Lady Abigail's Perfect Match Page 2

  “Well,” was his father’s only remark as he stared at him with wide-eyed dismay. Beside him stood the Marquess of Foxborough with a thunderous expression that caused James to re-examine his current situation.

  With a shake of his head meant to clear the cobwebs, he returned his attention to the weight still pressing down onto his lap and realized three things.

  One: the object that had awoken him from his slumber was in fact a woman.

  Two: the woman was none other than the odious, nose in the air, Lady Abigail.

  Three: one of the buttons on his jacket sleeve was caught in a piece of lace attached to her bodice.

  Which made him very aware that

  Four: she looked like she’d been compromised by him, which

  Five: would likely involve an offer of marriage.

  James groaned and gave his sleeve a yank, but that only made matters worse. A loud ripping sound followed, accompanied by Lady Abigail’s horrified cry as part of the bodice was yanked away to reveal the chemise she wore beneath.

  Frantically she scrambled off him – finally – while clutching the flapping piece of lace-covered muslin against her breast. “You....you...you imbecile,” she said, sounding just as overbearing and insufferable as James already knew her to be. “This is all your fault!”

  With a sigh, James stood and rubbed the back of his head where a dull ache hummed down his neck before fanning out over his shoulders. If it wasn’t for her torn bodice, he rather imagined Lady Abigail would point a haughty finger at him to accentuate her accusation. Instead, she used both hands to cover herself. James turned to his father whose eyes had sharpened in the way they tended to do when he was trying to find a way out of a conundrum.

  As much as James loved him for it, he knew there was no way out of this one except by taking the honorable path. Not with Foxborough staring at him as if he were a vile little toad tainting his daughter’s surroundings. There was no point in explaining what had happened. No reason for excuses now that additional people had gathered behind his father and the marquess.

  Accepting his fate, James took a deep breath and said, “I have made Lady Abigail an offer of marriage, and she has honored me with her acceptance.”

  The lady in question squeaked, but said nothing further, for which James was grateful. Foxborough frowned and stepped farther into the room. James’s father followed and the two men soon managed to close the door, effectively shutting out the collection of nosy onlookers who’d been steadily gathering in the hallway.

  “You have some nerve,” Foxborough snapped as soon as they were alone. “She is a marquess’s daughter and you’re nothing more than a second son. When I introduced her to you, it was not so you could take advantage half an hour later.”

  “Hold on one moment,” Roxley said, his voice taking on the protective tone of a man who was proud of all his children. “James is a good man.”

  “As illustrated by the fact that he attempted to seduce my daughter as soon as the chance to do so arose.”

  “That’s not at all what happened,” Lady Abigail said, her shocked voice conveying the disgust she felt at the thought of her dear papa assuming she’d lower herself so far as to risk being ruined by a man like James. A second son who would never be able to give her the title she clearly deserved. “I came in here to escape the crowd and...and...”

  Her father’s expression eased. “Have a seat,” he told her gently, “and take some deep breaths. It has been a trying evening for you, my pet.”

  Trying evening?

  Good God. James had just lost his freedom to a careless girl, and her father worried her evening had been trying? And why on earth did he speak to her now as if she needed coddling? He glanced at her even though he really didn’t want to and saw she actually looked quite ill.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, partly out of concern and partly because he wasn’t a monster.

  “Of course not,” she managed while gulping down air. “I now have to marry a...a...a...”

  Raising an eyebrow, James turned away, his sympathy for his future wife dissolving at the thought of how that sentence would eventually end. He addressed her father. “My apologies, my lord, but I fear there is no way to save Lady Abigail’s reputation except through marriage.”

  “He’s right,” Roxley said. “Too many people saw and heard too much. If an announcement isn’t issued forthwith, she will be labeled a...” He had the decency to clear his throat instead of adding an actual noun to the end of that sentence. “Now, I know you’re not pleased by this turn of events, Foxborough, but you and I are well acquainted, and as such I hope you will trust me when I tell you that I have every intention of making sure James can give your daughter the sort of life she deserves.”

  “Can he give her a title?” Foxborough growled.

  “No. Not that,” Roxley told him with no hint of being the least bit ruffled by the other man’s higher status. “But I can give him Arlington House and the means by which to support himself and his family.”

  James gaped at his father. Arlington House was a vast estate, built by his great grandfather, and while it wasn’t entailed, James had always imagined it would eventually go to his older brother Charles. “Papa,” James said, intent on protesting his father’s generosity.

  Roxley served him a quelling look and raised his hand. “The matter is settled,” he said in that serious tone of his that warned it was futile to argue.

  “But—” Lady Abigail said, while James cast her a weary look of exasperation. For one blessed moment, he’d forgotten she was there. She stepped forward now, her face pinched and her palm pressed over her stomach.

  James fought the urge to roll his eyes. If she felt queasy at the thought of marrying him, she shouldn’t have placed herself on top of him in a dark room and then proceeded to scream.

  “Lord Roxley is right, my dear,” Foxborough said with a compassionate lilt to his voice. “The matter is settled.”

  Without saying anything more, Lady Abigail’s father shook hands with James’s, officially sealing their children’s fate.

  Chapter Three

  “I cannot believe I have no choice in the matter,” Abigail said while pacing the parlor floor the next morning.

  “It’s deuced bad luck, I say,” her brother, Lance, the Earl of Durham, told her sympathetically while sipping his third cup of coffee. “Although to be fair, you could have landed on someone far less appealing than Mr. James Townsbridge. Just imagine if Viscount Ribbernitting had been lying on that sofa.”

  Abigail shuddered but managed to say, “At least he has a title. Mama and Papa would have been a lot happier with the prospect of marrying me off to him.”

  Lance grunted while eyeing her over the rim of his cup. A lock of hazelnut hair matching hers fell forward over his brow. “Townsbridge has always struck me as an affable fellow.”

  “You don't—”

  “He's also terribly handsome.”

  Muted by the blunt pronouncement spoken from the opposite side of the room, Abigail turned to stare at her sister. Petra might be two years younger than she, but she certainly liked to voice her opinion.

  “I thought you were reading,” Abigail said.

  Petra turned a page in her book with a shrug and without glancing away from the text. “That doesn't mean I can't hear you talking.”

  “And how would you know what he looks like anyway?” Abigail asked. Her sister wasn’t out and hardly ever left the house.

  “I have eyes in my head,” Petra murmured but added no further explanation.

  Sighing, Abigail flopped back against her seat and gazed helplessly up at the ceiling. “Handsome or not, I simply don't like the man.” At least not any more.

  “You scarcely know him,” Lance informed her with the wisdom of an older brother who possessed three more years of life experience than she was able to boast.

  Rubbing her brow, she considered his comment. “You're right, of course, but what I do know is that he
lacks manners. And that's an integral part of anyone's character, not something that can quickly be acquired. A person is either polite or they're not.”

  “Like I said,” Lance drawled while returning his cup to its saucer, “James Townsbridge has never given me reason to question his behavior.”

  “Perhaps he was simply having a bad day,” Petra offered, “and you became the unfortunate victim of his aggravation.”

  Abigail twisted her mouth in thought. “I will allow it as a possibility, but only because it makes no sense for him to be so horrid when the rest of his family is nothing but likeable.”

  “The same could be said about you,” Petra muttered, causing Lance to choke on a biscuit he'd just bitten into. He proceeded to cough while Abigail narrowed her eyes on her sister. Only her forehead was visible behind the book.

  “What do you mean?”

  A pause followed, then Petra snapped the book shut in order to meet her gaze. “Only that you are not as outgoing as we are.” She tilted her head. “Are you sure you didn’t put Mr. Townsbridge off by looking as though you would rather be elsewhere?”

  Abigail flattened her mouth. While it was true she’d always been somewhat shy, this had nothing to do with the anxious unease that had gripped her when she’d realized who her parents meant to introduce her to. “You know I—”

  The parlor door opened and Arundel, the butler, appeared. He looked just as stiff and unapproachable as always. “Mr. Tobias Chesterfield has come to call,” he said in that dry, acerbic tone only very skilled butlers could pull off without looking daft. Arundel managed to do so with perfection.

  “By all means, show him in,” Lance said. Arundel departed and Lance met Abigail's gaze. “A pity you turned down his offer when he asked.”

  A snort from the other corner of the room was enough to reveal what Petra thought about that particular comment.

  Abigail sighed. “You know perfectly well Papa did so for me.” Not that she minded. As a childhood friend of Lance's, Tobias had been a constant part of her life. She liked him and had always felt comfortable in his presence, but marrying him would be downright odd, like putting on your favorite pair of gloves the wrong way around. Not to mention that his name had been touched by scandal, seeing as his brother had fled the country after being accused of embezzlement. Remaining friends with Tobias was one thing. Making him part of the family was quite another.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” Tobias said after entering the room and greeting everyone. Concern marred his features, creasing his brow and tightening his jaw. He glanced at Lance, then went straight to Abigail and lowered himself to the spot beside her on the sofa. “There is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Townsbridge is a scoundrel who took advantage of you and—”

  “The fault is not his alone,” Abigail said. Perhaps it was Petra’s comment from earlier that had chastened her, perhaps she was simply more awake now and able to think with greater clarity. Or maybe it was the fact that she knew Mr. Townsbridge wasn’t the only one to blame for what had happened that caused her to come to his defense. “In fact, if it weren’t for my strolling into a dark room and sitting on him, I dare say I wouldn’t be in this mess.” And neither would Mr. Townsbridge, which made her wonder, for the first time since the calamitous incident occurred, what he must be thinking of her right now. Never mind the rest of his family.

  Abigail’s toes curled with immediate mortification. Were they having a similar discussion in the Townsbridge House parlor at this exact moment? Had hopeful young ladies vying for Mr. Townsbridge’s hand come to sympathize with his plight just as Tobias was doing with her?

  The very idea made Abigail jolt to her feet. Tobias stood as well and so did Lance. From her armchair in the corner, Petra watched the proceedings like a spectator at the theatre, eager to know what would happen next.

  “That does not excuse him,” Tobias said. Concern for her was apparent in his warm and friendly eyes. “If he’d been more careful, you would not have been found in his lap or with part of your gown torn to shreds.”

  Abigail stared at him, her cheeks flushing with shame as she realized how much the scandal sheets had revealed. “That,” her voice trembled slightly at the thought of what all of London Society must be thinking, “was an accident.”

  “On your part certainly,” Tobias said, “though it really doesn’t look very good.”

  “On that we are all agreed,” Lance muttered.

  “Which is why I would try to improve the appearance of things if I were you,” Petra remarked.

  Abigail turned to stare at her sister. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Petra rolled her eyes. “Make people question what really happened between you and Mr. Townsbridge last night.” She stared at Abigail with fierce intensity. “And for God’s sake, don’t let them think you’re cowering in shame.”

  “Perhaps a walk with me and your siblings in the park would be the thing,” Tobias said, his voice both kind and hopeful. “Being seen, showing the world you will not be put out by last night’s debacle and that you’re actually happy to marry Mr. Townsbridge, could help your reputation tremendously.”

  Only if she were trying to look like she’d trapped Mr. Townsbridge and felt no remorse whatsoever. Not to mention that being seen with Tobias in public would likely have the opposite result of what she wanted to achieve. But since saying as much was sure to hurt him, she nodded while trying to gather her thoughts.

  “Yes,” she said. “Hiding away at home will only make matters worse.”

  “We can go to Gunther’s as well,” Tobias said with increased excitement.

  Lance frowned. He looked both uncomfortable and uncertain. And then Petra opened her mouth, clearly intending to argue this terrible idea, which forced Abigail to say, “As tempting as that sounds, I fear I must decline.” She noted the look of disappointed confusion on Tobias’s face and swiftly added, “I shall go to Townsbridge House instead and call on my future sisters-in-law.”

  HALF AN HOUR EARLIER at Townsbridge House

  “I’m going to kill Hugh,” James grumbled while pacing the length of the parlor floor. “And then I am going to revive him so I can kill him again.”

  Charles and Bethany watched him from their positions on the sofa. They shared a look – one of those filled with endless paragraphs of unspoken words only a deeply connected couple could manage – and then Charles asked, “Did he hold you captive while forcing brandy down your throat?”

  James stopped in the middle of the room and glanced at his feet. The pile in the carpet had been kicked up by the heels of his shoes, leaving a series of crisscrossing tracks behind. “No.” He glanced up and met his brother’s gaze. “But if Mother had let me stay home and rest instead of insisting I come along to the ball, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  Charles tilted his head. “So then it’s Mama’s fault?”

  Expelling a breath, James pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly shook his head. “No.” But he wished it were. He wished he could blame someone besides himself because then there’d at least be a target for his frustration.

  Selecting a vacant armchair, he sank down heavily onto the seat. “I have only myself to blame for what happened. And Lady Abigail, of course.” He gnashed his teeth just thinking about that awful woman.

  “You mustn’t judge her too quickly,” Bethany said. “In fact, I think you’ll find the two of you suit rather well.”

  James gave his sister-in-law a glare, which earned him a stern look of condemnation from Charles. “I beg your pardon but have you actually met her?”

  “On occasion.” When James continued to stare at her, Bethany added, “The Marquess and Marchioness of Foxborough have always been close friends of my parents’, so I met Abigail often while growing up, though I must confess it’s probably three years since I saw her last.”

  James wasn’t surprised. Bethany had been away in America before marrying Charles and since then she’d been busy producing children. With he
r third one currently on the way, she hadn’t attended a social event in at least two months.

  “People have been known to change,” James pointed out.

  Bethany frowned. “Perhaps. But considering the gentle girl with an easy smile and pleasant disposition whom I recall, I cannot quite picture her as the arrogant, sour-faced woman you claim her to be.”

  “Perhaps you managed to offend her,” Charles suggested.

  James stared at his brother. “I offend her?”

  “Athena did say you were a bore the entire evening.”

  James blinked. “It’s barely noon. When on earth did you speak with Athena?”

  “She stopped by for breakfast to tell us of your engagement,” Bethany said. “And according to her, you were not as polite as you should have been when you were introduced to Abigail. In fact, she said you were downright rude, which might explain her stiff response to you and...” She sighed.

  “Are you suggesting I am to blame for the way she behaved?” James asked. “Even though she was scowling at me before I said one word to her?”

  Bethany pursed her lips. “All I am trying to say is that the two of you clearly got off to a poor start.”

  He leveled his sister-in-law a steady gaze. “And then she sat on me.”

  “The room was, as I understand it, dark at the time,” Bethany said as if trying to visualize what and how the events leading up to James’s engagement might have transpired.

  “Not so dark that she could not find her way to the sofa,” James grumbled. “The fact she did not notice a large shape filling it is mind boggling to say the least.”

  “As mind boggling as your button tearing her gown?” Charles asked with a smirk.

  “That was—” James stopped, paused for a moment, and finally blew out a lengthy breath. “Very well. I will agree Lady Abigail and I share the blame for what happened in that room last night.” She more than he, he told himself privately, but nonetheless.