The Duke's Legacy (9 page)

Abbey wondered what had caused Lord Evans’s attitude to undergo such a marked change. Perhaps seeing her in such demand in London? Even if he and her uncle had come to an understanding, Lord Evans would know it required her ratification and she could imagine that situation making him anxious. He was a gentleman who was only comfortable with order and method in his life. Important unresolved issues would be a torment.

Abbey breathed an inaudible sigh. Did he but know it, against her better judgement and every last vestige of common sense, her heart was engaged elsewhere. Abbey smiled at the impossibility of it all. If Lord Evans ever guessed at her infatuation, he would also comprehend he had nothing to fear. Sebastian Denver was unlikely to show an amatory interest in her. Even if she hadn’t taken heed of the rumours about his legendary exploits, which Bea was only too pleased to expound upon at every opportunity, she’d seen with her own eyes at the duchess’s ball that he favoured the more experienced ladies. It was laughable really. Abbey, without being unduly boastful, knew she could have virtually any man she set her heart upon simply because of who she was and the fortune under her guardianship. Unfortunately the only gentleman she’d met who could stir her passions and make her insides fizz didn’t have any need of her fortune, no interest in matrimony and even less interest in her.

Throughout the meal Abbey listened for the sound of unexpected arrivals. But Lord Denver didn’t appear. She had been so sure he would come and without him the evening seemed as dreary as it was interminable. The gentlemen continued to shower her with their attentions until she was ready to scream. Only with the greatest of difficulty did she prevent herself from walking outside, in spite of the cold and the fact that it was pitch dark.

Lord Denver’s warnings rang in her head and she resisted the temptation to escape, only to regret her decision when Sir Michael won the battle to partner her at whist. Whist was a game she enjoyed and played well, but at which she and her partner fared disastrously. Sir Michael’s attention was all for her and Abbey’s mind was settled upon a far more agreeable countenance than the one sitting across the table from her.

The evening eventually drew to a close, but only after she’d reluctantly accepted the offer of Charles’s company to ride to the meet with her the following day. It was an offer made by her cousin after much prompting and hint-dropping by her godfather. Charles enjoyed hunting enormously and the paltry excuse he offered for not riding to hounds because his own hunter hadn’t yet arrived was a miserably obvious stratagem. She had a splendid string of hunters here at the lodge, which were at her guests’ disposal, and felt truly sorry for Charles. Still, if she had to ride with anyone, she was glad it was him. She would reward him by ensuring he didn’t miss any further sport.

Something occurred to Abbey as she was preparing to retire. She and Charles were great friends but he had no interest in pursuing her. His heart was definitely not in it and he was clearly only going through the motions at his father’s behest. That was something she must tell Lord Denver at the first opportunity. It raised a whole new raft of possibilities. Why was Lord Wilsden so anxious to have Abbey married to Charles? Was it because he wished to form a permanent connection with the only remaining relative of his best friend? It seemed rather tenuous but she couldn’t think of a better explanation. She didn’t suspect Charles of wishing her harm. He was far too lazy and not nearly clever enough to dream up the scheme. But still, she would take Lord Denver’s warning to heart and have her own groom accompany her when she rode with him.

Charles made not the slightest objection to Abbey’s groom accompanying them. She watched carefully as her dapple-grey mare, Sonnet, was saddled. She checked the girth for herself, leaning her weight on the saddle to ensure nothing had been placed beneath it, and carefully examined the stitching on her bridle before mounting. Charles raised a brow as he observed these precautions.

“Lightening don’t strike in the same place twice,” he remarked.

“What do you mean?”

“Lord, Abbey, you employ enough grooms, and what have you, to make a chap’s head spin. I can’t begin to imagine the scolding that was dished out when your saddle slipped that day on our estate. Rest assured, no one will be that negligent with you again, not if they value their livelihoods.” He lifted her into the saddle and offered her a raffish grin. “Now come on, let’s go see the fun.”

“Race you there!”

Abbey abandoned all caution as a rebellious streak ripped through her and she left the yard at a canter. Once they were clear of the lodge Charles became himself again—the young man whose company Abbey found so conducive. Laughing, he tore along at her side, obviously not prepared to give any quarter as most gentlemen in his situation would have done. Away from his father’s influence he relaxed, chatted to her about nothing in particular and made no attempt to flirt with her.

At the meet an atmosphere of anticipation fizzled, adding to Abbey’s regret that she couldn’t be a part of the opening hunt of the season. Everything about the scene stirred her blood. The pink of the huntsmen’s coats; the baying of the hounds, fresh and anxious for the off; the horses pawing at the ground and fighting their riders for their heads; the cheerful exchange of greetings as the stirrup cup was passed; intense discussions about the conditions underfoot. All of these things made her feel like an outsider, excluded and unnoticed on her own land. Would it always be this way, she wondered, or would marriage actually free her from the chains of responsibility that so restricted her.

Some people did observe her arrival and asked if she intended to take to the field. When she replied in the negative, they mostly lost interest in her. Such was his enjoyment of the sport that even Lord Evans had little time to spare for her. When the Master blew his horn to signal the off, Abbey didn’t wait to see them go. Instead she turned Sonnet and headed home. It had been a mistake to come.

After luncheon Abbey took refuge in her sitting room where she was joined by her aunt and cousin. No topic of conversation other than Bea’s forthcoming wedding stood the test of time. Abbey tried to join in, but made a poor show of taking an interest in a subject which had already been exhausted between them. She felt morose and restless, conscious of Mr. Graves pacing the house like a caged tiger, waiting for her to appear. He couldn’t invade her privacy in this room, but anywhere else in the house she would be fair game. If their paths crossed, politeness dictated that she bear him company. Abbey was determined their paths wouldn’t cross.

It was only as she dressed for dinner that her mood lightened. Some sixth sense warned her that Lord Denver would appear before the end of the meal. Abbey took great care in the selection of her gown, already berating herself for her foolishness, but donning her new silver-blue brocade just the same. Sally brushed her hair until it shone and then secured it at her nape with a simple diamond clip, leaving it loose to bounce about her shoulders.

She delayed her entrance to the drawing room and was gratified by the reception she received. Once again Lord Evans elected himself as her protector. In no mood to be smothered she mostly ignored him, listening with genuine interest as the day’s sport was discussed.

Listening, too, for the sound of wheels on gravel.

In spite of her alertness, she didn’t actually hear Lord Denver arrive. It was only when she detected a commotion, and heard unfamiliar male tones coming from the vestibule that she realised he had arrived. She felt colour flood her cheeks and made a huge effort to remain calm. The door opened, everyone naturally turned towards it and watched as Abbey’s butler approached her uncle, presenting him with a card upon a silver salver. Lord Bevan took the card, his face reflecting surprise as he read the name printed upon it.

“My dear,” he said to Abbey. “It seems we have an unexpected guest to whom we must extend our hospitality. Lord Denver’s coachman has been taken suddenly ill and they seek shelter beneath our roof.”

Chapter Seven

“This should be entertaining.” Charles spoke in a cheerful undertone that was audible to all.

Everyone focused their eyes upon Abbey, making her feel self-conscious. She noticed Gerald in particular, eyeing her speculatively as he responded to his brother’s comment.

“Think what you like about the man, but life’s never dull when Denver’s around.”

“Don’t keep Lord Denver standing about, Rogers,” Lord Bevan said. “Show him in. I dare say he’s sharp set so it’s fortunate he has arrived just in time for dinner.”

Before the occupants of the drawing-room had the opportunity to recover from their collective surprise, Lord Denver strolled across the threshold with a swagger that suggested total confidence in receiving a warm welcome. Lord Evans took up a position close to Abbey.

“This is unfortunate and deuced awkward for you,” he said. “I know the man makes you uncomfortable.”
Yes, he does, but not for the reasons you suppose
. “Still, in all Christian charity, your uncle can’t turn him away until his coachman has recovered. I realise you have the good sense to mistrust him, but his tenure beneath your roof is likely to be of short duration. Besides, I’m here to protect you from Denver.”

Abbey suppressed the urge to stamp her foot. The last thing she required was Lord Evans’s protection. Besides, his propriety attitude irked her.

“Thank you, Lord Evans, but you needn’t make the sacrifice. Lord Denver doesn’t frighten me. Besides, he’s now a guest in
my
house and I dare say he’ll remember his manners.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

But Abbey, aware of Lord Denver’s gaze skimming over the heads of the party and coming to rest upon her, never did discover what Lord Evans hadn’t meant to imply. Her attention was all for Lord Denver. He deployed considerable charm as he was made welcome by her uncle and aunt.

“Your coachman will receive every care while he’s here,” Aunt Constance assured him. “You must be irked by the delay. Still, I don’t suppose he could help it, and I’m sure he didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Lord Denver executed an elegant bow. “I’m indebted to you, ma’am.”

Aware that the rest of the party had abandoned any pretence at restraint and was now openly observing her, Abbey’s courage rose to the occasion. She ignored the fizzing that Lord Denver’s arrival had reignited and stepped forward to greet him with what she hoped was a composed demeanour.

“Lord Denver.” Recalling she was supposed to dislike him, she dropped such a brief curtsey as to be almost insulting. “I hope your coachman’s illness won’t detain you here for long.”

Her aunt gasped, as well she might. Abbey had just been exceedingly rude to their visitor. Hopefully the devilish mood which had taken her over—a mood diametrically opposed to her supposed dislike of his lordship—wasn’t apparent in her expression.

‘Let us all hope that,” he replied, looking as though he was having trouble keeping his lips straight.

“Our housekeeper is an expert with herbal remedies. Whatever ails your man will be speedily identified by her and she’ll have him back on his feet in no time at all.”

“Thank you, Lady Abigail. The delay’s inconvenient, I don’t mind admitting it. I’d made arrangements…”

His words trailed off and he coughed behind his hand, as though he’d almost been indiscrete. Abbey heard Charles and Gerald exchange a muted guffaw, confirming her suspicions. Abbey wondered about the identity of the lady who would be disappointed by Lord Denver’s non-arrival, astonished when jealousy twisted at her insides. God’s beard, what had happened to her common sense? She had neither right nor reason to be jealous of Sebastian Denver. Whatever private arrangements he’d made for his own entertainment, he’d put them aside and gone to considerable trouble to come to her aid. For that reason alone, she owed him her sincere gratitude.

“I don’t suppose your coachman became ill simply to disoblige you,” Abbey said with a mischievous smile.

“Have a care,” he whispered so quietly that no one else could possibly have heard him. His eyes lingered on her profile for a protracted moment, causing Abbey’s breath to catch in her throat and for her heart to beat at double its usual rate. “You’re overdoing the dislike.”

“What makes you think it is pretence?” she whispered back, using her fan to hide her capricious smile.

He drilled her with a look that heated the air between them. Much as the sun responds to a gravitational pull, Abbey’s gaze locked with his and she was powerless to look away.

Fortunately Lord Denver’s attention was then claimed by her aunt and the mood was broken. Aunt Constance introduced him to those in the company not already known to him. Abbey observed him as he circulated the room, perfectly at his ease, whereas their brief exchange had left her floundering in a tangle of uncertainty. Something in his eyes had changed as he looked at her, almost as if he actually admired what he saw.

Abbey shook her head to dispel such a foolish notion and continued to watch his lordship as he became acquainted with her guests. The detached air she’d noticed about him on previous occasions was replaced by an unreadable mask as he delivered gallantry and charm with an even hand. If the sigh that escaped Laura Graves, now standing at Abbey’s side, was anything to judge by then Abbey wasn’t the only female in the room overwhelmed by his presence. Each lady appeared to straighten her spine and polish up her smile when it was her turn to be introduced. The gentlemen—in spite of their pretended disapproval— appeared eager to make a good impression.

Apparently oblivious to the stir he was creating, Lord Denver moved about the room, dispensing a seemingly inexhaustible supply of quicksilver charm. His lithesome grace was all the more impressive since it clearly owed nothing to contrivance and everything to an innate natural elegance. Abbey had never met anyone quite like him and was fascinated by what she saw. His appalling reputation ought to have put her on her guard. Instead, the air of mystery he cloaked himself in compelled her. More than one lady had probably tried to break through his reserves but Abbey didn’t imagine any of them had succeeded. Lord Denver struck her as a complicated and very private man who only allowed the world to see as much of him as he wished for it to see.