Chapter 1 #3
Ah, delightful, a pair of spinsters. One of them was tall, thin, and gangly—somewhat familiar, in fact.
Oh, yes, Riverton’s daughter. She was known to be a bluestocking and something of a liberal.
Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight knot behind her head, and her dress fell colorless and wrinkled.
The other woman appeared, perhaps, to be even more of an antidote.
Much shorter, she wore a wrinkled gown over an unfashionably plump figure.
She had mousy brown hair, but her eyes stood out large and expressive.
The two women were quite a study in contrasts.
Whereas Miss Crone was tightlipped and looked bored, the shorter woman’s heart-shaped face sparkled with enjoyment.
What she found so enjoyable about life, Alex could not imagine.
He dismissed them from his mind and turned away from the window.
He paced a few times and then stepped outside of the large library doors.
The excitement of the new arrivals carried indoors.
He had no wish to become a part of it. Turning on his heel, he stalked in the opposite direction and made his way to the billiards room.
Dignified quiet settled around him once again.
He then proceeded to rack the balls and play a rousing game of billiards against himself.
Oh, how could she? How could she? Abigail wanted to wail as she began unpacking the slightly familiar dresses from her trunk.
These were not the dresses she had packed herself.
No, they were the dresses she had worn years earlier, while having her season in London.
Although less worn than what she had initially intended to bring, they were not at all modern.
Worse than that, they were not quite the proper size.
She could kill her mother! She did not wail, but she did moan, drawing Penelope’s attention to the dresses.
“Oh, Lord, Abby!” Penelope declared, holding up one of the pale-colored day dresses. “Why on earth would you pack these old things?”
Abigail merely looked at the dresses forlornly.
“I did not. This is the work of my mother. She must have ordered Betty to do it.” Lifting the dress all the way out, she pressed it to her face and moaned again.
It reeked of mildew. “Oh, Penelope, this is horrible! These were made up ages ago! I’d be surprised if any of them even fit me.
Most likely, now they are all too small. ”
Penelope pondered the dresses and then began sorting through them.
“Surely not. We will merely cinch up your stays a little tighter than normal.” Raising the dress to her own face, she sniffed suspiciously.
“Wipe them with a lavender-soaked cloth and allow them to air.” She gave Abigail a rueful smile.
“Unfortunately, my dresses would not work, or you know I would gladly share them with you—not that they are any more fashionable than these.” And then she allowed a giggle to escape.
“Can you imagine you wearing one of my dresses?”
In spite of her present predicament, Abigail could not help but to laugh at such a notion. The mere thought of cramming her much rounder curves into a dress made for Penelope’s tall, slim form brought back a little of her good humor.
With grim determination, Abigail searched for a dress that might be the most forgiving, opened the window to allow in some fresh air, and then went in search of a housemaid. She would not allow this most recent calamity to ruin her visit.
It required a considerable amount of tugging and pulling, but Penelope miraculously managed to tighten Abigail’s stays just enough so she could fit into a pale green muslin day dress that had been one of her favorites the year of her come-out.
The restricting garment, however, pushed Abigail’s bosoms up prominently, causing them to bountifully spill over the top of her stays.
Unable to remedy the situation, both of the girls agreed the bodice was stretched too inappropriately taut to be seen in public.
Abigail would have to keep herself covered with a wrap.
If the garden party were scheduled just a bit later, Abigail could have let out a few seams and resewn the garment for a better fit, but it was not.
She hadn’t enough time to complete such a task.
Abigail would keep her shawl snugged up closely about her at all times.
If only the heat could have held off a few more days.
Drat, but this would not be a comfortable afternoon.
Feeling not just a little self-conscious, Abigail, with Penelope, found her way outside where the two girls claimed iron chairs conveniently placed in the shade near the lake.
A nearby jetty anchored a few rowing boats that had been cleaned and set out for guests to use.
It would be lovely to go out for a ride, but Abigail had no expectations of doing any such thing. Her sigh was overheard by her cousin.
Penelope caught Abigail’s gaze and gestured with her fan farther along the shore.
In rolled-up shirtsleeves and tightly fitted breeches, three men, nearly identical in coloring and mannerisms, shuffled about in a leisurely fashion. Ah, they must be the unobtainable Ravensdale brothers.
“The nearest one is Peter Spencer,” Penelope pointed out. “And then there is Stone and of course Darlington.”
Although similar in looks, each gentleman exhibited subtle differences. Peter wasn’t as brawny as his older brothers, and the oldest, the viscount, stood slightly taller than his siblings. They joked and jostled with one another in a familiar, easy manner.
A fourth gentleman, however, one who had not removed his jacket, kept himself apart from the younger men. He held a cane and wore a top hat. With feet planted firmly on the ground shoulder-width apart, he gazed out at the lake.
“Who is that?” Abigail asked Penelope. Penelope travelled to London each year to participate in the Season, even though she wasn’t actively seeking a husband, and so she knew almost every notable person.
Penelope turned her head to identify who Abigail referred to.
“Oh, Abby, he is the Duke of Ice, quite a tragic figure.” At Abigail’s questioning glance, she continued, “Well, he is not really the Duke of Ice, he is the Duke of Monfort, but it is the moniker he has been given by much of the ton. He is not friendly or sociable, but from what I understand, he has due cause.”
“What happened?” Abigail tried not to inhale too deeply, her bodice becoming more uncomfortable the longer she sat.
“I believe it occurred three years ago,” Penelope began earnestly, lowering her voice.
“The duke and his wife had returned to his ducal seat just before Christmas, a bit north of Bristol. I believe it is called Brooke’s Abbey.
Anyhow, the duchess took the children out onto the lake to skate, and the ice broke through.
From what I understand, the duke saw it happen but could not reach them in time.
” With a pointed glance toward the man in question, she finished her story by adding, “His son was three and his daughter five. Before the bodies could be recovered, the temperature dropped and the lake froze over. So sad and ironic, really. Had they waited even a few hours, the ice would not have broken through.”
A lump formed in Abigail’s throat. Nobody, she thought, nobody ought ever to have to endure the loss of a child. It was surely the most horrible thing to befall a person. “If he is so unsociable, why do you think he is here?”
Penelope shrugged. “It is not that he is never seen out in society. It is rather his manner, his address. He seems to lack any warmth whatsoever.”
Abby looked back at the lone man. “Hmmm…” was all she could say.
Dreadful. Truly dreadful. And then the man, as though he sensed their attention, turned and looked over to where they were seated.
He raised a quizzing glass to one eye and regarded them for just a moment.
A moment in which he quickly perceived the two ladies to be of no interest to him whatsoever.
He dropped the glass and turned back to regard the lake.
Well.
It would have been common courtesy to at least acknowledge them in some way.
A nod, even, would have done the trick. It was not as though the lawn was teeming with guests yet.
Abigail pulled her shawl more tightly about herself and a droplet of sweat trickled between her breasts.
This situation with her wardrobe really was beyond the pale.
Her mother deserved to be strangled. Abigail dismissed such thoughts, however, and forced another smile as Lady Natalie crossed the lawn toward them from the house.
Penelope laughed softly, and Abigail raised her brows.
In a missish dress made up of pink muslin and an abundance of lace, the earl’s daughter wore her hair in tight golden ringlets.
For some reason she’d shed the elegance of earlier in favor of less sophistication.
How was it that she still carried herself with such dignity and confidence?
“It’s a lovely afternoon, is it not?” Her blue eyes sparkled and her smile was sincere.
But Penelope could not be contained. “Oh, my lady, what on earth are you doing dressed in…pink, of all colors?”
More guests were drifting onto the well-kept lawn. Abigail looked about anxiously, hoping Lady Natalie did not take offense. Abigail loved her cousin, absolutely adored her, but in moments like this, she wished Penelope didn’t have to behave so very contrary to proper decorum.