He said the last part loud enough for Abigail to hear, and if her deafening silence on the other side of the door wasn’t clue enough, the flushed face that appeared when he opened the door proved he had hit his mark. Nervously, she flinched and looked away as she tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her nostrils flaring as if she was on the verge of saying something she’d later regret, when her father appeared from behind Rawlings.
“Things are settled, my dear. Now to the issue of your dresses being ruined.”
The tense atmosphere in the room lifted, but it was unfortunately promptly replaced by that of more sexual tension than he had ever experienced. Abigail smiled sweetly and then winked. The minx winked. He should strangle her.
“Yes, Father. But it isn’t at all proper to talk of such things here. After all, some of the things that were ruined were personal effects. Most of the materials were fine silks and smooth materials that feel cool as they drape across my delicate skin.”
Ah, perfect. How does one punish the girl he’s supposed to be protecting? And in front of her father no less? It was just his luck the idea of scolding the girl turned more erotic by the second, and if the blasted innocent didn’t stop twirling that silky tendril with her fingers he was going to go mad.
She stopped, just enough to gain his attention, for he was fixated on the piece of hair that continued to fall out of place. Like cat and mouse, he was hypnotized.
And then she put the blessed piece of hair in her mouth.
Consequently, it was at that precise moment that Phillip made an oath to cut her hair and be done with the whole obsession here and now.
Lord Gates gave him a peculiar look and he snapped to attention. “Sorry, woolgathering. You were saying?”
“Nothing of consequence.” Lord Gates gave a doting smile to his daughter. “It appears my daughter is to go shopping this afternoon for new…” His face turned slightly red as he lifted his hand in the air as if to grab the correct word from nothingness.
“Dresses,” Phillip finished for him. “Splendid. Well, I do have a dinner to prepare for, so if you’ll excuse me? Winifred will see you both out.” They didn’t need to know he had a good three hours before he was expected. His nerves had taken enough.
Once Phillip heard the door close, he swore profusely, making men everywhere proud for his creative usage, and slammed the door to his study. One thing was for sure, the girl would either ruin him or he would ruin her before the Season’s end. There was no other option—no other choice. Ruination, it seemed, would always be his destiny.
****
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.