The Spinster and the Duke (7 page)

“I don’t know if I would go
that
far.”

“I will if it ends badly,” Dianna muttered under her breath. Not for the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing. What if she was mistaken about Ashburn? What if he truly was a cad? What if he did not come? What if he
did
come but Aunt Abigail gave him the direct cut? There were so many variables it made her head pound just to think of it, and she pressed her fingers to her temple.

She hoped she was making the right decision. If anyone deserved love, it was Abigail. The woman was as selfless as they came; always thinking of others before herself. The number of sacrifices she’d made for Dianna alone was staggering. How many nights had Abigail stayed by her side while her parents went flitting from one ball to another without a care for the young daughter they had left behind? Had many times had Abigail held her while she cried herself to sleep, unable to understand why her parents wanted nothing to do with her? Too many to count, that was for certain. If not for the loving attention of her aunt, Dianna knew she would have been raised by nanny after nanny, never knowing genuine love or kindness.

“This will work,” she whispered fervently, although whether she was convincing Charlotte or herself she wasn’t certain. “It
has
to.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The ball came faster than Abigail would have ever thought possible. It seemed one moment the event was eight days away, and the next only a few hours.

As she changed into her attire for the evening with the assistance of Tabitha, Charlotte’s own personal maid, Abigail was filled with both excitement and dread. Excitement at the thought of seeing Reginald again… and dread whenever she tried to imagine what she would say.

Twisting her hands fretfully together she went to the window and peered out across the far lawn where a small army of servants were placing the finishing touches on a dozen elaborately set tables.

Given that the mansion was not yet suitable to host a full fledged ball, Charlotte had come up with the brilliant idea of moving the entire affair outside. Using poles and white linen tents she had turned her side lawn into a whimsical garden wonderland. As the sun sank low on the horizon, the surrounding trees and shrubbery glowed with paper lanterns and a lively waltz played on the breeze, delivered by a quartet of musicians set up on a makeshift stage.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Tabitha asked from behind her.

Turning to face the maid, Abigail managed a smile despite the butterflies dancing frantically in her belly. “It is. Charlotte did a wonderful job. And you did as well,” she added, turning towards the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom to study her reflection.

Her attire for the evening was a midnight blue gown boasting fitted sleeves, an empire waist, and black satin trim. It fit her body perfectly courtesy of a seamstress from the village, and she could not remember a time when she had ever worn a gown quite so glamorous.

Using what she could only assume were magical pins and a deft hand, Tabitha had transformed her limp, lifeless hair into a work of art. Swept back from her face and twisted into an elaborate coiffure, the sleek style gave Abigail the appearance of sophistication without appearing stuffy. She had even forgone her customary cap for the evening and her hair gleamed like gold in the flickering candlelight, the heightened color courtesy of the beeswax Tabitha had rubbed in.

Sapphire earrings – borrowed from Charlotte’s own extensive jewelry collection – bobbed at her ears as she did a slow turn in front of the mirror and the matching necklace glittered like blue fire at the base of her throat. There were even jewels on her dancing slippers, little diamonds that winked in the candlelight when she lifted the hem of her skirt and peered down. Now that everything was put together, she felt… well, she felt like a duchess.

“You look radiant,” Tabitha complimented with a shy smile.

Dropping her heavy skirts, Abigail turned towards the maid. “Thank you. I give you all the credit in the world, of course. If it were left up to me I would have stuck my hair under a bonnet and been done with it!”

The maid’s smile deepened, revealing a dimple high on her left cheek Abigail had never noticed before. She really was a pretty thing, Abigail thought. Tabitha’s scalp tightening hair and the drab clothes she insisted on wearing did not help matters, but beneath the Plain Jane appearance was a young woman with a delicate figure and lovely features. “Then I am glad I could be of service, for that would have been an absolute shame,” she said. “Is there anything else you require? Otherwise I will go see how Miss Charlotte and Lady Dianna are faring.”

Abigail waved her hand towards the door. “Go, go. I am just going to take a moment to collect my thoughts and then I will be right behind you. The girls are getting ready in Charlotte’s room, are they not?”

“They are,” Tabitha confirmed.

“Please tell them I will be along shortly.”

With a nod, the maid spun on her heel and darted out of the room.

Left alone, Abigail did another slow turn in front of the mirror before she returned to the window to watch the last minute preparations. By now the sun had completely set but the moon was full and the stars were bright, staining everything beneath the endless obsidian sky in an ethereal silvery glow. A long line of carriages stretched down the drive, each one marked by a bobbing lantern, and the murmur of voices was growing steadily in volume as more and more guests began to arrive.

Pressing her fingertips against the cool glass of the windowpane, Abigail closed her eyes as she struggled to compose herself and calm her racing heart. Was Reginald in one of those carriages? Had he come for her, as Dianna said he would? Or had he already moved on, as she feared? After all, there was nothing special about her to draw him in. She was a middle-aged woman now, bereft of a fortune. Reginald was still a duke of great wealth and so handsome it was sinful. He could have any woman he desired. What could he possibly see in her?  

The sound of the door creaking open was magnified by the silence in the room. Without taking her gaze from the window Abigail asked, “Did you forget something, Tabitha? If you are looking for more hair pins I believe you left a few on the dresser.”

The door closed, the lock making a sharp
clicking
noise as the tumbler slid into place. “I did forget something,” a rough, masculine voice said, “and it was not hair pins.”

As her heart lodged itself somewhere in the vicinity of her throat and every nerve in her body prickled with awareness, Abigail whirled in a flurry of blue skirts. “Rocky,” she whispered, her childhood nickname for him flying from her lips before she had time to swallow it back. “Why… What are you doing here?”

He stood silhouetted in the doorway, his rugged countenance bathed in shadow. From what she could see of his expression he was solemn, his mouth held in a hard flat line and his eyes dark with emotions she could not easily decipher. “I was already on my way to Sussex when I received your niece’s invitation.”

Abigail’s brow creased. “Already on your way? But why—”

“I was coming for you, Abby. It has always been for you.”

In an instant he was beside her. One hand curved around her back with aching familiarity while the other rose to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the sensitive line of her jaw. She leaned into the pressure and breathed in the scent of him, still unchanged even after so many years. In that single moment her doubts vanished and her worries slid away. She was a girl again and Reginald was a boy and they were naively, hopelessly, madly in love.

“I have missed you,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him she loved him. She wanted him. She needed him. But it seemed some words, the most important words, could not always be spoken aloud. Fear crept in, slicing through her heady wave of euphoria like a blade. Stiffening beneath Reginald’s touch she started to pull away, but his grip was insistent.

“No,” he said. “Now that I have you I am not ever letting you go again.”

“You married someone else!” she cried, repeating the same words she’d thrown in his face when last they’d met in her townhouse. “You had me, but you chose someone else. I know why,” she said before an explanation could spill from his parted lips. Twisting in his arms until they were chest to chest, she cupped his face and tipped it down until their eyes met. “And I forgive you. But Reginald… Rocky… Aren’t you afraid?”

He pressed the softest of kisses to the end of her nose. “Of what?”

“Of loving someone so much it hurts when they are away from you. Of loving someone so dearly it feels as though a part of you goes with them when they leave. I withstood the pain of losing you once. If it were to happen a second time…” She trailed off, unable to put into the words the agony that would be hers if he chose to leave her again. A single tear trickled down her cheek. Reginald caught it with his fingertip and rubbed it away.

“I would never leave you, Abby,” he said fiercely. “I would have you by my side for an eternity, and even that would not be enough time to make up for the years we have lost.”

She rested her head against his chest with a sigh and did not protest when he gathered her close. Through his jacket and vest she heard the beat of his heart, a steady
thump thump thump
.
It was oddly reassuring, for it reminded her that despite his title and his wealth, Reginald was a flesh and blood man just like any other. A man capable making mistakes, and a man ready to atone for them. Still…

“I am not a young, beautiful girl anymore.”

“You are magnificent.”

The compliment earned him a watery smile, even though she knew he was full of rubbish. “And I can no longer have children. I know you do not have a male heir—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, his expression stern. “I have two lovely daughters whom I barely know. The estates can be divided between them and the titles passed on to the eldest grandchild. It is the very least I can give them after being absent from their lives for so long.”

“You have grandchildren?” Abigail said, startled.

“Four,” he confirmed with a grin. “Who is the old one now, Abby?”

She struck him lightly on the shoulder. “You are as handsome now as you were then, and you know it. You should make it a point to visit your daughters, Reginald. Children are a blessing and I am certain they have missed seeing their father.”

“I want to see them. I
will
see them, but only with you at my side.”

As a forty-seven-year-old mistress? The idea was laughable. Even more laughable was the fact that she was actually considering it. Tipping her head back she studied him intently, from his dark hair run through with silver to the small scar on his chin he had received after falling from a tree while trying to retrieve her wayward kite when they were little more than children. Was this the man she wanted to pledge the rest of her life to, even if it meant possible heartbreak? A man she had loved as a girl, but never known as a woman? A man capable of bringing her the highest of highs, but one who had also sent her crashing down to the lowest of lows?

Yes. The answer was a thousand times yes.

They had both made mistakes. They had both acted brashly. Reginald when he left. She when he returned. They could dwell on the past… or they could put it behind them and move forward into a future bright with possibility. True love was not something that happened every day and even if she was uncertain of everything else, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that their love was true. How could it be anything else, to have lasted this long? There was a reason she had never forgotten Reginald, nor he her. A reason she most likely would never completely understand, but one she could not ignore.

Rising on her tip-toes, she kissed Reginald’s cheek. “I would follow you anywhere, but I highly doubt your children would like their father to bring his mistress for a visit.”

“My mistress?” Reginald’s dark brows pulled together. Lightly grasping her shoulders he set her away from him, and she could only gape in astonishment when he got down on bended knee and held out a ring in the palm of his hand. The same ring, she realized as her throat constricted and her eyes filled with tears, that she had taken off her finger all those years before. “Abby, I would have you as my wife.”

CHAPTER NINE

“What is
taking
so long?” From her position on the side lawn Dianna craned her neck back as far as she could in a vain attempt to see inside her aunt’s bedroom window. “I sent Ashburn up there half an hour ago. What the bloody hell is he waiting for?”

Charlotte, looking resplendent in a ball gown of emerald green that complemented her auburn curls and expertly disguised her growing figure, took her friend’s hand and squeezed tight. “I am certain they have quite a few things to discuss. Remember,” she said, her amber eyes dancing with laughter, “patience is a virtue.”

Muttering something unintelligible under her breath, Dianna wrenched her arm free and began to pace back and forth in front of the shrubbery.

Behind where the two women stood cloistered together the garden ball was a high success, with everyone on the guest list – and some who were not – in attendance. The air rang with music and laughter as dozens of couples performed dance after dance, swinging their partners around with such exuberance that many were left dizzy. Glasses of champagne and wine poured freely. The tables set beneath the white tents were overflowing with food and lined with chairs, but nary a seat was occupied. Every person was on their feet, from the youngest miss to the eldest lord, and every face boasted flushed cheeks and a bright, infectious smile.   

It was, Charlotte thought with a deep sense of satisfaction, a far cry indeed from the stuffy, formal balls she had been forced to endure during her come out in London. And although she knew none of the lords and ladies would ever dare admit it, they were having the time of their lives at her “quaint little social function” (as she’d overheard one high brow viscount’s wife describe it).

Having lost – and quickly regained – the
ton’s
favor after her impromptu (and deliciously scandalous) wedding to Gavin Graystone, Charlotte was still basking in the glow of not having to live up to anyone’s standards other than her own. As the wife of a commoner she no longer had to abide by the strict guidelines society inflicted on the upper class, and the freedom of doing what she wanted when she wanted was absolutely heavenly.

She wished the same future upon her friend, although she knew Dianna’s parents would never permit a marriage outside of the aristocracy and Dianna would never go so far as to directly disobey them. The blond haired beauty may have been daring when it came to the love lives of others, but she was meek as a mouse where her own life was concerned, as evidenced by her continued engagement to the cad Miles Radnor.

Under normal circumstances Dianna’s fiancée could be ignored. After all, he’d not shown his face nigh on four years and Dianna bore no ring on her left hand. But these were not normal circumstances, and even though it had not been spoken aloud Charlotte couldn’t help but draw parallels between Abigail and her beloved niece.  

Both women had been engaged to marry men they loved.

Both women had been left at the altar (so to speak).

Both women had their hearts broken.

But only one woman knew where her fiancée went and why he left… and it was not Dianna.

What would she do, Charlotte wondered, if Gavin suddenly abandoned her without a single word of explanation? She would be hurt, certainly, but more than that she would miss him and she would mourn him. But for how long? One year? Two? Three?

How long did it take for a broken heart to mend and a body to pick itself up and start again? Charlotte had no idea, but she knew it was past time for Dianna to do exactly that. Four years was more than enough time to wait. After all, Miles could be dead – even though his mother swore he was not – and Dianna could have been wasting all these years on a man rotting away in the ground. Not that such a fate would be any less than he deserved, although Charlotte did not truly wish him dead, if not for his sake than for Dianna’s, for the real reason she had not moved on was clear as day in the rigid way she held her shoulders and the warring emotions of hope and anxiety that flickered across her pale countenance as she continued to pace.

Dianna still loved Miles and she believed – foolishly so, in Charlotte’s opinion – that if Ashburn could return for Abigail after all these years, then Miles could do the same for her.

Unable to watch her friend walk herself into a fret a moment longer, Charlotte stepped forward and in a calm, soothing voice said, “I am certain everything will be fine. They must have a lot to discuss. Why do we not go over and have some refreshments? A bit of food will make you feel better.”

Dianna stopped short and pressed her fingers to her temple. “I just want everything to go perfectly.”

“I know you do. But pacing outside your aunt’s window is not—”

“Did you hear that?” Dianna asked, her blue eyes widening.

Charlotte’s forehead creased. “Hear what?”

“Footsteps on the stairs!”

“I do not think—”

“There.” Dianna pointed triumphantly towards a side door half covered in ivy. It opened slowly, and when two silhouettes stepped out, their faces obscured by shadow, Dianna pounced like a cat on a poor unsuspecting mouse.

With Charlotte close on her heels she raced across the lawn, the long train of her gown billowing out like a sheet behind her. “Aunt Abigail,” she said breathlessly, stopping short. “How did – are you
crying
?” Whirling accusingly to the man at Abigail’s side whom Charlotte could only assume was the long lost Ashburn, she snapped, “What did you do to her?”

If the situation were not so perilous Charlotte would have been greatly amused by the fact that she had to step in and take Dianna – soft spoken, cool headed
Dianna
of all people – by the shoulders and hold her back from taking a swing at the flabbergasted duke. “Calm down,” she whispered in her friend’s ear. “People are staring.”

It was not an exaggeration. Several heads had swiveled at the sound of Dianna’s raised voice, and more were turning by the second. Since the very last thing Dianna needed was another scandal attached to her name – being left by your fiancée and having your best friend run off with a commoner was bad enough – Charlotte squeezed her shoulders in silent warning.  

“Perhaps a more private setting would be best,” she suggested. “We can go to the one of the parlors. Follow me, please.”

To Charlotte’s surprise, they
did
follow her: first Dianna, her lips compressed so tightly they were turning white at the edges, then Abigail, looking dazed but happy, and finally Ashburn, his expression inscrutable.
This
, she thought silently as they slipped into the house,
is going to be interesting
.