Elizabeth Thornton (2 page)

She mighthave been alarmed by these obvious tactics if she hadn’t felt mildly resentful. This was, after all, her house. She had provided the excellent dinner her family had just consumed. She was the one who paid her servants’ wages, not to mention those of Miss Fairbairn. Yet Daniel had taken charge of her household as if by divine right, and everyone now deferred to him.

The trouble was, old habits died hard, and she supposed the servants were taking their cue from her. This was the first time her family had made the journey to Bath to see her. They’d come down from her brother-in-law’s
place near Oxford, where they always spent the hunting season, and would be returning to London in the morning for the start of the social season. They’d come out of their way to see her, and she’d wanted to please them. In spite of their faults, she loved them all dearly. That was where she always went wrong. She really must learn to stand up for herself.

This wasn’t a problem for her with the friends she had made in Bath. Then again, they had never seen her in the role of dutiful daughter, favorite maiden aunt, or self-effacing spinster. She had taken pains to establish herself as a person in her own right, and she didn’t know why it was so difficult to do the same thing with her own family.

Over the rim of her wineglass, she studied the faces of the three people who sat around her polished mahogany dining table. Her mother’s elegant eyebrows were raised—always a bad sign; her sister, Harriet, was affecting her usual bored expression; and Daniel was regarding her with a look that was more perplexed than stern.

They were a striking trio, this formidable family of hers, with their dark good looks, refined features, and intelligent green eyes. They were strong-willed, strong-minded characters. It was in their nature to master anyone who was weaker than they. And in her, they’d found the perfect object to work upon.

But that was in the past. She’d had twelve months of glorious freedom, ever since she’d come into her legacy, twelve months as her own mistress, and at the advanced age of seven and twenty, she was just beginning to discover who she really was. So many years to regret, trying to conform to someone else’s idea of what she should be! She was determined there would be no more regrets.

It was her brother who broke the long, unnatural silence.
“There is something I wish to discuss with you, Abbie,” he said.

She tried tohead him off. “This isn’t the time to have a discussion. We’re due at the Gardiners’ in the next hour.” She smiled to soften her words. “Besides, I can never concentrate when I’m dressed to go to a party. Let’s postpone this conversation till later.”

“There won’t be another time, as you know very well.” He smiled whimsically. “Admit it, Abbie. You’ve gone out of your way to avoid this family conference. Ever since we arrived, you’ve filled our days and nights with engagements. It we don’t talk now, we’ll not have the opportunity to do so later.”

The very idea of a “family conference” was enough to give her the shudders. Her family liked to think it worked on democratic principles, but this was a fiction. She and her younger brother, George, who were both easygoing and reputed to take after their late father, always came out the losers.

It was her jaunt to Paris, of course, that had brought this on. She’d known better than to give her family advance warning of her intentions. They would have moved heaven and earth to stop her. To give them their due, they wanted what they thought was best for her, and they were no different from others of their class. Single women did not set up their own households and arrange their lives to suit themselves. In short, they thought she should either be married or be devoting her life to them.

That’s what she would have done, too, if fate had not taken a hand in things, fate in the shape of her namesake and godmother, Abigail Vayle. Aunt Abigail had needed a nurse in the last year of her life, and the only member of the family who could be spared was, naturally, the only
unmarried daughter—namely, herself. When Aunt Abigail died, she left her small house in Bath and her modest fortune to the niece who had nursed her.

Aunt Abigail had left her so much more than that. She’d taught her that she was a worthwhile person in her own right; that it was a waste of time to try to fit herself to someone else’s mold. Aunt Abigail had shown her by example that a woman could live richly and fully without a husband. All she had to do was take charge of her own life.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel, then looked at Daniel. “Ten minutes, Daniel, and not one minute more.”

“Abbie!” The dowager Viscountess of Clivendon stared at her daughter in open reproach. “I swear I don’t know what’s come over you. I hardly recognize you as my own daughter. In fact—”

Abbie knew that once her mother got started, there would be a long litany of complaints. She knew them by heart, since her mother wrote to her unfailingly every week in an effort to make her mend her ways. If she didn’t take charge of the conversation, they’d be here till doomsday.

“It’s Paris, isn’t it?” she said, cutting her mother off in midsentence. “That’s the reason you’re here. Well, as you see, I came to no harm. In fact, I had a wonderful time and I can’t wait to go back.”

“It’s not about Paris,” said Daniel, “except, perhaps, indirectly.”

Her mother’s lips were open, and she blinked slowly. Abbie stifled a smile. She’d never been known to interrupt her mother during one of her tirades. No one did.

Quickly recovering, Lady Clivendon said, “How can
you say this isn’t about Paris, Daniel? Mark my words, this is only the beginning. Goodness only knows what she’ll get up to next. That a daughter of mine should go off without a by-your-leave, unchaperoned, is more than I can tolerate. Just think what all my friends and acquaintances will say. I don’t know what you were thinking of, Abbie.”

She’d been caught up in the excitement of the thing. It was an adventure. She’d wanted to test herself, and she’d passed with flying colors. She couldn’t tell any of this to her mother without getting a lecture. And she wasn’t in the mood for lectures.

“I wasn’t unchaperoned,” she said. “Miss Fairbairn was with me.”

“Miss Fairbairn!” said Lady Clivendon with asperity. “When I insisted you employ a chaperon, Abbie, I meant someone who would be a good example for you. Miss Fairbairn is totally unsuitable. She is blind to your faults and makes no attempt to correct you or guide you.”

Which was why, out of twenty applicants for the position, Abbie had settled on Miss Fairbairn. “Mother,” she said gently, “Olivia is more of a companion than a chaperon. And when we went to Paris, my own brother was there to protect me, as I wrote you. I would have told you when we broke our journey in London, but you weren’t there. You were at Giles’s place in Oxford.”

“As you knew very well we would be,” exclaimed Lady Clivendon wrathfully. “That’s why you chose to go to Paris when you did.”

This was true, but Abbie saw no reason to argue a point she could not win. She was more interested in Daniel’s remark that there was more to this family conference than her unauthorized jaunt to Paris, and she
was reviewing in her mind what else she might have done to incur her family’s displeasure. Only one thing occurred to her. They’d somehow got wind that she was setting up her own little business, buying and selling rare books.

“I’d hardly call George a proper escort,” interjected Harriet at that point. “For one thing he’s too young, and for another, our baby brother is a bit of a loose screw. No need to look at me like that, Mama. We all know that George and Abbie take after our father. How else can we explain this harebrained trip to Paris? And where is George now? That’s what I’d like to know.”

The trip to Paris, in Abbie’s opinion, was hardly in the same league as her father’s adventures. The great passion in his life had been to find the lost city of Troy. No one could convince him that it did not exist. He’d spent more time in Greece than he had in England. It was only after he died that they discovered he’d practically bankrupted them to finance his expeditions.

Abbie said soothingly, “He met friends in Paris and decided to stay on. I told you that in my letter as well.”

“That was weeks ago,” said Lady Clivendon. “He should have sent word to us by now, telling us what his plans are. Good grief! It’s less than a year since the French were at our throats. I can’t sleep well knowing that he’s in enemy territory.”

“Mama,” said Abbie. “Paris is overrun by British visitors, and the French welcome them with open arms. It’s quite safe, I promise you.”

“Safe!” scoffed her ladyship. “What would you know about it? I’ve lived in the world a good deal longer than you, my girl, so I think I know what I’m talking about.”

This was her mother’s invariable reply whenever she found herself losing an argument, as everyone there knew. Abbie turned to Daniel expecting him to share in this private
joke with a wink or a smile. He was reclining in his chair, studying her as though she were a strange species of insect he could not classify.

“It was all very proper,” she told him. “We attended receptions at the British embassy. We met everyone who was anyone, the cream of society, in fact. And … and we went shopping, of course.” She did not mention that she’d shopped mainly for rare books to sell to her growing clientele in and around Bath and as far afield as Shropshire.

“Oh, I believe you.” He smiled.

The smile pleased her. Daniel was seven years older than she, and she’d always looked up to him. He was the Viscount Clivendon, the head of their family and he took his responsibilities very seriously. She was one of those responsibilities, or so Daniel thought.

Daniel said, “At least one good thing came from your jaunt to Paris. Am I right, Abbie?”

He was looking curiously pleased with himself and that puzzled her. “What?” she asked.

“You were taken up by Hugh Templar.”

“I was …?” Her voice trailed away as she pondered where Daniel’s thoughts had led him. “Hugh! Taken up by Hugh!” She laughed.

No one laughed with her. They were looking at her solemnly, expectantly, and her own smile gradually faded away. “Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “Hugh and I are friends, nothing more, so you can take that hopeful look off your faces.”

“Friends?” Her mother’s brows went up another notch. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Men and women can never be friends, Abbie.”

“That was in your day,” replied Abbie emphatically. “Things are different now, Mama.”

Harriet let out an exasperated sigh. “Sometimes I find it hard to believe that you are a year older than I. ‘Friends’ for heaven’s sakes! Then do something about it! Flirt with the man! Use your feminine wiles to attach him. If you won’t, some other woman will. Think about it, Abbie! This may be your last chance.”

The muscles in Abbie’s stomach clenched, and she felt her confidence begin to slip. Harriet’s words were all too familiar. She’d heard them often enough when she lived at home. She wasn’t getting any younger, she was turning into a full-fledged old maid; if she didn’t act at once to attach some eligible gentleman, her chances of having her own home and children would be gone forever. Then she might as well be dead.

Steady
, she told herself.
Steady
. She might be unmarried, but she still led a full, rich life.

She adopted an amused tone. “Marriage! To Hugh! The thought has never once crossed my mind.”

“Well, let it cross your mind now,” snapped her mother. “You’re not getting any younger, and Hugh Templar has everything to recommend him as an eligible suitor. He is independently wealthy, he comes of good family, he keeps a house in London, and his estate in Oxfordshire is reputed to be peerless.”

Abbie’s jaw went a little slack. Her mother had done her research well. In the next instant her temper began to rise. She had a picture of Hugh being bombarded with questions from her not-so-subtle family. If they had spoiled her friendship with Hugh, she would never forgive them.

She struggled to keep her tone light. She didn’t want to quarrel with her family when she saw them so rarely. She just wanted them to stop interfering in her life. “Poor Hugh,” she said. “I would never have asked him to carry
my letters to you had I suspected that you would get the wrong idea about us. Hugh has no more thought of marrying me than he has of … well, flying to the moon. The trouble with Hugh is he’s too nice for his own good. Did you badger him with questions? And he took it all in good part, I suppose. Well, isn’t that just like him. But don’t let that get your hopes up. As I said, there is nothing between us but friendship.”

Daniel shook his head. “That’s not how it was, Abbie. We didn’t put him on the spot. Why should we? He’s way out of your league. It never occurred to us that he would think of offering for you when he could do so much better for himself.”

His unflattering remarks stung, but the sting was swallowed up in suspicion. She could believe that Daniel might refrain from putting Hugh on the spot, but not her mother. Where an eligible gentleman was concerned, Mama had all the instincts of a man-eating tiger. The thought brought back humiliating memories that made her cringe inside.

She said incredulously, “You’re not saying that Hugh offered for me?”

“No,” said Daniel. “He more or less established his credentials, letting us know that he was a man of property, had good bloodlines, that sort of thing.”

At these words, a wave of relief flooded through Abbie. If Hugh had offered for her, it could only be because he’d been browbeaten into it. “That explains it then,” she said. “Hugh is not very good with small talk. I’m sure he was just trying to make conversation, and you all got the wrong idea.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Then how do you explain Barbara Munro?” she demanded.

Abbie’s brow wrinkled. The name had a familiar ring but she couldn’t quite place it. She shook her head.

“Templar’s mistress.” Harriet did not bother to hide her impatience. “The actress? He pensioned her off before he went to Paris with you. How do you explain that, Abbie?”

Daniel brought his hand down on the flat of the table, making everyone jump. “Try to remember you are a lady, Harriet. What would your husband think if he could hear you now?”