, she watched her aunt for another minute. “It is your grandchildren, isn’t it?”

Swallowing, Aunt Mara nodded.

“Are you afraid it will be a long time before you see them again?”

Tears appeared in the older woman’s eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. “I know it will. She does not want me to see them.”

“Your son’s wife?”

Again, Aunt Mara merely nodded.

“Why do you let her?”

Wide eyes met hers.

Abigail sighed, knowing by now that it was not in her aunt’s nature to seek confrontation to achieve her goals. No, she cherished peace above anything else. Still, the situation within their family could hardly be called peaceful. At best, it was a truce everyone had agreed upon, but none was quite happy.

As they walked into Lord Blamson’s ballroom, Abigail vowed that she would speak to her grandfather as soon as possible and once more urge him to seek out his grandson. There had to be a way that Aunt Mara could see her grandchildren more regularly than occasionally happening upon them in the park. That was ludicrous.

After spending considerable time standing by the dance floor, exchanging the occasional observation with her aunt, Abigail found a young man striding toward her. Although she could see his displeasure at her appearance in the way his gaze slid over her, he still asked her to dance…only to regret his decision minutes later.

In turn, watching one of their own limp off the dance floor dissuaded the young gentlemen present there that night from venturing anywhere near her. Although relieved, Abigail could not deny that she was bored. What was the point of attending these events if one could not dance? Or at least socialise?

However, she was the most awful woman in all of England, was she not?

To move her feet, Abigail began to venture from room to room, her thoughts drawn back to Lord Amberly as he had grinned at her, utter delight in his eyes, asking her if she knew about the less than flattering name the ton had bestowed on her.

For a moment that afternoon, Abigail had enjoyed herself.

Allowing her gaze to sweep over the dancing couples, Abigail felt her lips press into a tight line as annoyance rose to the forefront. Why was it not possible for her to dance without appearing as though she was looking for a husband? Why did everyone assume a young woman’s life revolved around finding a suitable match? Was there nothing more to life than marriage?

Oh, to hell with them all if they even thought for a moment she would live by their rules!

Spotting a young gentleman by the side of the room, unoccupied at present, Abigail marched toward him, her mind made up.

A hint of the fierce determination that burnt in her chest must have shown on her face, for the young gentleman blanched visibly when he saw her coming, his gaze shifting left and right as though looking for someone who would come to his rescue.

However, fortune did not smile on him that night, and so he found himself put on the spot as the most awful woman in all of England asked him for the next dance. What was he to say?

Seeing him hesitate, Abigail grasped his arm and dragged him onto the dance floor before he had a chance to decline by offering up an excuse to not appear impolite.

Although Abigail enjoyed the chance to move her limbs, dancing with an unwilling partner was far from enjoyable, and so her gaze continued to venture around the room, hoping to spot something−anything!−to distract her from the sheer boredom that had become her life.

Her gaze fell on a well-groomed lady perhaps ten years her senior. The woman’s eyes had narrowed into slits, and her lips looked more like the snarl of a charging cat. Then she did in fact charge forward, her feet carrying her toward…Aunt Mara.

Abigail froze as she saw her aunt’s face turn white as a sheet, her hands twisting into the handkerchief with an almost desperate need to hold on to something.

Outrage rose within Abigail at seeing her gentle, sweet-tempered aunt thus attacked, and without further thought, she abandoned her dance partner in the middle of a cotillion and rushed across the room to her aunt’s side.

In the very moment that the woman opened her mouth−no doubt to spew her venom−Abigail stepped into her path. “Lady Bradish, isn’t it?” she said sweetly, her eyes sharp as they held the woman’s angry stare, certain that she was none other than her aunt’s daughter-in-law. “It’s so nice to make your acquaintance. My aunt has told me so much about you.” After glancing at Aunt Mara and seeing a touch of relief on the old woman’s face, Abigail turned back to her opponent, noting the initial confusion turn to comprehension.

“Miss Abbott, is it?” the marchioness asked, a hint of distaste in her tone. “I had heard you were in town. You seem to be quite the talk of the season.”

Holding on to her feigned smile, Abigail ignored the hidden insult. “Oh, that is so kind of you to say. Yes, I’ve made wonderful friends already. One nicer than the other. I hardly know where to spend my time, but I promise I shall call on you as soon as possible. My aunt often tells me how fond she is of your two beautiful children.” She clasped her hands together as though surprised by a sudden idea. “We should take them out on a picnic. Aunt Mara, what do you think?”

Taken aback, her aunt did not reply.

“Yes, that’s a marvellous thought,” Abigail continued, cutting off the marchioness as she opened her mouth to object. “I will send word.” Beaming at the marchioness, Abigail then drew her aunt’s arm through hers. “It was truly wonderful to meet you.” And with that she marched off, all but dragging her aunt behind her.

 

***

 

Stunned speechless, Griffin watched as Miss Abbott guided her aunt away from the sour-looking woman, who he presumed to be the children’s mother they happened upon at the Serpentine.

As he had been unable to get Miss Abbott out of his head, Griffin had spent the past two hours since his arrival at the ball observing the young woman, trying to make sense of her strange behaviour.

Indeed, throughout the evening she had acted as she always had, dressed to her disadvantage, oblivious to society’s code of conduct and all but blind to the reaction of others. Still, now that Griffin knew it was an act, he could not help but notice the small signs of her true self lurking under the finely crafted mask she had chosen to wear.

And then she had rushed off the dance floor in the middle of a cotillion, leaving behind a rather stunned looking gentleman, and hurried to her aunt’s side.

In that moment, Griffin had seen the young woman, full of compassion and loyalty, he had met that day at Hyde Park.

And his heart had overflown with pride.

Following the two women to the refreshment table, he watched as Miss Abbott put a glass of lemonade in her aunt’s hand, urging her to drink it. “You look pale, Aunt Mara. Perhaps you need some air.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Child,” her aunt replied, carefully sipping her drink. “I was merely…surprised at your sudden appearance.”

Miss Abbott smiled, then shook her head at her aunt’s understatement. “You’re right. Lady Bradish is not very fond of you, which is odd, because no one in their right mind could ever dislike you, Aunt Mara.”

Miss Abbott’s aunt smiled, and Griffin thought to see a touch of red rising to the older woman’s cheeks. Realising that the dowager marchioness was probably quite used to being overlooked and taken for granted, Griffin could only imagine what her niece’s words, her utter devotion and loyalty, meant to her.

“Still, you should not have spoken to her as you did,” the dowager marchioness counselled in a rather apologetic voice. “She might−”

“I was polite, wasn’t I?” Miss Abbott interrupted, daring eyes meeting her aunt’s while the twitch that came to her lips spoke of suppress humour. “You cannot deny that I said nothing offensive.”

“Of course not, Dear,” her aunt agreed, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass in her hands. “Still, you ought not to have suggested a picnic, knowing that it would upset her.”

Miss Abbott snorted, “I do not care whether that woman is upset. All I want is to not see you so miserable any longer.” Nodding her head with determination, she grasped her aunt’s hand. “I shall speak to grandfather again. I’m certain he will find a way to fix this.”

The dowager’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid he will not be pleased if you bother him with this trifle. I’ve never known him to meddle in family affairs.”

“Meddle?” Miss Abbott gawked before she shook her head in disbelief. “I have to say you all have a strange way to look at family. It’s not called meddling if you protect the people you love.” The dowager was about to open her mouth, but Miss Abbott cut her off. “He cares for you,” she said, causing her aunt’s eyes to widen even further. “He will do this.”

The dowager swallowed. “No one has ever been able to make him do something he does not wish to do.”

Sighing, Miss Abbott laughed, “Yes, I’ve noticed he likes to appear like a cold-hearted monster. It seems to amuse him greatly. But mark my words, it is only an act.”

Watching Miss Abbott and her aunt head out to their carriage, Griffin found himself quite intrigued with the young woman he had loathed to meet before. Her compassionate and loyal side appealed to him greatly, and he could not deny that she was fascinating when she did not pretend to be the most awful woman in England.

Descending the front stoop down to the pavement, Griffin kept his gaze firmly attached to the duke’s carriage until it turned at the next street and was lost from sight. “I could like her,” Griffin whispered to the dark night, keeping his thoughts firmly away from the realisation that he already did.