Chapter Twenty-One

“I’m sorry about that,” Abigail said, once they were clear of the other picnickers. “I just saw Lady Lockwell trying to make you drink that wine when you clearly didn’t want to, and it annoyed me.”

Alexander glanced sharply at her. It had seemed like a miracle, Miss Atwater asking him to take her onto the lake just when his resolve was weakening, but now he saw that it wasn’t a miracle at all. Abigail had been watching, alert to the discomfort that nobody else seemed to see.

“Please, don’t apologise,” he said at last. “I’m unspeakably glad you did. That woman… ahem. She can be rather forward. And since this is my mother’s party, I’m obliged to be on my best behaviour, and can’t exactly scuttle away like a coward.”

They reached the pier, and Alex chose a small, green-painted boat at the end of the queue. Behind them, it seemed that the guests had shaken off their horror at Abigail’s forwardness, and were pairing up into twos, following them to the lake. Abigail glanced over her shoulder, and hastily looked away. Alexander saw that Lady Caldecott was staring at them, and it was fairly clear she was not pleased. She was trying to get ungracefully to her feet, and there was a good chance she would come stamping down to the lakeside to drag Abigail away on some trumped-up excuse.

He suspected that he would get a talking-to sooner or later, and probably Abigail would, too.

He helped Abigail into the boat then climbed in himself, hastily pushing off the side before Lady Caldecott could start off towards them.

The lake was smooth and clear, with hardly a ripple on its surface. That would change once the others joined, so he made a point of enjoying the view now.

For a few long moments, he and Abigail sat in silence. He rowed, of course, propelling them strongly away from the shoreline, out to where the water was deep.

“It’s so peaceful on the water,” Abigail said at last. “I’ve never been on a boat in a lake before.”

Alexander blinked. “Really? Not ever?”

She shrugged lightly. “I’ve been to a few outings where people paired off into boats like this and rowed around, but I was generally the odd one out. I would have rowed myself, but Mama always said no.”

“Oh. I see. Well, I hope I can make this first experience a good one. I’ll do my best not to capsize us.”

She laughed at that. “Don’t worry. I can swim.”

“Yes, but can you swim in all those layers of petticoats? I’m fairly sure my boots would fill with water and drag me down. These ones are famously heavy.”

They filled the next few minutes with idle chat, and the conversation flowed much more easily than Alexander had hoped. He couldn’t help but notice the change in Abigail Atwater since he had first met her. She was still reserved, of course, although he’d seen a different side of her last night during charades. She seemed… stronger now, somehow. More confident. She spoke more easily and seemed to be worrying less about the people around her.

“Is Lord Grey still ill?” she asked, after a pause. “People seem to be talking about him without mentioning him, if you know what I mean. He did seem ill last night.”

Alexander bit his lip. “He was deep in his cups. Too deep. He’ll recover, but if he continues drinking so much, I dread to think of how he’ll end up.”

Or me, he added mentally.

Abigail nodded. “Well, he was always kind to me whenever our paths crossed. I liked him. I do hope he recovers soon.”

Alexander thought about Hamish’s encouragement regarding Abigail, how he’d tried to get books of poetry for Alexander to woo her with. A lump formed in his throat.

“Thank you,” he managed. “I’ll be sure to pass it on to him. He’ll be pleased to know that not everybody thinks of him as a repulsive degenerate.”

“People are too judgemental, I think. They’re too keen to drag down others. I suppose they think it will make them look better, but it never does.”

Alexander thought immediately of Lady Diana Lockwell, who had spent the walk here whispering in his ear about Abigail, how plain she was, how poorly she dressed, and a variety of silly and downright unkind things Abigail was reported to have said and done to others.

He didn’t believe a word of it, but he did believe the malicious glee that spread across Diana’s face.

Some days, he could hardly believe that he’d once been madly in love with her.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “Cruelty never looks good on anyone.”

He rowed a little further and then rested on the oars, enjoying the bob and swell of the water beneath them. It was deep here, deep and opaque. Strands of river-weed dangled just below the surface, and he wondered how deep it would go. A family of ducks came swimming grandly by, a flock of ducklings paddling furiously in the wake of their parents.

“You know,” Abigail said, after the pause had dragged on comfortably, “Some siblings remind me of ducklings.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Oh? Explain.”

“I mean, they’re comfortable with each other, friendly, seldom seem apart. It’s natural that they’re so close. You and your siblings are like that.”

“Not always,” he said, thinking of William. “We aren’t perfect.”

She conceded the point with a nod of her head. There was a wistful expression on her face now. Perhaps Alexander should have waited, to see if she was going to speak, and let her decide whether to further the conversation, but of course Alexander had never been good at making sensible choices.

“What are you thinking of, Abigail?”

Too informal. Far too personal a question, and the use of her first name…

He bit his tongue. It was too late to take anything back, of course. Abigail glanced sharply at him, but she didn’t recoil in horror and demand he take her back to the shore.

“I’m thinking of my sisters,” she said eventually. “I have two, you know. Some girls would love even one sister. I’m lucky, and yet not at all, because my sisters hate me.”

He sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps hate is a strong word, at least when it comes to Beatrix. My older sister, you know. Beatrix is the oldest, the one who made a fine match, and Scarlett is the baby, the beauty of the family, quite spoiled. Mama was sure I was going to be a boy. Instead, she had another girl, a middle child in a gaggle of females. Quite a disappointment. I’m not mercenary like Beatrix, or pretty and fascinating like Scarlett. I’m not really anything. I’m just… just a wallflower.”

She bit her lip, glancing away. Alexander felt of pang of sympathy.

“You and your siblings, though, you’re all so different,” she continued, gaze fixed on the water shimmering past them. “So comfortable with each other. You love each other, it’s true. I know that my sisters don’t love me. Sometimes I think even my mother…” she trailed off, giving an awkward cough. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all that. It’s too much. It’s that after what you said about the swing and your father…” she trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Alexander hurried to reassure her.

“No, no, I’m glad. Not… not glad that all that happened to you, of course, but… glad you decided to confide in me. It can be hard, carrying that sort of thing around. It’s like a great heavy backpack that you can’t unload, because Society doesn’t allow us to speak freely to each other. It can be a relief to finally find someone to speak openly to.”

She gave a small, relieved smile. “Yes, I agree.”

“And… for what it’s worth, my relationship with my siblings is not as perfect as you might think. I was closest to my brother, Henry, but now he’s married, I see less of him. My sister, Kat, is the same. It feels like it’s just Will and me these days, and we get on poorly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask why?”

He hesitated, toying with the idea of making some vague comment, or changing the subject. It was too shameful to admit. Wasn’t it?

“He’s afraid I’ll end up like Hamish,” Alexander said at last, voice quiet. “A drunken fool who is ruining his reputation and his health day by day. And perhaps William’s fears aren’t entirely unfounded.”

“Oh,” Abigail said, in a small voice. “I see. And… what do you plan to do about it?”

He thought for a moment. Abigail waited patiently for his response. They floated along peacefully, letting the current take them where it chose.

The conversation, of course, had veered pointedly into the realms of improper. They should not be discussing anything like this, not even hinting at it.

And yet, Alexander did not feel a single qualm of conscience. It just felt so right to be talking with Abigail about the most serious matters in his life, and he never had a moment’s worry that she might betray him.

What would I do without her?

The thought arrived suddenly in his mind, making him flinch, but it made so much sense he wanted to laugh aloud.

Then he remembered what they were talking about, and swallowed back the giddy feeling coiling inside him.

“I… I think I must abstain,” he admitted. “From alcohol, I mean. I don’t know how long for, but I believe that moderation doesn’t suit me. I will have to be more drastic. It’s not made easier by people like Lady Lockwell pressing wine on me after I’ve said no. If you hadn’t intervened when you did, I’d likely be on my second glass.”

She bit her lip. “You’re brave to take such a drastic step. Men seem to do little else but drink alcohol in our Society – wine with dinner, port and brandy with dessert, whiskey for afters. Will your family support you?”

“Yes, they will,” he said, without a moment’s thought. “But they can’t always be here.”

“You should talk to them,” Abigail advised. “Tell them everything you told me. Even William. His Grace, I mean.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I think you would feel better if you were honest with them.”

He nodded. “I think perhaps you’re right. Tell me, Miss Atwater, do you always give such fine advice?”

She blushed, hiding a smile. “Not generally, no.”

She seemed about to say something else, but then the splash of oars caught their attention. Somebody was rowing towards them, and fairly fast, by the sounds of it. Alexander had his back to the oncoming boat, but he guessed who was in it by the way Abigail’s face fell.

Heart sinking, he twisted around to look.

Lord Graham Donovan was rowing towards them, red with effort and panting hard. None other than the Merry Widow herself – Diana, of course – sat in the boat with him, idly twirling her parasol over her shoulder.

“Goodness,” Alexander remarked, lifting his eyebrows. “You look exhausted, Graham. Rowing on the lake is meant to be relaxing.”

Graham scowled at him, too out of breath to make a sharp retort. Diana spoke up instead, her voice cool and placid.

“We hurried over here to bring you a message. Miss Atwater, I believe your aunt wants you.”

Abigail and Alexander both glanced over to the shore. Lady Caldecott was standing there, arms folded, glaring out towards them. Alexander bit back a sigh.

“What does she want?” Abigail ventured, looking just as miserable as she felt. It hardly mattered, of course. Alexander already knew that obedience would compel her to go straight back to shore, now that the message had been sent, and no doubt Lady Caldecott would not allow them into a boat together again.

“I have no idea,” Diana responded coolly. “Only that she wanted you immediately. You had better go back, I think.”

Abigail’s mouth set into a thin line, and she glanced at Alexander.

“I’ll take you back,” he assured, gripping the oars, and she gave him a tiny smile.

“Perhaps you can take me out afterwards,” Diana said at once.

“No, I don’t think so,” Alexander responded, more snappishly than was polite. “I’ll be far too tired to row again after this.”