Chapter Two

"And so we are in London."

"We are." Abigail offered her mother a smile though Lady Townsend did not return it. A little concerned, Abigail shared a glance with her younger sister Charlotte, though her sister and she quickly returned their attention to their embroidery rather than speaking any further with their mother. Though Abigail would dearly have liked to ask what it was that brought her mother to such a silence, she chose to keep those questions back rather than offer them to her. If Lady Townsend wished to speak of her present thoughts, then she would do.

Though I am a little troubled by what I overheard on my way to the drawing room. Biting her lip, Abigail kept her eyes cast down to the needle and thread in her hand rather than looking elsewhere, recalling the quiet conversation she had caught when walking through the hallway. Her father had been saying something about his debts and her mother had sounded very concerned, though Abigail had hurried her steps so as not to overhear more. It was not her place and, besides which, should there be anything of importance, she was certain her mother or father would speak to her of it themselves, in their own good time.

All the same, she was rather worried about what these financial difficulties – whatever they were – would mean for Charlotte and for herself. This was Charlotte's debut year while she was still waiting to find herself a suitable suitor, though she did not think that Charlotte would have any difficulty in finding herself a match. She was the prettier out of the two of them, with long, dark hair and vivid green eyes, a smooth complexion and rosebud lips. Abigail, on the other hand, had only dull brown hair, eyes which only sparkled when she was in the very best of moods and skin which was much too inclined to flush red at even the smallest embarrassment. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she had not yet managed to secure a husband, though it also, no doubt, came from the fact that her dowry was a good deal smaller than the other ladies in London.

"Your debut ball went very well last evening, Charlotte." Lady Townsend sat down and putting her hands in her lap, clasping them together, smiled at Charlotte though she did not look once towards Abigail. "I have had five lots of flowers delivered this morning! I have no doubt you will attract many a gentleman caller."

"That is wonderful," Abigail remarked, truly pleased for her sister. "I hope one of them will prove worthy of you!"

Lady Townsend smiled at this as Charlotte blushed, though Abigail only looked back to her embroidery, recalling how few she had received after her debut ball. She was quiet and rather retiring, whereas Charlotte was a good deal more amiable, able to speak to anyone who greeted her without so much as a hint of a blush in her cheeks. There were times that Abigail envied her, envied the confidence which she could pull around herself whilst she, by comparison, struggled to think of what to say in any given conversation.

"My lady?"

Abigail looked up as the butler came in, handing a note to Lady Townsend before asking if there was anything else she required. With a wave of her hand, Lady Townsend dismissed the butler before opening her letter, sinking down into the chair opposite Abigail as she read it. Abigail continued on with her embroidery, only for her eyes to flare in surprise as her mother let out a loud exclamation.

"What is it, Mama?" Charlotte asked, before Abigail could ask the same. "Is there something wrong?"

"The Beast of Crestwood Hall has returned to London!"

"The Beast of Crestwood Hall?" Abigail repeated, sharing a puzzled look with her sister. "Who is that?"

Lady Townsend's eyes roved over the letter in her hand one more time before she finally answered, giving Abigail a long look before she spoke as though she was thinking something that Abigail could not quite yet understand.

"The Earl of Crestwood," she began to explain, "is a gentleman who has been absent from society for the last few Seasons. Do you remember him, Abigail? He was tall, with broad shoulders and a very fine appearance. He was very distinguished and with a good deal of wealth also! Many a young lady wished to push herself towards him though none succeeded save for one. But that engagement came to a swift end!"

"And why is that?"

Lady Townsend set the letter down in her lap. "Because the gentleman decided to go to war. It was foolish of him, given that he bore the title and had a responsibility not only to that but also to his family, but he was evidently quite determined! Thus, he went to war and though he returned to England, he did not come back to London. The engagement came to an end once Lord Crestwood had returned."

Abigail looked again to her sister, though Charlotte showed no understanding in her expression whatsoever.

"Why did it come to an end?"

"Because Lady Clara stated that he was so disfigured, so altered, that she could not bring herself to marry him!"

A hand squeezed Abigail's heart, though whether it was from sadness, sympathy or fear, she could not tell. "Is that why he has not returned to society, Mama? "

"Yes, because he is naught but a beast now!" Lady Townsend exclaimed, throwing up one hand. "From what Lady Clara told society, his face has been quite ravaged by the dangers that come with war and his spirit, it is said, was quite broken. Instead of coming back to London, he has lived the last two years within Crestwood Hall, seeing no-one save for his mother and sister. He has never shown an interest in returning to society and even those near to his estate have not been invited in. You must understand, Abigail, that there are those who know a good deal more than I and they have said that he is a gentleman so unlike his former self that he is barely recognisable."

Abigail searched her mind to try and recall whether or not she had been introduced to the Earl of Crestwood during her very first Season but she could not immediately recall him. After all, there had been a good many introductions over the Seasons and none had brought her any sort of happiness as regarded making a match for herself. Lady Clara, however, she did recall and that memory made her frown.

"From what I remember, Lady Clara was not the most… considerate of young ladies."

Lady Townsend shot her a quick look but then, after opening her mouth to perhaps disagree with Abigail wholeheartedly, sighed and let her shoulders drop. "No, she is not," she admitted, quietly, "though do not let anyone outside this room know I have said such a thing! If you recall, Lady Clara is the daughter to the Earl of Templeton and thus, a very prestigious young lady and very wealthy also. It would not be wise to let any of the ton know of our true thoughts as regards her."

"I doubt we will be in the same sphere, Mama," Abigail replied, reassuring her. "Lady Clara is somewhat aloof and does not involve herself with the daughters of Viscounts." Especially not poor ones.

"That does sound like a great pity for the Beast of Crestwood Hall – I mean, the Earl of Crestwood." Charlotte, now looking a little embarrassed, dropped her gaze to her embroidery. "To not only have been injured in the war but also to have had his betrothed break their engagement."

"I am sure it was very painful," Lady Townsend agreed, softly. "Though now he has come back to London and mayhap will be eager to seek out a bride for himself."

"Though what young lady would wish to marry such a fellow?" Charlotte asked, as the very same question lodged itself in Abigail's mind. "After all, it does not sound as though he is particularly amiable, if he has spent the last few years at home. And indeed, though I do not say it is his fault or that he ought to be blamed for such injuries, it seems to me as though the young lady who consents to marry him will have to accept that there will always be a gossip, whispers and the like whenever he sets foot into society. The ton will always speak of his appearance and even his family, should he have any, will be known by who their father is."

Abigail's stomach twisted as she considered this, feeling herself sympathetic for the gentleman. "That is a great pity but I believe that you are quite right, Charlotte."

"Indeed."

The strange, softness of her mother's voice had Abigail looking back at her with concern but her mother did not return her gaze. Instead, she nodded to herself and looked away from Abigail for a few minutes, leaving both Abigail and Charlotte to wonder what it was their mother was considering. Again, neither of them dared question it but there was certainly something that Lady Townsend was considering, given the way she paid very little heed to the conversation which had passed between them for the last few minutes.

"I have something."

Without warning, Lady Townsend rose from her chair and hurried up towards the door.

"Mama?" Abigail asked, half rising out of her chair. "Whatever is the matter?"

Lady Townsend shook her head. "Nothing, nothing at all," she replied, turning to smile at them both though her gaze quickly slid away from Abigail. "I must speak with your father at once."

Abigail blinked then looked to Charlotte who, in turn, frowned and then shrugged her shoulders before returning to her embroidery. There was something unsettling in the way their mother had hurried away so quickly when they had been talking about Lord Crestwood and his prospects as regarded marriage. What was it her mother was thinking? And why had she had to speak to their father with such urgency? Swallowing hard, Abigail tried to rid herself of the knot in her stomach but it would not untwist. With a sigh, she picked up her embroidery again and tried to concentrate on what she was doing but the threads only tangled themselves together.

Frowning, Abigail sat back and let her embroidery fall to her lap. Whatever it was, her mother would soon make it plain, Abigail was sure. She only had to wait.

***

"Good evening, Miss Townsend."

Abigail smiled and dropped into a curtsy, under the watchful eye of her mother. "Good evening, Lady Chesterton."

The lady laughed and then, the moment Abigail rose, grasped her arm and fell into step with her, pulling her away from Lady Townsend without so much as a glance towards her. "We have finished our formalities, have we not? Now we can simply be contented in each other's company. I am so very glad to see you again!"

"And I you," Abigail replied, happy now to see her friend again. "It has been so many months since we last saw each other! Tell me how you are. Is your marriage all you had hoped for?"

"It is." There was a warm glow in Lady Chesterton's voice and Abigail tried to quieten the whisper of envy which immediately grew in her heart. "It is more than I had imagined could be, in fact! Lord Chesterton is the most wonderful gentleman and he loves me dearly."

Abigail smiled. "As you love him," she said softly, as her friend nodded. "I am very happy for you."

"I thank you. Though I am quite determined that this Season, given that I am now here as a married lady and do not require a chaperone, to give you as much of my attention as I can so that you might also find yourself a husband."

There came a protest to Abigail's lips but she did not speak it. "You are very kind, Harriet. However, I fear that might be rather difficult given that I have spent the last few Seasons attempting to do the very same and have found no gentleman to so much as glance in my direction."

Lady Chesterton clicked her tongue and gave Abigail a somewhat sharp look. "You must not give up hope! You know as well as I that your father has not been the most considerate of gentlemen, has he? He has not done all he could to aid you in your search, though your mother has been most diligent."

Abigail let out a slow breath and chose not to ignore her friend's remarks but rather speak as honestly as she could. After all, Lady Chesterton had become a dear friend of hers over the last few years and saw things just as they stood. What reason would there be to hide the truth from her?

"My mother's attentions will be focused on Charlotte," she said, plainly. "I believe that my mother and father have both given up on me. Charlotte has made her debut and has already received more interest from the gentlemen of London than I have ever managed. She had three gentlemen callers yesterday afternoon and I myself had none."

"That does not mean that you are somehow inadequate," Lady Chesterton told her, firmly. "Do not let yourself think such a thing. You are different from your sister in so many ways but you do not lack in beauty. Your quiet spirit, your kind heart – it all is your beauty, Abigail. And all it requires is a specific gentleman to see that."

Silently wondering which gentleman that might be, Abigail offered her friend a small smile and then looked away as they wandered through the ballroom. Much to her surprise, a quietness began to grow as they continued their steps, until all that could be heard was the music of the orchestra and a few quiet murmurings.

"Whatever is the matter?" Keeping her own tone low, Abigail looked around only for Lady Chesterton to grasp her arm tightly.

"Look."

Abigail turned her head back around again, only to spy a gentleman walking in through the crowd, a young lady on his arm. The young lady looking straight ahead, her eyes a little wide and the smile on her face a little lackluster. There was clearly a tension there, an uncertainty which came from the sheer number of eyes placed upon her. Abigail's attention was then drawn to an older lady who walked a little behind the first gentleman and lady, though she was walking arm in arm with a gentleman dressed in regimentals.

Was that who the guests were staring at?

"I do not understand," she murmured, as Lady Chesterton put one hand to her heart. "What is the matter?"

"It is the Beast of Crestwood Hall," came the whispered reply. "Do you not see him? I had heard that he was to be coming back to London but I did not believe it!"

A little surprised, Abigail looked back at the first gentleman, only for him to turn his head and, entirely unexpectedly, looking back at her directly. Her breath stopped, her face heating from the embarrassment of being caught staring. She could not look away, taking him in, seeing the red lines which twisted up one side of his face, marring his cheek and licking close to his eyebrow. Dark hair swung across his forehead, touching the very top of his scars as though to hide them from view and piercing blue eyes were filled with nothing but ice.

Abigail turned her head away.

"He does look a little like a beast, does he not?" Lady Chesterton whispered, as Abigail moved away directly, turning her back on the gentleman and bringing Lady Chesterton with her. "He was practically snarling!"

"He was scowling, that is all." Having no desire to encourage the whispers about the gentleman, Abigail kept her gaze set straight ahead rather than looking back at him. "I do not think he looks like a beast at all."

Lady Chesterton looked over her shoulder only to then gasp and come to a complete stop, dragging Abigail back with her. "Your father is speaking with him!"

"My father?" Unable to help herself, Abigail turned her head and saw that Lady Chesterton was quite right. Her father, the Viscount Townsend, was busy in deep conversation with the Earl of Crestwood, though the Earl of Crestwood had not stopped scowling as yet. Her heart clattered with a sudden fear and she turned her head away again, squeezing her eyes closed as fright crept into every part of her being.

"What do you think he is doing?" Lady Chesterton asked, as Abigail opened her eyes. "He seems to be very eager to be acquainted with him. He is the first person who has gone to the Earl of Crestwood so as to be introduced. Perhaps he feels the same as you do and has a lot more sympathy for the gentleman than I do."

"I do not think it is that," Abigail replied, softly, her voice trembling a little. "I have a great and terrible fear that my father is about to try and build a connection between the Earl of Crestwood and our family."

Lady Chesterton turned and grasped both of Abigail's hands, looking back into her face with wide eyes. "What can you mean?"

Abigail closed her eyes again as tears began to prick them. "I am unwed," she said, so quietly that she could barely hear herself speak over the orchestra and the growing conversation of the crowd around her. "My father does not want me to be a spinster, I am sure. So what better idea might he have than to push me in the direction of the Earl of Crestwood?"

Lady Chesterton's eyes widened and her mouth opened and then closed again, as if she were trying to find some way to refute the idea but could not. Abigail swallowed hard and blinked furiously, only for her friend to shake her head.

"I am sure such a thing will not happen," she said, firmly. "It is only a thought and even if it were to take place, it would require an agreement from the Earl of Crestwood. He is clearly here with his sister rather than for himself. I am sure you need not worry."

The confidence in her voice did nothing to reassure Abigail and try as she might, she could not shake the fear from within herself for what else might her father be doing in seeking out the Earl of Crestwood so urgently?