Chapter Four

Abigail blinked, her heart pounding furiously. "I beg your pardon, Father? You wish me to meet Lord Crestwood?"

"Otherwise known as the Beast of Crestwood Hall?" Charlotte asked, her eyes wide as Lord Townsend merely nodded.

"Yes, that is what I expect from you this evening. You are to be on your very best behaviour, you are to speak to him calmly and clearly and without any unwillingness. Do you understand?"

The fears which had been growing in Abigail's mind as regarded her father's desire to wed her to Lord Crestwood grew to such a large amount that she could barely breathe, putting one hand to her heart as she fought to find some sort of composure.

"Lord Crestwood is an excellent gentleman in terms of his standing and his title," her father continued, walking about the room and gesturing to her as though she ought to be grateful for such consideration. "He has more than an abundance of wealth, a large estate and though his mother and sister reside with him, I presume his mother will remove to the Dower House should he marry and his sister will, likewise, seek out a husband for herself."

Abigail shared a look with Charlotte but her sister merely shrugged, seemingly entirely unaware as to why their father would be informing her of such things.

Mayhap I am overthinking this.

Looking back into her father's eyes, Abigail waited for that thought to bring her a little comfort, but it did not. Instead, there was a heaviness to her father's gaze that, to her mind, confirmed what his intentions were for her.

"That is the carriage, my lord."

Lord Townsend nodded to the servant and then returned this gaze to Abigail. "You will do as I have asked you, Abigail. Do you understand?"

"I do, Father." Swallowing hard, Abigail fought back the tears which began to prick in her eyes as she followed him to the door of the drawing room. Was this what her future was to be, then? She was not to be permitted to find her own match, then. She was to be told what she was to do, who she was to stand up with and, should things go as she expected, who she was to take as her husband also. A great and terrible fear knotted itself around her heart. She did not know anything about Lord Crestwood but if his character was as dark as his expression had been, then what sort of husband would he be to her?

** *

"As I promised, Lord Crestwood."

Abigail trembled but she lifted her chin and looked straight into Lord Crestwood's eyes.

The gentleman did not look back at her.

"This is your eldest daughter, then?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "The one you cannot find a husband for."

Flames shot heat into Abigail's face and her hands curled into tight fists as she fought to keep herself steady rather than drop her head and look away. Instead, she looked back at Lord Crestwood steadily, waiting for him to return her gaze but still, he would not look at her. Her breathing grew a little quicker, her heart pounding as she waited for her father to speak, wondering if he would confirm what the Earl had said or if he would come to her defense.

He did the former.

"Yes, this is my daughter Miss Abigail Townsend, the one who is as yet unwed," he said, with a heavy sigh. "It has been rather difficult these last few Seasons for there is no reason for disinterest and yet the gentlemen of London seem to be entirely disinclined towards her! Yes, she is quiet and at times, much too shy but such qualities ought to be delighted in rather than ignored. After all, which gentleman wishes for a bride who talks too much? Would it not be better to have a bride who keeps quiet and who only expresses her thoughts when she is asked for them?"

Abigail closed her eyes and dropped her head, releasing her hands as tears burned in her eyes. It was not that she was quiet and did not wish to share her opinions, she wanted to cry, but that her father was so entirely disinterested in what she had to say and in what he thought of her that she had learned not to say a single word unless he asked her specifically. Yes, she would admit to being a quieter soul than her sister but that was not a trait she felt the need to apologise for or to alter.

Perhaps she had been wrong in that.

"Abigail, this is the Earl of Crestwood, as I am sure you already know."

Hearing her father's less than formal introductions, Abigail dropped into a curtsy but chose to say nothing, doing as both her father and Lord Crestwood might have expected by remaining silent.

"She is fair to look at, at least."

At this, Abigail narrowed her gaze as her head shot up and she gazed back into Lord Crestwood's scarred face. Unable to keep her response back, she drew herself up and spoke directly, though in a quieter voice than usual. "I should think, Lord Crestwood, that you would understand that the outward appearance is not what matters. It is the character of a person which is of the greatest importance."

The flash in Lord Crestwood's eyes made Abigail wobble a little in her determination but she managed to focus it back upon him without too much trouble though her breathing still came a good deal more quickly than before. She had spoken of appearance and though she had not meant anything cruel by it but all the same, from the red in his cheeks, he appeared to be a little upset by her remarks.

"I do not think – "

"My daughter does not mean any insult, Lord Crestwood." Speaking quickly, Lord Townsend stepped closer to her and then grasped her arm with his hand, gripping it a little too tightly so that she winced. "She is a little nervous, that is all."

"Even if I were not anxious, I would not think it right for a gentleman to mention my appearance in such a manner," Abigail replied, a little breathlessly now given the look of fury on her father's face. "I am worth more than how I look, Lord Crestwood. I am certain you would agree, given that you have a younger sister."

Lord Crestwood's jaw tightened. "I suppose that I do," he said eventually, as her father's grip on her wrist slowly began to loosen. "I did not mean to insult you in any way, Miss Townsend."

"You did not," Abigail replied, pulling her arm away from her father now. "My father is correct to state that I am a quiet sort for I will have no disagreement with that. However, that does not mean that I do not have my own considerations and opinions, Lord Crestwood, nor that I cannot come to my own defence if I feel it is required."

For the first time, their eyes met and held and Abigail did not so much as blink, wanting him to see that she was not afraid of him and would not turn her eyes away. Yes, one side of his face was marred by scars and there was a heavy darkness in his gaze which she felt practically burning into her heart but that did not mean that she found him repulsive. Rather, Abigail found, there was a certain level of intrigue which, despite herself, she could not seem to remove. What had happened to him to damage his face in such a way? Yes, she knew he had been at war but what specifically had occurred? Was the darkness in his eyes from pain, from fear or from a mixture of emotions? She could not imagine the strength which he had within himself for to come to London, fully aware that everyone would be staring at him, looking at him and whispering about him must surely take a great deal of courage.

Hearing a murmur of voices, Abigail turned, breaking her connection with the Earl just to see a young lady coming to stand next to the Earl, only then for her eyebrows to lift in surprise as the Earl of Crestwood stepped back in evident shock, his eyes rounding and his face paling a little.

"Crestwood," boomed a gentleman, the one who had only just deposited the Earl's sister beside him. "It has been far too long. How good it is to see you in London again!"

"I have recently been acquainted with Lord Drover, brother," said the young lady, her eyes going to Abigail. "Oh, but we have interrupted a conversation between yourself and someone else. My sincere apologies."

The Earl of Crestwood did not so much as glance in Abigail's direction. Instead, his gaze remained fixed to the gentleman standing next to his sister, the one known as Lord Drover who Abigail herself did not know. "What are you doing here, Drover?"

The gentleman threw his head back and laughed as though what the Earl had said was of the greatest mirth. "Why, Lord Crestwood, I am dancing!" he exclaimed, though the Earl did not smile. "What else do you think one ought to do at a ball?"

"And you must introduce us, brother," the young lady said, now smiling at Abigail who responded in kind, noting how the blue eyes of the young lady matched her elder brother's. "I have enjoyed making new acquaintances and I –"

"Come with me at once."

Abigail blinked in surprise as the Earl, rather than doing what his sister had asked, took her by the elbow and turned her around to walk away from the small, assembled group. Turning her attention to Lord Drover, she watched him for a few moments, seeing how his gaze lingered on Lord Crestwood but also how his lips quirked into a smile. A smile she did not like.

"I am most disappointed with you!"

The hissed words in her ear took Abigail a moment to recognize and, turning her head, she looked up at her father who had gone a shade of red she had not often seen in his face before. "I have done nothing wrong. I spoke well."

"You should have stayed silent!" he exclaimed, throwing up his hands despite the fact there were other guests around them. "You are meant to be presenting yourself to the Earl of Crestwood as a suitable match, as someone he might wish to even consider when it comes to matrimony! Why would you say such a thing as that to him?"

"I spoke as I thought best," Abigail replied, aware of the heat behind her eyes but refusing to let a single tear fall. "And I do not think I spoke out of turn. Besides which, Father, you have never once informed me that I was being presented to the Earl of Crestwood with the intention of being considered as a bride for him." Lifting her chin a little, she waited until her father's eyes met hers, only to see him frown .

"I thought that much would have been more than apparent." Speaking a little stiffly, the color began to fade from his face. "You can understand why, I am sure. After all, it would save me a great deal of difficulty for to have a daughter as a spinster is a little… irritating."

Abigail said nothing, turning away from her father and walking blindly across the ballroom in a vague attempt to find her mother and her sister but mostly to remove herself from her father. How could he speak to her in such a way? How could he think of her as an irritant rather than his own, beloved daughter? As much as she hated it, as much as she despised the thought of being used in such a way – offered on a platter to the Earl of Crestwood – would it be any worse than being presented to society and to all who knew their family as nothing more than a spinster? Someone worth only what she could offer through caring for other family members or seeking out employment for themselves? With a long breath, Abigail blinked furiously and, much to her relief, saw none other than Lady Chesterton standing to the back of the ballroom, entirely alone. Seeing Abigail, she smiled a welcome, though the smile soon faded when she took in Abigail's expression. Going to her friend, Abigail threw her arms around her and, after a moment or two, began to cry.

"Goodness, whatever is the matter?" Lady Chesterton exclaimed, as Abigail sobbed. "Whatever it is, I am certain I will be able to help you."

"I do not think so," Abigail whispered, standing up and taking the handkerchief Lady Chesterton offered, pressing it to her eyes. "It seems that, should Lord Crestwood agree, I am to find myself engaged to him." Her sobs came again and though she tried to swallow them back , they continued to come.

"Good gracious!" Lady Chesterton drew Abigail close again and Abigail could only stand there, her words lodged behind her sobs. "There must be something that can be done."

Abigail shook her head miserably. "There is not," she whispered, hoarsely. "My father has made it clear that the match will take place so long as Lord Crestwood is willing to choose me. Whether he will or not is another matter but I have no choice in this whatsoever!"

Lady Chesterton grasped Abigail's hands and looked back at her steadily. "Mayhap he will not choose you," she said, softly. "Mayhap you are afraid for nothing."

"And if he does?" Abigail asked, quietly. "Then what shall I do?"

Lady Chesterton could not come up with an answer and as Abigail searched her friend's expression, her own heart began to sink. The truth was, there could be no alternative, nothing that would keep her back from what her father intended.

She would have no choice but to marry the Beast of Crestwood Hall.