Lady Fenton was known for being a gossip monger and the loudest of all females known to the ton. In all honesty, Phillip had counted himself lucky that he had broken his friendship with her cousin, the Earl of Renwick, if only for the reason that he would not have to endure Lady Fenton or worry about losing his hearing at a young age.
“I don’t believe I’m the one being threatened, Sebastian. You’ll have to find better ways to deal with your wife. I refuse to accept the invitation, if Emma has only matchmaking on her mind.”
“So that’s final then?” Sebastian said.
“Absolutely.”
****
“Blackmail is illegal. I’m surprised a duke would soil his hands with such nasty business,” Phillip muttered.
His gaze fell on the dizzying ballroom in all its splendor. The white dresses of the twittering debutantes threatened to blind him as he took in the flurry of women and dandified men. It was, in Phillip’s current state, the last place he wanted to be, even though he knew getting married would solve his current problems. The idea that he would be chained to one boring woman for the rest of his life was not appealing, nor was the prospect of having to make his way through the sea of people who would much rather see him hang than associate among their inner circles.
“It was either that or knock you out and bring you here without your consent. I decided blackmail would be the better course of action.” Sebastian grinned and slapped him on the back. “Now, why don’t you go mingle like a— how did you put it?” Sebastian snapped his fingers. “Oh yes, now I remember. A debauched rake. Yes, do try to have fun with that. You know when Emma finds you, it will be endless introductions and dancing, so I’d enjoy the freedom while you still have it.”
“And if I choose to hide in the gardens or stomp out the front doors? What’s stopping me? Hmm?”
Sebastian stopped in his tracks and turned around. “I’ll just have to announce to the morning post that you’ve been holding a secret tender for Lady Fenton.”
“Churl.”
“That’s your grace. Do try to remember my station, Phillip.” Sebastian winked and sauntered off, looking quite like a peacock who’d just discovered he had feathers.
Phillip glowered after him and bit back a curse. He wanted to march after the Angel Duke and give him a piece of his mind, but first he would get a drink. If he was to survive a night with Emma trying to play his matchmaker, he must be somewhat inebriated.
Chapter Three
If approached by a certain gentleman with dark features, it is always important to close one’s eyes, for the eyes are the window to the soul, and it might take only one look for that certain gentleman to trap you in a compromising situation. Mark my words, young ladies. This season promises to be one in which devils are allowed to roam about even in the most upright areas of society.
—Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers
“Emma, stop fussing over me.” Abigail clenched her teeth but still managed to keep a smile on her otherwise irritated face. Emma, Abigail’s sister, was enceinte and consequently fussing over everything within her grasp. It wouldn’t shock Abigail at all if Emma started crying for no reason other than the flowers weren’t the exact color she envisioned for her ball.
The afternoon had begun pleasant enough. Abigail had arrived at the Tempest townhome on Mayfair, hours before the ball was to commence and found Emma yelling at the top of her lungs out on the balcony.
“Emma?” She had laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, fearful that her sister had finally lost her mind. “Are you all right?”
“The birds! Curse those birds!” Emma stomped her foot and yelled another oath before storming away from Abigail and marching down to the kitchen. Sebastian had just shown up, chuckling to himself.
“Dare I even ask?”
Sebastian grinned. “I do believe your sister’s experiencing her first bout of insanity. Either that or her condition is taking its toll on her already frayed wits. The poor thing has been working endlessly to make me proud. It is, after all, the first ball she is to host as the Duchess of Tempest.”
Abigail shrugged. “It’s just a ball. I don’t understand why it’s so important. It’s not as if everyone still remembers the scandal you two caused. Not with Lord Rawlings scampering about in debt up to his ears.”
“Ah, so you’ve been reading since your arrival? How refreshing that you’ve been putting your time to good use for something other than spying, like I’ve so often been told. And what was your other vice? Oh yes, manipulation. By the way, how’s your father?”
“Less irritating than you, I believe,” Abigail muttered and stuck out her tongue. “And he’s fine, thank you. I’ll be certain to keep my sister’s condition in mind next time I see her yelling at birds.”
“Patience, Abigail. Patience.”
Abigail snorted. “Patience, right. I am known for having a great handle on the Fruits of the Spirit.”
“Interesting. I don’t recall manipulation being a Biblical virtue.”
“So you’re familiar with the Holy Book?” She smiled triumphantly. “Good day, your grace.” Abigail left her sister’s husband by himself on the balcony, laughing. She later found Emma weeping because her dress was not the shade of blue she had imagined for the ball. Needless to say, it had been a trying day for Abigail, so the fact that her sister was pulling at Abigail’s shawl like a nervous mother was enough to drive her to hysterics.
“Emma!” she snapped. “Why don’t you go greet your guests? I do believe it’s time for a dance.”
And with that Abigail sashayed away, closing her eyes in reverent prayer the full distance to the dance floor. Surely it was an act of God that she was able to escape her sister.
A couple on the dance floor caught her eye. They were lovely. She almost mistook the man for Rawlings, but then he smiled. Since she had never seen Rawlings smile, she knew it was a trick of the eyes. But who was the man? He was dressed impeccably. His dark features complimented those of his dance partner. She was unfashionably dark-skinned but had a beautiful smile. It was obvious they were in love.
“Spying?” A familiar male voice asked from beside her.
“Ah, your grace. How fortune shines on me this evening. The moment I escape one family member, I find another.”
“I do hope that witty tongue of yours will be put to good use one of these days, little sister. I fear for your future husband.”
A sudden shiver scampered up and down Abigail’s arms, for the face of her future husband she already knew. Would he feel the same as she? Or want to muzzle her like the Duke of Tempest seemed to want?
“I see you’ve noticed Nicholas and Sara,” Sebastian motioned toward the dance floor. “Captivating aren’t they?”
“Who?”
“The Earl and Countess of Renwick, your cousins, though I recall you did not attend the wedding,” Sebastian said. “They are approaching. Do try to keep your mouth closed, and…” He rolled his eyes as Abigail purposefully opened her mouth to vex him. “Do I need to blackmail you as well?”
“Pardon me, your grace?” Confused, Abigail shut her mouth and frowned. Who else did the duke feel the need to blackmail?
“Tempest!” Renwick held out gloved hands to Sebastian and then pulled him into a tight embrace. Lady Renwick shook her head and slipped around the two to greet Abigail.
“You must be Emma’s sister. I have heard so much about you, dear cousin.” Without any warning, the countess pulled her into a hug and laid a kiss on her cheek. “You’re absolutely lovely. Has anyone ever told you that? I was telling my husband as we were dancing how striking the color of your hair is. How fortunate for you. And are you going to be here for the remainder of the Season? I do hope we can spend some time together.”
Unfortunately, she was too nice for Abigail to ignore. In her experience, women were usually extremely competitive and faked their hospitality, or they were insecure and just plain cruel. Sara was neither. Abigail found herself in unfamiliar territory about how to act. Being genuine was not necessarily natural for her. Growing up with parents who were more concerned with appearances than anything else had a way of doing that to a girl.
Emma was lucky to have fallen from grace at such a young age. At least she couldn’t embarrass the family any more than she already had. And now she was a duchess. No. Life was much harder for Abigail. Her parents relied on her for everything. Duty and an upright marriage. It was her calling—what they expected from her. The confusing part was that although they expected it from her, they already had everything they could ask for. Money and connections. Yet the pressure was still for Abigail to make a smart match.
She wondered what they would say when they realized she had every intention of setting her cap for Rawlings. He was an earl, which would work in her favor, but if the rumors were true, he was an impoverished one.
“Ah, so you’re the lovely duchess’s sister.” Renwick reached for her hand and placed a chaste kiss on her fingers as he winked at his wife. “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Gates?”
Abigail looked to Sebastian for permission. Her parents were not in attendance, and her sister and brother-in-law were acting as chaperones. He gave a swift nod and began an animated conversation with Sara.
As Renwick led her onto the dance floor, she felt speculative gazes turn on them. “Ah, the dreaded watch of the ton. I do hope you are ready for the marriage mart, dear Miss Gates. Some of the young pups will be relentless in their pursuit.”
Abigail laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yes, and the debutante daughters are just as horrid. No offense intended, but some can be downright cruel. You’ll take care to let any of us know if you encounter a situation you cannot handle on your own?”
The protective talk made Abigail smile. She looked into his piercing blue eyes and felt genuinely content. The similarities between Lord Renwick and Lord Rawlings were almost shocking. But the sensation of being in Renwick’s arms was nothing like being held by Rawlings. Not that she had much experience for the comparison, only memories, mere shades from her past which gave her hope the feeling would be the same as it had been before.
“Ah, if you’ll excuse me. It seems my wife is in need of me.”
Renwick led her to the edge of the dance floor where Sara was motioning to them. Her face was flushed with excitement. “Lord Rawlings is here.”
Abigail gulped. She hadn’t yet seen Lord Rawlings, and her gaze hungrily scanned the room for him.
Sebastian’s voice interrupted her search. “Of course he’s here, just finished talking with him before I found my dear sister-in-law over here gawking at the two of you. Must have run off to acquire a drink. By the looks of things, he’ll need it.”
Not one to waste any sort of opportunity to make an impression, Abigail grabbed Sebastian by the hand. “You haven’t yet danced with your sister–in-law.”
“What’s whirling about in that mind of yours, Abigail? Dare I even guess?”