The Redemption of Lord Rawlings (9 page)

****

Next to sadness guilt was the second worst emotion for Abigail. Fighting with her conflicting emotions, she continued to smile and go through the motions as she stopped at the modiste on Bond Street. She hated taking such desperate measures to get Rawlings to notice her, but what else could she do? At every turn he refused to see her as a woman of equal standing, as a peer. He saw her as vexing and innocent.

It was up to her, and only her, to prove him wrong. It would only be a matter of time before he saw what was right in front of him. Unfortunately, her father had worded it to sound more brotherly than she would have liked, but still. Rawlings made a promise to watch over her, which meant he would be forced to dance with her and stay close to her to make sure she wasn’t in any sort of trouble. She had no intention of telling her father they had shared a kiss.

No, the kiss was done on purpose to ignite his passion. Instead it seemed to only fan a flame of fury. Was it her fault Rawlings thought she was blackmailing him? It had pricked her pride when he had made fun of her innocence. But after watching her parents interact with one another, and seeing how Emma and Sebastian got along, she realized a love match, even if it was one-sided, was more agreeable than being with someone you despised.

Abigail ran a gloved hand over the dress boxes on the seat beside her. So she had told a white lie about her dresses being ruined. Her parents could afford it; they had agreed to some new chemises and a few ball gowns, which is all she needed in order to gain Rawlings’ attention. A gown of deep blue satin was the only one she was able to take away from the shop on such short notice, the rest would arrive before the next ball was to commence.

Now to ready herself for a most important night—the night she would secure Rawlings as her betrothed.

Her mood brightened dramatically as she walked into the Tempest townhome. Smiling, she sighed and began to make her way toward the stairs when she heard her name.

Turning, she saw Emma and Sebastian both seated in the salon. “Yes?”

“
Come and sit for a bit, Abby.” Emma patted the chair next to her.

Sebastian appeared angry as she flopped alongside her sister.

Emma nodded to the door, the maid left and re-entered with a few dresses of Abigail’s that had been hidden among her things.

“
I’ve been told you went shopping for new dresses?” Emma said dryly. “Imagine my surprise when the maid found a few of your old ‘ruined’ dresses whilst cleaning your room. Care to explain?”

Abigail could only stare. If she told the truth, they would know. Better they think her frivolous than lovesick. “I needed more dresses and knew Father wouldn’t purchase them for me, since he had already paid for an entire wardrobe.”

“
And what was wrong with these dresses?” Emma looked to Sebastian for help. He sat, silent, emotionless.

“
They aren’t the thing. Surely as a duchess you know that, Emma. I mean, look at the neckline, and they are all in pastels. How am I ever supposed to make a good catch with pastels?”

“
All debutantes wear pastels, Abigail.” Sebastian looked away. “Do you understand how much blunt your parents have spent on you already? Are you not thankful?”

Abigail was silent. Of course she was thankful. Did they think her that spoiled?

Emma patted Abigail’s hand. “It was wrong of you to deceive Father and us. You have enough. There are plenty of young girls who would kill to be in your position, Abby. You should apologize to Father for your deception and return the new dresses.”

“
Return the new dresses?” Abigail said angrily. “Why would I do that? I would be a laughingstock. Imagine, the daughter of a viscount returning dresses.”

“
Abby!” Emma snapped. “I really have no patience for this. What you did was deceitful and ungrateful.”

“
You aren’t my mother.” Abigail snorted. “Besides, I need them.”

“
For what purpose other than to flaunt yourself even more?” Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I do not understand why you are making this bigger than it is. Simply return the dresses, Abby.”

“
I will do no such thing.” Abby swallowed the lump of emotion rising in her throat. A sickening feeling took over when the tears Emma was holding in spilled forth onto her cheeks in rapid succession.

“
Pardon me.” She ran from the room, leaving Abigail alone with a furious-looking Sebastian.

Abigail swallowed. “I—”

“
Save it, Abby. I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve listened to your side, and it seems I’m correct in my assumption. Can you not be content with what you have? We demand honesty from you, and you attack us.”

Abigail bristled. “You caught me off guard, and you know people will be gossiping about me if I return the dresses.”

“
So gossip is more important to you than the feelings of your family? Of those who love you, Abigail?”

“
No, but, you know how it is.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Yes, I do. I know that in order to be worthy of adoration you have to do something worthwhile. You manipulate, lie, and deceive in order to gain what you want. But, Abby, you will rue the day when things spiral out of control, and the same family you snuffed your nose at will be all that’s left to help you pick up the pieces.”

“
Seb—”

“
Enough!” he bellowed. “I will see to your sister. Do what you must— keep the dresses, burn them—I don’t care.”

The silence was daunting. Abigail wasn’t sure what to do. The thought of telling them the truth made her feel even more ill. Surely they would not approve of her feelings for Rawlings, and they would be horrified to know she bought new dresses so he would see her differently. In fact, that just might drive Sebastian mad enough to lock her in her room. The tightness in her throat was overwhelming, almost making it impossible to swallow. She smoothed out her skirt and breathed in and out, allowing the horrid feelings to dissipate in her belly.

Abigail conceded that apologizing was absolutely necessary, but how was she to go about it? Especially since she had no plans on returning the dresses? As the seconds went by she felt more and more miserable, she finally relented and went to her room. Perhaps dressing for the dinner party would lighten her mood.

As she donned her new blue dress, she felt nothing but emptiness in the pit of her stomach. What was she doing? She had no idea how to gain Rawlings’ attention. He was different from other men. And the confidence she had once felt in the blue satin ball gown had turned to a drapery of guilt on her shoulders.

She tugged her gloves into place and glanced in the mirror. Her hair was adorned with a few pearls, which matched the pearls she wore around her neck. When her eyes scanned the low bodice she nearly lost her nerve. It was by all standards, scandalously low. Even though it was en vogue, her sister would not be pleased, but this was the type of thing that gained men’s attentions. So she took a deep breath and made her way to the stairs.

Chapter Nine

Is this the Season for reprobates? It seems this author is constantly finding more and more situations which demand immediate attention. Just how many rakes are floating around the haute
ton
? The numbers are astonishing. And I hate to say this, I really do. But it seems that the ever-present Lord Rawlings is now…
en vogue
. Not a speck of stubble was seen on his otherwise chiseled face. And even this author noticed the cut of his jacket, though attempts were made to shield the eyes. If rakes are now the thing, then I pity all ladies with eyes.

—
Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

Phillip nervously scanned the room. His hands itched to grab at the champagne as the tray floated by his head, but he needed his wits about him. Most importantly, this was the first dinner party after his radical reformation. At one point he thought to carry a prayer book with him just to make sure the “holy and forgiven” effect was given.

Although Sebastian and Emma had hinted at a small party, it was obvious several members of the
ton
had somehow managed to squeeze their way into the private dinner, making what was once a small get-together into a rather large affair with over fifty people skittering about.

Sighing, he made his way toward the salon where some guests were lounging and conversing. The large townhome was lit with hundreds of candles, giving a glowing result to the marble floors and expensive Persian rugs. Phillip grimaced as he remembered a time when he used to live for the candlelight, for it meant nighttime was upon him. A time when he could take advantage of women for his own pleasure and gamble until the wee hours of the morning. Now the lights flickered, mocking his every move as if to say his time was up. All the stolen moments in the gardens, on the balconies, and in the gambling halls had brought him right back to the place he had been.

In need of a wife.

Brushing shoulders with the
ton
.

And pretending to be something he was not—good.

“
Rawlings?” There was no mistaking the voice.

“
Lady Fenton, how do you do this fine evening?” Bowing over her hand, he kissed the air above her fingers and managed a smile. She blanched and her eyes raked him up and down until he began shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Why did he feel naked beneath her scrutiny?

“
Oh my.” She fanned herself, blushing profusely. “Forgive me, my lord, it seems I’ve forgotten how striking you can be.”

“
Yes, well, debauchery does have a way of blackening one’s countenance, wouldn’t you say?”

She lifted her eyebrow and tittered. “Ah, I would say. I would most definitely say.” What madness was this? The woman was married. It wasn’t as if he had changed so much about himself, save his clothes and style of hair. Clearing his throat, he excused himself and sought out where Sebastian was holding court with Renwick and Belverd.

Phillip felt like a dandy standing next to the rest of them and had to fight to keep his feet firmly planted, lest he lose his nerve and run back to his home in search of black and white clothing. Sebastian had sworn repeatedly that with Phillip’s frame, he would be able to get away with colors other than black. But in order not to push him past his limitations, they had chosen a gray dinner jacket with a midnight blue waistcoat. Even Phillip had appreciated the effect…until Lady Fenton scanned him like a tasty morsel. All he could think as she assailed him with her eyes was that he mustn’t look at her bosom. For she would assume he was thinking about her bosom, and that would be devastating. A rush of memories came flowing back just as Sebastian said his name.

“
Yes?”

“
I said, 'Are you having a good time?' I noticed your chat with Lady Fenton. I do hope she has been welcoming.”

“
Yes, well, my hearing is as intact as is my honor.” He winked at Nicholas, who rolled his eyes.

While the men continued to chat, Phillip listened and joked…and eventually relaxed. They were friends, after all, and in a twisted way it felt as though he was finally being welcomed home. Slowly, the atmosphere changed into that of old friends until it stopped abruptly. Phillip looked at Sebastian in confusion, but Sebastian’s eyes were trained on the door.

Phillip’s gaze followed Sebastian’s line of sight, coming to rest on a vision in blue. Abigail had arrived, but for the life of him, Phillip could not figure out why it would displease the Angel Duke so, or why the sudden appearance of Abigail would cause such a disturbance for Sebastian.

Her gaze darted in all directions until they rested on Phillip. She smiled weakly. He half expected her to twirl in a circle like she had done when she was a little girl. Instead she nodded her head and turned to the women on her right.

Not that Philip hadn’t already known it, but Abigail was very much a grown woman. And the gown she was wearing only added to the already frustrated feelings of lust pounding through him. That girl needed more than a chaperone. “Someone should lock her in her room.”

“
I couldn’t agree more,” Sebastian said darkly.

“
My apologies. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.” Phillip inwardly cursed.

Sebastian closed his eyes and pinched his nose. “Please, do not apologize on my account. We had a bit of a fight early this afternoon. Emma has been out of sorts ever since, and I’ve had a blasted hard time not paddling Abigail’s bottom for making my wife so miserable.”

Did that mean Sebastian was taking volunteers?

Phillip shook his head. First, to get that inappropriate thought of his head, and second, to shake the image of Abigail from his consciousness. All golden hair, staggering green eyes, and petite voluptuous curves. Not to mention rosy red lips and pale white skin. With his nostrils flaring, he managed to speak only one word. “Champagne?”

“
Yes, of course.” Sebastian motioned for the servant.

Phillip relished the feeling of the dry substance as it poured down his throat. But the aching did not subside. What was that verse in the Bible?
If your eyes cause you to sin, better you cut your eyes out than go on sinning?
A little extreme, but in this case…it would be the only way.

No, his mind argued. Her image is imprinted into your existence—it is in your soul. If you could not see, you could smell, you could hear, you could breathe the same air. And she would still haunt you, until the day you die.