For the Earl's Pleasure (22 page)

“We will find a way for your children not to be cursed.” Her mother hastily held out a hand. “In a different way, of course. I’m sure that you will find a way.”

Tainted stock. That was what she was. Not only was she not even a proper or real member of society, but any children she had were likely to be cursed as well. Passed down through her doubly tainted blood. She could see the condemnation in the eyes piercing hers.

She willed the tears away. Her mother touched her again and Abigail resisted the urge to lurch forward and bury her head in her mother’s shoulder and never look up again.

“I will see you in an hour for the first visit, yes?”

Abigail nodded, unable to speak. Her mother said something else and slipped from the room, looking lighter than she had. Abigail felt the weight of a thousand suns upon her.

She looked away, unwilling to continue to see mercurial brown eyes that had been so passionate the night before looking on her with the renewed hatred of a night so long past.

Abigail remembered that day as if it were as fresh as the morning’s dew clinging to the bottom of her windowpane.

She sat on the stump of a fallen oak in the cozy wood copse, their standard meeting spot, and stared as Thornton Danforth, Earl Rainewood, stepped inside instead. “My lord.” She rose.

He stopped and watched her, his sharp, cruel eyes taking her in. “I felt the pull here. It must be because of you, since you can see me. A little nobody, how perturbing.”

She raised her chin. She disliked the heir intensely, more for how he treated Valerian than in how he treated her, but he was still an extremely atrocious person to be near.

His eyes narrowed further. “How extremely interesting though that it should be Valerian’s pet that brings me here.”

She blinked and shifted on her feet, suddenly wanting to put some space between them without showing the need to do so.

“You will help me.” He continued to move toward her, stalking her.

A strange laugh bubbled from her stomach up to her chest. Hysterical in nature. Valerian’s brother was speaking in a maddened way. “I see. Perhaps you might find a servant better able to offer help.” She waved a hand toward the Palmbury estate.

“Abby?”

She breathed a sigh of relief as Valerian’s dark head appeared through the trees.

He appeared, a broken look upon his attractive boyish face—a face that had just started sharpening into something even more appealing. She felt the urge to go to him—an urge that was growing stronger each day she saw him.

Something in his eyes lightened, though he still looked strained. “Thank goodness. You are the only one who won’t hate me. I have to tell you something.”

She cast a nervous glance at Thornton. “Perhaps we should go for a walk.”

“No, I have to get it off my chest now. No one comes here.”

“Your brother,” she blurted, pointing.

His brows drew together, pain filing his eyes. “How did you know?”

She stared at him, then motioned toward Thornton. Valerian followed her movement, then turned confused eyes back on her.

“Yes, they are all at the house. Their eyes judging. I had to get away. I have to tell you—”

“Not here,” she hissed.

“What?” Valerian looked frustrated, anger replacing the other more complicated emotions. “What has been ailing you lately? You have taken to turning bright colors and making strange requests.”

She gave him a look full of affront. She would normally have blustered her way past the comments, even as her cheeks started to heat automatically. But he shouldn’t speak with Thornton there, no matter that he seemed completely oblivious to Thornton’s presence. Thornton would hold anything said over Valerian’s head.

“Your brother.”

Valerian’s eyes went blank.

She pointed to Thornton, who regarded her with cruel eyes, smiling.

“This is not amusing, Abigail,” Valerian said.

“I know!”

“Who knew that this would
be
so amusing,” Thornton said. “Little Miss Nobody, lost in the clutches of her own madness.”

“What? Stop talking.”

“Abigail, have you taken a fall?” Valerian approached her cautiously, reaching out to touch her head.

“No, of course not! Look.” She waved at Thornton.

“Tell him that it is his fault. Everything is,” Thornton said.

“What?”

A warm hand slid across her brow. “You are sweating.”

She swatted Valerian’s hand away. “It’s hot out. Now, what is happening? Better to leave and be rid of your brother’s continued presence.” She glared at Thornton. “Little could be more foul.”

Every muscle in Valerian’s body stiffened. “What did you say?”

“He’ll make such a shoddy duke,” Thornton said scornfully, looking Valerian over. “Completely ruin the line,”

“I can’t believe they let you get away with this.
You
will make a terrible duke.
You
will ruin the line,” she said to Thornton, with no small amount of viciousness.

If Valerian could have grown stiffer, he would have. “What?”

She gave him a look, unwilling to repeat herself or what Thornton had said. She had always found the “ignoring someone” game silly, even when they played it to annoy the governesses.

“You think it my fault as well.” Valerian’s tone was odd. “And you think I will make a terrible duke.”

“Valerian, you are trying my patience with this game.” She motioned to Thornton in a gesture that said exactly what she thought of the donkey and any game that included him.

“I thought you of all people would support me,” he said, anger coloring his tone red.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed that he was ignoring Thornton’s jabs and taking his anger out on her instead. “Stop playing games.” She motioned sharply toward the path that would take them away from Thornton and the estate and deeper into the areas that only they explored.

But Valerian just watched her—an expression on his face, closed and remote, that she had never seen before. “Perhaps the boys at school were right.”

“What?”

“I have to go.”

“But—”

But he had already turned and was striding away, pushing hanging branches from his path.

Abigail narrowed her eyes, more irritated now than when it had just been Thornton taunting her. What was Valerian’s game? He had been acting oddly lately himself as well, and this was just further confusion.

“That was lovely. I couldn’t have done better myself.” Thornton sounded pleased and she tried to kill him with a glance.

It hadn’t been until later that afternoon that she had discovered that while thinking about killing him was an admirable thought, Thornton was
already
dead—killed in a riding accident while racing Valerian.

The incident had been blamed on Valerian, but the duke and dowager had realized their heir dilemma immediately and started to hush the gossip.

Abigail had been scared witless when the spirit of Valerian’s dead brother had continued to follow her around, taunting her, telling her that she had to do things for him—that Valerian would never speak to her again.

Days had gone by before she had had a chance to speak to Valerian. Completely frightened and scared—seeking her own reassurance from him. But he had changed. Gone cold. His father and grandmother hovering over him, unwilling to let the last surviving Danforth, however poorly tolerated previously, do anything circumspect. After all, it was just a matter of time before Basil succumbed to death, as weak and useless to them as he was. They needed Valerian and he seemed more than willing to suddenly bend to their will as the perfect heir.

Valerian had briefly and unemotionally listened to her tale of ghosts, of Thornton’s game, called her a few choice words and then called in his grandmother to casually eject her from the house. His parting words, “You are mad. Never speak to me again,” had haunted her more than his spirit ever could.

A dozen notes returned unopened. Servants firmly keeping her from the grounds. His immediate return to Eton and all holiday visits canceled. Dozens of spirits showing up, approaching her, driving her mad. Needing the reassurance of her best friend and finding cold silence instead. Valerian had abandoned her as surely as he must have felt on that day that she had abandoned him.

She hoped Thornton was burning below.

She pressed her hand to her forehead. What a terrible series of events. If only she hadn’t been so young and stupid. If only she hadn’t already started to tiptoe around Valerian anyway. Keeping secrets, her feelings for him changing into something much more than a friend, and her not knowing how to deal with it.

If only he hadn’t been so raw to turn to his family instead of to try and seek an explanation from her—the bloom of womanhood cursing her in more ways than one and throwing up a barrier between them. The miscommunication and widening social divide separating them.

She looked up at him standing against the door. “So now you know.”

“You aren’t Abigail Smart.”

She gave a strained smile. “I am the same person I have always been.”

“Are you?”

Every foul word she had heard in society ran through her head. “Except I’m
common
.”

“There is nothing common about you.”

“Were you not listening?” she demanded.

His eyes darkened. “I was.”

He looked beyond angry. She had always known that it was how he would react. Had always been terrified that he would discover her duplicity.

“I’m sorry.” She looked away.

“I am as well. If I had known your mother planned to do such foul things to you, I would have run away with you myself.”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

Telly bustled in to help her ready for the day, and her mother walked in behind, saving him from answering, though he sent a dark look her mother’s way before walking to the bed to watch.

It took a good hour to get ready. An hour in which all she wanted to do was to ask him question after question.

“Abigail, I’ve made us late, and we have a hundred appointments before the Malcolm’s ball tonight,” her mother said. “It can’t be helped though.”

Her mother touched her shoulder, retreated, then touched her again. “And I’m glad that our talk was the reason for our tardiness,” she whispered, so that Telly couldn’t hear. “Relieved that you finally know. Happy to build a better foundation for us.” She straightened. “The carriage should be ready, I will see you downstairs.”

Abigail nodded and waited for Telly too to leave, giving her only a minute alone with Valerian.

He hadn’t been surprised about the deception. Her throat closed on a sudden rush of emotion. That really only left one question.

“What did you do with the full corruption list, Valerian?” she asked softly.

He turned away from her. “I burned it. As soon as I saw your name, I burned it.”

“T
here is going to be a grand announcement tonight, or so I’m told,” Mrs. Browning said as the carriage rocked toward the Malcolm’s ball. “And Lord Rainewood is expected to put in an appearance finally.”

Abigail’s sat straighter and Valerian jerked from his seat near the window. “He hasn’t been to any events in nearly two weeks,” she choked out.

“Well, he will come to this one if he wants to have any say in his betrothal.”

Abigail swallowed while Valerian swore violently. “That is the announcement then? A betrothal?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Browning said, as if she wasn’t just making the assumption. “I expect you to show the proper courtesy to the dowager duchess when extending your congratulations. I have noticed that she isn’t entirely comfortable with Lord Basil courting you. Nevertheless, we will be polite.”

Abigail couldn’t resist. “She is barely polite to us.”

“She is a duchess! You must understand that.” Mrs. Browning shook her head, lips pinched. “You have never had the proper respect for the levels of society. As if you wouldn’t have learned from birth where you fell in the social hierarchy!”

Abigail smiled wanly and her mother’s laughter was a little too high-pitched.

“As it is, we would have been told the latest information had we attended the balloon races.” Mrs. Browning gave her a dark look. “All the gossip churned there today.”

“I take it the races were eventful?”

“Mr. Campbell ruined Mr. Brockwell’s balloon and there was an altercation with Mr. Penshard because of it.”

Abigail’s hand went to her mouth. “Poor Mr. Brockwell.”

“Yes, he was devastated. I would have liked to observe it all first hand. I had to get the news from Lettie. Horrible.”

“Did you discover anything else?”

“Mr. Brockwell made a stunning turn around by fixing his balloon. It lifted finally and indeed won the final race. Seems to be the toast of the Young Scientist’s Society because of it. Why anyone is interested in those mechanical matters though, I’ll never know. A good cup of tea and a nice bit of news is a far better way to spend an afternoon. The betrothal gossip, for instance. Far more interesting.”

Abigail’s stomach churned, and she listened to the rest of the daily gossip with half an ear as they pulled up the packed drive.

In the interior of the brightly lit, extravagant ballroom, the spirits were even easier to pick out than usual. Abigail swallowed at their sallow tones, their crackling edges, their drawn faces. She passed two ghosts speaking to each other.

“We are about to lose another one.”

The second woman patted the first on the arm. “I know, Margaret, I know. But it happens to them all eventually.”

She wanted to ask of what they were speaking, somehow feeling that they would answer, but Mrs. Browning urged her forward toward Mr. Farnswourth. As she looked over her shoulder, she could see the spirits gazing at her sadly.

It made her twitch. She had a feeling that the whole night was going to cause that reaction.

Sure enough, the view of the rest of the room confirmed this notion. Miss Malcolm preened in the center of the room, appearing to indicate to all present that the rumors were true. That there would be a betrothal announcement.

“I heard that Miss Jones’s second cousin, Lady Tenning, heard from her maid’s friend who is a friend of Lady Marple, who heard it from Mrs. Fortening that her husband saw the document on Sir Walter Malcolm’s desk. It said that the Palmbury heir was to be betrothed to Celeste Malcolm. Lucky girl!”

All talk concerned the betrothal and Valerian. A few people obviously recalled that one of his last actions before leaving had been to argue with her and they looked to her for a reaction each time his name came up. Abigail tried to keep her smile firmly in place.

Valerian had strode off upon entering the room, trying to discover what was happening. She caught glimpses of him here and there, but he only reappeared at her side when he grew exceptionally pale. She swallowed to think of it. That he was disappearing with the rest of the spirits. That their physical actions had done this and he might leave before she was ready. Before they found him.

She was on her twentieth conversation about Lord Rainewood, and about Miss Malcolm’s great fortune, when the general level of the voices rose and gossip rode a wave through the Malcolm’s grand ballroom.

“Did you hear?”

“No, what?”

“Mr. Campbell has been attacked! He was almost taken by villains! A constable saved him just as he was being dragged away.”

“Oh dear!”

Abigail waited for the entire story to make its way to her. Mrs. Browning and her mother leaned in as well.

Lady Orton parted her fan and made a few sweeps before gifting them with the news, her eyes fluttering in satisfaction. “Mr. Campbell was walking down by the docks when he was attacked by ten men. He fought valiantly but fell beneath their combined blows. And then they were trying to drag him off—kidnap him, so it seems! Can you imagine?”

“No, poor man,” her mother said fretfully. “Have they caught the men responsible?”

“No, but there is a man hunt, you can be sure. Can you imagine why anyone would want to attack Mr. Campbell?”

Valerian snorted darkly, suddenly appearing beside her. “There are a thousand reasons, and they are increasing every day.”

“No, Mr. Campbell is an upstanding citizen,” Mrs. Browning said.

Abigail thought of the endless debts that Campbell seemed to owe. “What was he doing by the docks?”

The entire group stopped talking and turned to her. Lady Malcolm sniffed. “I’m sure I do not know. Walking. Minding his own business,” she said, as if she wasn’t gossiping endlessly about the man.

“It matters little,” Mrs. Browning said. “That they attacked Mr. Campbell anywhere is beyond the pale. They need to be punished. Common folk should not touch their betters.”

“It is likely they won’t be caught,” another woman said. “The watch are so pitiful these days. Letting scoundrels and rogues run the streets.”

“But Mr. Campbell is well?” Abigail asked Lady Orton.

Mrs. Browning nodded sharply in agreement with the question. “He has been quite attentive to Miss Smart.”

Abigail pressed her lips together but waited for the answer.

Another lady leaned in. “He is well. Laid low, but accepting visitors should you wish to stop by and see how he is doing.”

“A fine idea.” Mrs. Browning said.

“He is convalescing with Lord Basil.” The woman pointed.

Basil was conversing with a group on the other side of the room—it looked as if they were actively trying to squeeze him of every last drop of information. Basil was smiling charmingly, but she knew he would reveal only what he wished. Slippery one, Basil.

Abigail excused herself to the retiring area. Halfway there Mr. Stagen appeared next to her, silently, like a tricky spirit in his own right. “Good evening, Miss Smart.”

“Mr. Stagen.”

“Have you heard from our erstwhile companion?”

“Mr. Campbell? No. I have heard that he was attacked and has taken ill though. I do hope he is well.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Campbell. He should be right as rain come a few days’ mend and ready to be fawned over by the ladies of the ton. Do not despair.”

She looked at him more closely. “If not Mr. Campbell, then to whom are you referring?”

“Lord Rainewood.”

She stiffened. “He is your companion, but I do not think he would ever claim to be mine.”

“No?”

“No.”

He tapped his fingers against the handle of his cane as they walked. “Interesting the things you remember with age and a bit of hindsight behind you. I seem to recall him always speaking of a girl at home. One of whom he was quite fond. The boys gave him quite a bit of hell for it—especially when girls started to become a different breed to the rest of us.” He smiled. “Of course, some of us have always considered them so. Raine took a hit for being friends with a girl—even one that none of us had seen.”

“Interesting, Mr. Stagen,” she said stiffly. “But I hardly see what that has to do with me.”

“No? I seem to remember he called his friend Abby once when he wasn’t watching his speech. Curious, don’t you think?”

“Quite curious. Of course, there are many Abby’s in this country, one would think.”

“But none quite as close to Raine’s notice as you.”

She thought of the way the women in the group had talked about commoners. “I am far beneath his notice.”

Stagen merely tipped his head. “And one recalls other things. Like the trick that was attempted at the Crupper’s ball.”

She remembered quite well. She had narrowly missed being the brunt of a most embarrassing prank. Somehow it had exploded on Valerian instead.

“Yes, bad luck that Lord Rainewood found himself in the middle of it.” The incident had provoked a somewhat mean smile to her face at the time.

“Oh, I don’t think luck had anything to do with it. It was a perfect prank, planned for the first lady in white to cross its path. I won’t tell you who was in charge of it, of course, but it should have gone off without a hitch.”

“Not that it wasn’t quite satisfying to see V-Rainewood dripping in water instead, but what does this have to do with me?”

“Mmmm. Someone triggered the trap early.”

She had assumed it had been Gregory, or maybe Phillip under Gregory’s command. “Don’t tell me it was you, Mr. Stagen?”

“No, not me.”

The way he was looking at her, and his words, made her swallow. “You are trying to tell me that Lord Rainewood sabotaged the prank and put himself in harm’s way for me?”

He tilted his head. “Yes.”

“As he would for any lady, then.”

“No. Not for anyone else, I should think.”

He would for his betrothed. He was an honorable man once bound by something. She gave a brittle laugh. “You are mistaken.”

“No. It has always been about you.” His voice was musing, his eyes piercing.

She tried to wipe his words away with a sweep of her hand. “Lovely, Mr. Stagen. You flatter me. But Lord Rainewood barely knows I exist.”

“Interesting, since all of his focus is on you when you are near. And Raine is the jealous sort. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone else marking something he sees as his.”

“You are creating fantasies, Mr. Stagen.” She picked up her pace. “Besides, if this were all true, he could have ended the prank without ending up in the middle of it.”

Stagen smiled. “He found out about it only a few minutes before it was due to happen. Only he is allowed to touch you.”

She swallowed. “V-Rainewood doesn’t touch me.”

Stagen gave her a considering glance. “A strange relationship the two of you maintain, but a relationship nonetheless. Only those that are looking truly notice it, but we do.”

She thought about the prank. About how Valerian had arrived, slightly winded, at just the exact time to trigger the device. She thought about the relief she had felt as she’d looked at her pristine white dress—the water would have revealed her to God and the world.

Valerian had looked so angry—but she had assumed it was because of accidentally triggering the gag.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just thought maybe you knew more about Raine’s whereabouts than you were telling.”

“Ah, yes. You and Lord Basil have been keeping tabs on me.”

Stagen smiled faintly. “Neither of us believe you responsible—at least not anymore. But there is no denying that you might have more knowledge than you claim.”

Abigail tilted her head. “I see.” She considered him. “I will tell you this. If I knew of Rainewood’s whereabouts, I would tell you. It seems as if you have his best intentions in order.” She didn’t know Valerian’s whereabouts, however, and she didn’t think pointing across the room to the invisible man roaming around, between, and through the party guests was likely to make Stagen satisfied with her sanity.

Stagen smiled. “Very well, Miss Smart. I knew that you could be counted upon.”

“Why?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“Because while I watch Raine watching you, I also watch your reactions to him.” He tipped his head. “Good evening, Miss Smart.”

Abigail watched him walk away, a bit numb.

Valerian appeared at her side a few moments later. “What did Stagen say?” His voice was tight.

“He is looking for you. Did you discover anything?”

He shook his head, lips thinned.

“Very well. I’m going to speak with Phillip.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity about something.”

She needed a few answers. Needed to know if there was really a chance that the other Valerian, the one from weeks ago, had such a care for her. If there was a possibility that his two incarnations were the same.

Phillip was standing near two women who were chattering while he lifted his glass awkwardly. She walked his way and nearly smiled at the relief that stole across his face.

“Good evening, Mr. Brockwell.”

“And to you, Miss Smart.”

She could feel Valerian at her side, but didn’t look his way. “I have a question for you.”

Phillip nodded, simply looking happy not to have to listen to the women near him anymore.

“At the Crupper’s ball, do you remember that prank that went badly for Lord Rainewood?”

Phillip nodded, a nervous smile playing about his lips. His previous eagerness to speak with her visually diminishing. “I do. Nasty thing meant for you, wasn’t it?”

She could feel Valerian stiffen at her side. “Yes.” She looked at Phillip closely. “Did you have anything to do with stopping it?”

Phillip cocked his head. “No. I’m happy that you escaped from it though.”

“Thank you. What about Mr. Penshard?”

“I’m sure that he was equally happy.”

“No, did he have anything to do with sabotaging the prank?”

Phillip shook his head. “No, he was with me, I remember.”

“Ah, thank you, Mr. Brockwell.” She cleared her throat. Had Valerian truly sabotaged it?

“They are always playing nasty pranks and creating problems,” Phillip said heatedly, all of a sudden. “It is little surprise that they find themselves in trouble.”