Chapter Twenty

“There is nothing better to distract people from an upsetting like a picnic, I think,” Lord Donovan remarked, drawing Abigail’s arm through his with a grin. “I imagine that is why the Dowager suggested it.”

Abigail smiled weakly. She didn’t bother to point out that the picnic had been Aunt Florence’s idea.

The events of last night had shook everybody. For a few awful moments, Abigail had been sure that Lord Grey was going to punch somebody in the face, and there was a good chance the somebody might have been Alexander.

Everybody was talking about it this morning, of course. Lord Hamish Grey was nowhere to be seen, and the Duke had tightly confirmed that Lord Grey had left early that morning. He didn’t say that he’d been forced to leave, but everybody knew that was the case.

They also knew that Alexander had invited Lord Grey, as his personal guest and long-time friend, and people had plenty to say about that, too.

And so, Aunt Florence had suggested to the Dowager that they go on a picnic by the lake, since it was a fine day, to distract everybody.

In the light of day, Lord Grey’s behaviour was less frightening than it had been. People loved scandal, after all, and Abigail imagined that it would blow over fairly quickly. It would not be forgotten, naturally, that was a different thing, but still.

They were all walking up from the house to the valley beyond, with footmen and maids carrying picnic baskets and blankets ahead. It was a fine view, Abigail was told, and if it hadn’t been so clear to her that Lord Donovan was going to spend every minute of the afternoon with her, she might have enjoyed it a lot more.

“I was surprised that his lordship joined us this morning,” Lord Donovan commented under his breath. “I should be ashamed to show my face.”

And I should be ashamed to have run away from a drunk man without even waiting to see that the ladies and older gentlemen were safe first, Abigail thought, but did not say it. A few minutes passed, and she started to wish that she had said it.

Abruptly, the path they were following opened up onto a sloping, grassy bank, which provided a view of a wide, still lake, purplish mountains beyond, and a neat little wooden pier, to which various small boats were moored. People spread out to take in the view, exclaiming and smiling to each other.

The footmen got to work, spreading out the blankets and setting out the food. A good amount of fine wine had been brought out, and generous glasses were poured.

She spotted Alexander at the edge of the picnic spot, with Diana’s arm hooked firmly through his, weighing him down like an anchor. He looked tired, she thought. Diana met Abigail’s eye and pursed her lips. Abruptly, she had turned Alexander around, pointedly pulling him down on the blanket furthest away from the one Abigail and Lord Donovan were standing beside.

She was obliged to sit down but found herself staring at Alexander still. He was pale, and there were dark circles around his eyes. He seemed distracted, not his usual, bubbly self. She found herself remembering how he’d smiled and laughed during the game of charades, playing the fool to make the others laugh.

To make her laugh.

A lump rose in Abigail’s throat.

“Now,” Aunt Florence boomed out, voice echoing easily across the party, “Our dear Mary has suggested boat rides on the lake.”

This idea was met with excited gasps.

“I thought you might all like that. Now, shall we enjoy boat rides before the picnic, or after? We don’t need to decide now, by the way. Feel free to enjoy a little wine or lemonade and some refreshments while we all get settled in.”

Aunt Florence glanced down at Abigail and Lord Donovan as she spoke, giving them a pleased smile.

“I believe I’ve quite charmed your aunt,” Lord Donovan murmured, flashing a secret grin.

“Oh, my aunt likes most people,” Abigail replied, somewhat ungraciously. “She’s very kind.”

“Yes, very kind. Just the other day, I remarked to Lady Caldecott that the quality of young women was so very dire these days, and she said that…”

Abigail stopped listening. She found her gaze, as usual, drawn across to where Alexander sat.

Was that normal? Was it usual to find oneself always looking for one particular person in the crowd, heart pounding as you searched? Was it normal to feel one’s stomach drop when they weren’t there, or one’s heart to leap when you saw them? Frankly, Abigail wasn’t sure at all what had come over her.

If it was love, it wasn’t at all like what the books described. There’d been no swooning, no yearning, intense gazes. She hadn’t fainted once when he came into the room. She’d laughed until her sides ached and she truly thought she might be sick at Alexander’s charades, her face hurting from so much laughter. Was that normal? It didn’t feel very romantic, but it had certainly been easy.

Abigail knew that she was not considered fascinating . More than once, gentlemen had made jokes around her, and she had not laughed. Simply put, they were not funny, but apparently nobody had considered that. She’d given offence, according to her mother later. Ladies were meant to laugh whenever gentlemen said things that they intended to be funny, but it had to be a polite laugh – sweet and tinkling and attractive. Scarlett was good at it.

Abigail could not remember the last time a gentleman had made her laugh. And it wasn’t a pretty laugh. She was fairly sure she’d roared, snorting occasionally in a most unladylike way, face creasing up. Had Alexander been disgusted? He hadn’t seemed disgusted.

She glanced his way again, and this time she paused, frowning.

The footman was pouring out wine. Diana held two glasses and attempted to pass one to Alexander. He said something she could not hear, smiling nervously, and gestured towards the jug of lemonade.

Diana gave a tittering laugh that did drift across to where Abigail sat and offered the wine glass again.

Alexander shifted away, just a little, hand outstretched. She could read his lips enough to know that he was saying no, no thank you.

The conversation around them dipped, and Abigail could clearly hear Diana say:

“Oh, come, Willenshire! Men don’t drink lemonade . This is a fine, full-bodied red. It’ll cheer you up. Come, you must drink a glass. I insist. You wouldn’t contradict a lady, would you?”

The others on the picnic blanket were all sipping wine, watching Alexander out of the corners of their eyes. They all tittered when she said that men did not drink lemonade.

And the next thing Abigail knew, she was on her feet.

Everybody else was sitting down by now, Aunt Florence just about to lower herself down.

All eyes turned her way, and the conversation dwindled away. They all waited, expectantly, and colour rushed to Abigail’s cheeks.

She felt a tug on the hem of her skirt, and she glanced down to see Lord Donovan staring up at her.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Sit down!”

She ignored him, addressing herself to the Dowager instead.

“Your Grace, I think we should go on the lake now.”

“Oh?” the Dowager answered. “You aren’t hungry?”

“Not particularly. You see,” she continued, warming to her theme, “we ate a late breakfast. If it rains later – I’m sure it won’t, but if it does – we can go home and have our picnic indoors, which will be just as fun, but we won’t be able to go on the lake at all. So, I think we should do that first.”

Aunt Florence was staring at Abigail, clearly trying to work out what she was doing.

“Well, that makes sense,” the Dowager said at last. “We’ll need to go out in pairs, as the boats are quite small. What does everybody else think?”

Abigail was not listening. Already, she was aware of Lord Donovan tugging harder on her hem, this time trying to get her attention so he could invite her to go on the lake with him. That was not part of Abigail’s plan.

She turned, already seeing Diana lean close to Alexander, on the cusp of asking the same question Lord Donovan had for her.

“Lord Alexander,” Abigail said, hating that she had to ask in front of everyone, but seeing no other option, “Would you mind taking me out on the lake?”

There was silence.

Abigail had never considered herself an expert on social graces, but she knew the basics.

One fundamental rule was that ladies did not ask for anything. They waited to be asked. Whether it was a cup of tea or a dance, they had to wait to be asked or offered.

Another rule was that ladies did not press themselves on the notice of gentlemen, not in public. If a particular man did not choose to speak to a lady or offer to escort her anywhere, she did not ask. Diana was speaking in a whisper, no doubt dropping hints, but Abigail had asked loudly and in public.

Abigail had neatly broken both rules at once, and the shock had rippled around the gathered picnickers. Diana looked as though she wanted to tear Abigail’s eyes out of her head.

Alexander cleared his throat, getting to his feet. Diana was left alone on their corner of the blanket, with two untouched glasses of wine in her hands.

“I should love to, Miss Atwater,” he said firmly. “I was about to ask you myself.”

Under the eyes of the shocked company, he offered her his arm, and they headed towards the edge of the lake.