Chapter Eleven

It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but Abigail had spent most of the previous night’s ball looking for Lord Alexander Willenshire.

She hadn’t meant to do it, only that whenever she looked around, she found herself searching for a particular face. She kept hearing voices that sounded like his, kept thinking that a gentleman with his back to her was Lord Alexander, only for the man to turn and for her to realize that he looked nothing like him.

Ugh. It was impossible.

Aunt Florence knocked on her door at around ten o’ clock the next morning.

“Are you awake?” she asked, peeping around the door. “Ah, yes, I see you’re up. Why haven’t you rung for Lucy?”

“Lucy was up just as late as me last night,” Abigail answered, eyes fixed on her reflection as she pushed the last pins into her hair. She’d chosen a plain, dark green muslin dress that she could put on herself and had done up her hair in a simple knot. “I didn’t get to bed until close to four in the morning. I can dress myself, thankfully.”

Aunt Florence pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Hm. Well. Never mind. Come on, let’s go to breakfast.”

“Yes, Aunt,” Abigail answered meekly, getting to her feet.

Downstairs, the ballroom and dining room were still in a state of disarray. Servants bustled to and fro tidying up the seemingly endless mess. A footman went past with a wheelbarrow full of dying flowers, the remnants of last night’s centrepieces, already wilted with the heat. Housemaids swept up broken glass amongst piles of dirt and dust and fallen leaves and petals, while a scullery maid knelt on the rug before the mantelpiece, scrubbing what appeared to be a red wine stain out of the material.

“It’ll be a quiet day today, I think,” Aunt Florence confirmed. “Lord Henry and his wife are not here, and neither is Katherine. There’s talk of a walk after breakfast, but I shall have to stay with Mary. She’s always dreadfully low after her yearly party. She looks forward to it for weeks, months even, and then, poof! It’s over.”

Abigail bit her lip. She’d seen the Dowager last night, beaming with joy. She’d talked to everyone, and even danced once or twice. Only with her youngest son, Alexander. The two seemed to have a special bond.

The Duke himself had even asked Abigail to dance, although Aunt Florence had warned her it was a courtesy thing and did not indicate any real interest. Abigail had been relieved more than anything. The Duke was remarkably handsome, in the same way that Alexander was handsome, but he was cold and serious and almost unfriendly, seeming to be occupied by something heavy. She’d been glad when the dance ended.

With the dining room still in a state of disarray, Aunt Florence led the way to a morning room, where tables had been set out for breakfast.

The first person Abigail saw when she entered the room was none other than Lady Diana Lockwell.

Her heart sank into her boots.

Lady Diana smiled, just a little, and nodded graciously.

“Good morning, Lady Caldecott, good morning, Miss Atwater. I trust you slept well?”

“I didn’t know you were staying here,” Abigail said, before she could stop herself.

Immediately, she wished she could have bitten off her a tongue. It was a hopelessly rude thing to say – before she had even greeted the woman, too – and made her look ill-bred and frankly, impolite.

It was too late to take it back, of course. Abigail’s face burned, and Lady Diana allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

“There was a problem with my carriage last night,” Lady Diana explained, delicately buttering a scone, “and the dear Dowager kindly invited me to stay overnight. She is so like her youngest son in that respect – kind to a fault.”

The last part seemed rather barbed. Flushing, Abigail leaned over her plate, and concentrated on breakfast.

Gradually, over the next half hour, more people joined the breakfast table, stifling yawns and exchanging stories and gossip. The Dowager Duchess herself arrived, white-faced and looking thoroughly miserable, and Aunt Florence devoted herself to cheering up her friend.

The Duke appeared, but only for a few minutes, with the air of a man performing his duty. He briefly explained that he could not join them for breakfast due to his responsibilities and withdrew as soon as possible.

Abigail steadily ate her way through a much larger breakfast than she would have liked, mostly in hopes of Lady Diana leaving the breakfast room before her. The woman kept glancing at Abigail, her gaze veiled and distinctly unfriendly.

However, it seemed that Lady Diana had the same idea, nursing a cup of tea long after it had gone cold, and showing no signs of leaving the table and retiring to her room.

In the end, it was Aunt Florence who broke the unspoken stalemate.

“What do you plan to do with yourself today, Abigail?” she asked, turning away from the Dowager Duchess. “Mary and I are going to reminisce in the drawing room, so you’ll have to entertain yourself.”

“I…”

“It’s a fine day for a walk,” Lady Diana interrupted smoothly, smiling unblinkingly at Abigail. “Why don’t you take in the air with me, Miss Atwater? There are fine blackberry patches on top of the hill yonder. You may bring your maid with a basket.”

“I… I was going to sit in the library today,” Abigail managed lamely. “I wanted to read a bit.”

“Oh, don’t waste your day with your nose in a book,” Aunt Florence said blithely, unaware of the tension in the room. “Take a walk with Lady Lockwell. That’ll be nice, won’t it?”

Abigail swallowed. There was really nothing for her to say.

“Very well,” she managed, aware that she was being ungracious. “I could do with stretching my legs, I suppose.”

Lady Diana smiled widely. “Oh, I am so glad. I think we have a lot to talk about, you and I.”

Abigail shivered. Now that did not sound good.

***

Abigail had hoped for a last-minute shower of rain to put off their walk, but her prayers were not answered. In fact, the sun came out.

Lady Diana met her at the door, looking breezy, cool, and beautiful in an elegant walking gown and neat kid gloves. Abigail immediately felt blowsy and untidy in her coat and rough straw bonnet. Lady Diana’s gaze flicked up and down her frame, so quickly Abigail thought she might have imagined it. Then the other woman smiled widely, and she knew it wasn’t imagined.

“Shall we go?” Lady Diana said, still smiling. “I shall warn you, I walk quickly. You seem rather shorter than I, and therefore will have shorter legs. I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.”

There was an insult in there somewhere. Abigail chose to ignore it.

“Is it just you and I, then?”

“Just us,” Lady Diana responded. She glanced briefly over at Lucy, who hovered behind them, looking deeply uncomfortable. Lady Diana hooked her arm through Abigail’s, tugging her out of the door without any further ado.

Abigail was fairly sure that Lady Diana was walking deliberately fast. Already, Abigail was out of breath, puffing and panting in a most undignified manner. She clenched her teeth, refusing to let herself give up, or ask to slow down. They had crossed the wide gravel courtyard, delving into the maze opposite, full of waist-high, square green hedges. Lady Diana seemed to know exactly where she was going, leading them up and up towards the cusp of a hill, where Abigail could see rose gardens.

“I see you danced with Lord Alexander last night,” Lady Diana said, after about fifteen minutes of aggressive, silent walking. “I could not find him. He seemed to disappear, did you not find? Or perhaps you knew exactly where he was.”

It sounded almost accusatory.

Abigail swallowed. “I also danced with the Duke. It was just courtesy, I think. Because they are all such good friends with my Aunt Florence, you know.”

She wasn’t sure why she was trying to be conciliatory. It seemed silly. Weak, almost. Clenching her jaw, Abigail forced herself to keep looking ahead, and concentrated on not getting too out of breath, and not tripping.

“He is very kind,” Lady Diana said tartly, and Abigail had a feeling she was not referring to the Duke of Dunleigh. “To a fault.”

“Do… do you know him well?” Abigail ventured.

“Oh, very well. We were inseparable at one time. But life takes strange turns, does it not? I married, and I think that poor, dear Alex took it hard. He missed me dreadfully, by all accounts.”

Lady Diana shook back her curls, allowing herself a small smile.

“I’m sure you can be friends again now,” Abigail said, and earned herself a glare.

“I don’t need your permission to spend time with my friend.”

“I… I didn’t mean…”

“Oh, do be quiet.”

They had nearly reached the end of the maze, and the steep slope was levelling out. Poor Lucy had fallen behind, puffing and panting up the steep hill, red-faced. Lady Diana dropped Abigail’s arm like a stone, whirling around to face her.

For an instant, the woman’s beautiful face was twisted with anger, but then the moment passed and she was all smoothness and smiles.

“I invited you here, my dear Miss Atwater, to discuss something rather serious,” Lady Diana said, voice low and confiding. “You seem like a sweet girl. A wallflower, perhaps. The sort of innocent girl that a man such as Alexander Willenshire would like to practise his skills upon.”

Abigail resisted the urge to take a step backwards. “Practise… practise his skills?”

She smiled thinly. “Yes, rather like a cat sharpening its claws on a pretty little quilted footstool.”

“What a vivid image,” she managed.

“Indeed. He’s a rake, you know. I’m sure you know the type.” Lady Diana sighed expressively, rolling her eyes up to heaven. “ I can manage him, of course – I always could – but you, my darling girl, would be entirely out of your depth. Has Lady Caldecott not warned you away?”

Abigail said nothing. Of course Aunt Florence had warned her away, but really, it was unnecessary. Why on earth would Alexander Willenshire be interested in her ? He was such a handsome man. So confident, so charming.

And Abigail was… well, she was Abigail.

If Scarlett was here, it would be another story entirely. She would have charmed Alexander immediately and sent Lady Diana packing into the bargain.

Lady Diana was still talking, tossing back her hair and talking about how wallflowers and rakes were a terrible combination. Abigail had stopped listening. Instead, she found herself reeling at a shocking fact.

I wish my sister were here. Scarlett wouldn’t let anybody speak to her like this.

She imagined Scarlett shoving Lady Diana backwards, and watching her topple head over heels down the slope. It was such a funny image she had to bite back a smile.

Lady Diana paused, mid-flow. “What are you smiling at? What is so funny? Answer me, you wretched thing.”

The smile dropped off Abigail’s face like a stone. “That’s not kind.”

“Kind? I don’t care about kind . I want you to stay in your place, you nasty, grubby little thing.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lady Diana lurched forward, gripping Abigail’s upper arms with long fingers, nails digging in. Abigail gave a squeak of alarm and tried unsuccessfully to pull away. Lucy was still further down the maze – she’d taken a wrong turn, it seemed, and did not want to vault over the waist-high hedges – and the woman’s grip was stronger than one might have thought.

“You’re hurting me,” Abigail managed, forcing herself to meet Lady Diana’s eyes.

The woman sneered. “Don’t think I don’t know about your penniless little family. You’re nothing but a dull little Miss, quite past your best. I shouldn’t even have to have this conversation with you. You should know that Lord Alexander Willenshire is not for the likes of you. Not that I truly believe you could steal his attention from me, but…”

“If I’m not a threat,” Abigail interrupted, before she could stop herself, “why on earth have you gone to all this trouble to warn me off?”

Anger flared in Lady Diana’s eyes. “Why, you little…”

“Now, now, Lady Lockwell, I hope you aren’t about to treat us to some unladylike language.”

Both women froze at a familiar masculine voice. Glancing over Lady Diana’s shoulder, Abigail saw none other than Lord Graham Donovan step out from behind a clump of trees, hands shoved in his pockets. He smiled thinly at her and glanced at Lady Diana.

“I believe Miss Atwater said you were hurting her, Lady Lockwell,” he remarked. “Better let go of her, eh?”

There was a heartbeat of silence, then Lady Diana abruptly released Abigail’s arms. Staggering backward, Abigail resisted the urge to rub the sore spots. The woman still glared down at her, and Abigail lifted her chin and glared right back.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast,” Lady Diana spat.

“No,” he agreed, “I don’t suppose you would.”

Abigail cleared her throat. “It’s been a charming walk,” she heard herself say, “but I think I’d rather go on by myself.”

“Alone?” Lady Diana spat out.

“I shan’t be alone. Lucy is here.”

Lady Diana hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Lord Donovan, who was now lounging against a tree and looking bored.

“You’re a boring walking companion anyway,” she ground out, turning on her heel and storming off, pushing past Lucy as she went.

“What’s going on, Miss Atwater?” Lucy asked, bewildered.

“I might ask the same,” Lord Donovan remarked, stepping forward with a smile. “You looked terrified.”

“I felt terrified,” Abigail confessed, finally letting herself rub her arms with a wince. There’d be bruises there, she wagered. “The woman is mad.”

“Not mad, exactly,” Lord Donovan shrugged, glancing down at Lady Diana’s retreating figure. “Just determined. And clever enough to get what she wants. You’ve gotten in her way, I fear.”

Abigail froze. “How… how much of what she said did you hear?”

His gaze bored into her face. “Enough.”

“Well, she’s… she’s mad, like I said,” Abigail managed lamely. “I should pay her no mind.”

“I won’t,” he said, voice quiet. “Now, will you continue with your walk, or will you return to the house.”

Abigail glanced at Lady Diana once more. She was almost certainly retreating to the house, so perhaps it would be wise for Abigail to steer clear.

“I’ll walk on, I think. I’ve already climbed this hill, so I might as well see what’s at the top of it.”

Lord Donovan nodded slowly. “Can I offer myself as a walking partner? It would not be inappropriate, not with your maid here.”

Abigail looked away. “I… I’m grateful for your intervention, Lord Donovan, but I really think I’d rather walk alone.”

Disappointment crossed his face, just for a moment, but he nodded, stepping back.

“I see. Well, I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

He turned to go, but Abigail found herself speaking again.

“Wait.”

He glanced back, an expression of hope flitting across his face. Abigail drew in a breath.

“Do you think I’m a dull wallflower, Lord Donovan?”

His eyebrows raised. “What a question. Do you consider yourself dull?”

“I do not, but then, I’m used to feeling inferior around my sister. She’s very pretty, you know. Pretty and interesting.”

“I see. Well, for what it is worth, Miss Atwater, I do not think you’re dull. Reserved, perhaps, and for some people that means you are a wallflower, but never dull.”

She smiled weakly at that. “Thank you, Lord Donovan.”

He nodded wordlessly, and then carried on down the hill. Abigail watched him go. Lady Diana’s figure had already disappeared. No doubt the awful woman would try something else to get back at Abigail.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she said aloud. “A woman like that thinking that I am a rival.”

Lucy eyed her. “You don’t do yourself credit, Miss Atwater.”

Abigail shrugged, and turned to follow her path.

There was a little winding paved road which led out of the maze. Abruptly, Abigail found herself in a very different sort of garden.

The roses were almost wild, higher than her head, a tangle of stems and leaves and long, brown thorns. And blooms of course, blooms of all colours and sizes. The air was full of the scent of them, thick and sweet. Abigail paused at the entrance to the rose garden, breathing in deeply. It was like another maze, but notably wilder and more complex than the manicured hedges behind them.

“Careful we don’t get lost in here, Miss Atwater,” Lucy remarked, eyeing the roses with dislike. “I don’t fancy pushing my way through rosebushes to get out again.”

“We’ll be fine, I’m sure,” Abigail said, and walked forward.

The path twisted and turned, forking and diverging and circling back on itself, and frankly she found it far more interesting than the so-called maze behind them. In places, the bushes towered a foot or so higher than she was, or more. The bushes seemed to be arranged more or less by colour – yellow roses along one stretch, then red, then pink, then white, and back again.

“I love wild flowers but those roses seem wild and I adore them, don’t you?”

“I prefer a nice bunch of wildflowers myself, Miss,” Lucy remarked heavily. “Although these are a nicer lot than the usual hothouse flowers ladies often get.”

Abigail stopped by a particularly perfect-looking bush. The roses growing from it were red. Although a red rose may be cliched, there is certainly something to be appreciated about these particular blooms.

Perfect, velvety petals curled out from a tight bud at the centre, impossibly soft and smelling so sweet that Abigail simply had to stop and smell it. It bowed forward at eye height, the red so vivid it made a person look twice.

Abigail reached out tentatively, drawing a fingertip across the petals. Leaning forward, she breathed in the perfume.

So soft.

“Flowers like this make me wish I could paint,” she remarked idly. “But I never capture the colour, or even the…”

Before she could finish the sentence, Lord Alexander Willenshire came hurrying around the corner at a half-run, knocking into Abigail with his full momentum and sending her tumbling backwards with a strangled, undignified squawk of alarm, arms wind-milling in a most unladylike manner.