It Takes a Scandal (32 page)

A hand appeared in front of his face. Benedict, white-faced and grim, bent down.

“He doesn’t need your help, Benedict,” said Stratford from the other side of the room, where he was pouring himself a drink. “He doesn’t need anyone’s help. The Misanthrope of Montrose Hill!”

Sebastian looked up at Benedict. Neither said anything. Slowly Sebastian raised his hand, and took Benedict’s proffered one. With a firm pull, Benedict helped him rise, then handed him the cane. Sebastian gave him only a curt nod, setting the cane alongside his wounded leg. The knee throbbed as though a red-hot knife had been driven into it, but he refused to make a sound of discomfort. Slowly, gingerly, he turned, making sure the cane was firmly settled every second.

“You look a bit ill, Vane.” The earl sipped his drink. “Leaving early, I daresay; what a pity.”

And now he was being thrown out. There was no mistaking the meaning in Stratford’s words. For a moment he wondered if he could endure returning to the drawing room and taking his leave of Abigail, and then he decided against it, on the very real chance he would humiliate himself by blacking out.

“Thank you, Lord Stratford,” he said, still fighting waves of nausea, “for a magnificent dinner. Please convey my compliments to Lady Stratford.” Again he turned. “My Lord Atherton.” And he bowed, clenching his teeth against the renewed anguish.

Every careful step toward the door was agony, but he preferred to hobble like a cripple than go too fast and fall again. He left the green salon and felt a burst of relief, followed closely by dread at the prospect of getting home in this state. Oh God; he’d never make it. Montrose Hill might as well be on the moon. It was a long walk to the river, where he’d have to row himself across, then walk three miles or more uphill. He paused in the grand hall, trying to gather his thoughts. Was there any alternative?

“Mr. Vane?” Penelope Weston’s curious tone vanished when she saw his face. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “You look dreadful!”

He gritted his teeth and tried to smile. “Thank you.”

“No, I mean you look ill.” She touched his arm. “Come sit down.”

He raised one hand. “No, I—I was just going home. It’s time for me to take my leave.”

She gave him a searching look. “Let me get Abigail. You’re as white as a ghost—”

“No!” He closed his upraised hand into a fist and forced his voice back down. “Please don’t. As you said, I—I fell ill. Don’t get her.”

Penelope’s gaze dropped to his white-knuckled grip on his cane. Then she looked up, past his shoulder, and Sebastian heard the murmur of the earl’s voice. He couldn’t resist glancing back, too—the last thing he wanted the earl to have was the satisfaction of seeing him whipped and beaten—pushing himself a little more erect as he did. Stratford’s scathing eyes raked him once more before he turned and walked away, back toward the drawing room, but Benedict still stood there watching. For a moment their eyes met. Benedict hesitated, looking torn, then followed his father.

“That low-mannered wretch,” breathed Penelope beside him. She was glaring at Benedict’s retreating back with pure venom. She glanced back at Sebastian. “You didn’t fall ill, did you, Mr. Vane. You just
fell
. And he—” She stopped. “Let me help you, if you won’t let me fetch Abby.”

He managed to nod. He might not make it without her help. “Just outside.”

Somehow they made it down the stairs. Penelope hurried ahead and had the footman holding the door open when he got there. He had crossed the graveled drive by the time she caught him again, this time with her father’s servant in tow. “Adam is going to help you home,” she announced. “And if you protest, I will run inside and tell my sister you are severely wounded.”

Sebastian almost refused, until he remembered again how far it was from the dock to his home. He nodded once. “Thank you, Miss Weston.”

“I don’t know why you won’t let me tell Abby anyway,” she added softly. “She’s a good nurse, very patient and sympathetic. And it’s not your fault—”

“Please don’t,” he interrupted. “Not tonight.” Not tonight, when he had danced with her like an able-bodied man. Not while she was still at Stratford Court, where the earl could blacken his name even further. He needed to gather himself and regain his composure before he saw her again. “My health isn’t really your concern.”

“No, but lying to my sister is,” she pointed out.

Adam had brought the punt up. Sebastian forced himself to move, limping down the dock and managing to lower himself into the boat without casting up his dinner over the side. Sweating and panting again, he looked up at Penelope, watching him with concern. “Good night, Miss Weston. Thank you.”

She waited until the boat was several yards from the dock before calling after him, “You can hardly keep it from her for long, you know. I’m the very worst person in the world at keeping secrets.”

He knew. No doubt she’d tell Abigail before the night was over, especially if Benedict made his proposal. The loathing in Penelope’s face when she watched Benedict walk away had been potent and plain. But the last thing Sebastian wanted was for Abigail to see him as he was now, on the verge of being sick all over himself. He clutched his knee with both hands so hard his fingers cramped, as if he could somehow squeeze the pain out of it. He couldn’t do more than nod in response to Penelope’s last warning. Abigail would learn about it, but she—and her parents—wouldn’t see him like this.

“Shall I fetch a doctor, sir?” asked Adam as he rowed.

Sebastian shook his head.

“My older brother was at Waterloo,” said the servant after a moment of silence. “Came home without his arm. He never wanted a doctor, neither. He barely got the priest in time.” He rowed a few more strokes. “My mum swore she’d beat me if I ever refused to see a doctor when one was called for.”

“I hope you won’t send her after me,” he said, trying to breathe through his nose.

“O’ course not. I was only thinking how Miss Abigail Weston reminds me of my mum sometimes. Kind and thoughtful but not afraid to speak her mind and impose her will.”

The thought of Abigail taking a whip to him almost made Sebastian smile. Then the boat scraped over the bottom as they came into the opposite shore, knocking his knee against the side and causing him to catch his breath. Adam climbed out and tugged the boat farther ashore, then gave him a hand. Sebastian took it gratefully, managing to stagger out of the boat without falling.

“I’ll have to run up to the house to fetch the gig,” Adam told him. “The family wasn’t expected back for another hour or more.” He paused. “Miss Weston’s direction was that I’m to take you right to your door, sir.”

Sebastian nodded, too exhausted to protest. It would take him an eternity to walk home, and he wasn’t fool enough to argue with the man. He sank down on a stone bench near the landing and listened to the servant’s footsteps hurry up the lawn.

He glanced across the river. Stratford Court was like a castle tonight, the windows aglow. Abigail had looked so beautiful, his fairy princess again in her pale green gown.

Well. Not quite his. Perhaps never to be his.

Perhaps it had all been for naught. Stratford Court was an awesome sight, and Benedict would make her mistress of it. Perhaps it would sway her. Perhaps her parents would persuade her to accept Benedict. Perhaps he’d been too long a misanthrope, too long alone. There was a raw, passionate attraction between them, but it might not be enough. Perhaps he’d been a fool to let his original perception waver, that she was meant for someone better. Just because she made him feel like a whole man again didn’t mean she wouldn’t be able to appreciate a suitor who really was a whole man. Perhaps he couldn’t compete with Benedict even if he tried.

Sebastian clenched his fist and pressed his knuckles into his forehead. No. He wasn’t thinking clearly now—the pain was warping his mood and thoughts. The girl he knew and loved wouldn’t be so quickly or so thoroughly dazzled by Ben’s title and fortune that she forgot everything else. She loved him; he knew it. She said she didn’t want Benedict.

Her parents, though . . . might not feel the same.

He shifted his leg gingerly. The thought of Mr. Weston’s sharp eye and even sharper ambition made him doubly glad he’d left Stratford Court. Mrs. Jones would wrap up his knee, and in a day or so he’d be back to normal; still limping, but no worse than before. It had been a bit of hubris, thinking he was well again, but his trust remained unshaken. He would go back to Hart House and take his chances. If Abigail didn’t want him, he had to hear it from her, not from Benedict.

Chapter 20

A
bigail knew something was wrong when Sebastian left the room with Lord Atherton, but only the latter returned. Her worry increased when Penelope, who’d excused herself to freshen up after dinner, returned to the drawing room after an even longer absence. Her sister’s antipathy toward Lord Atherton, which seemed to have abated this evening, was back in full force. Abigail couldn’t guess what, but she was sure something had happened involving the three of them. Penelope managed never to speak another word to their host, and Lord Atherton’s cheer seemed a bit subdued. Between her growing bad feeling about Sebastian’s disappearance and her raging curiosity about Penelope’s grim mood, she could hardly wait for the party to be over, and breathed a sigh of relief when her parents finally took their leave.

As he walked them out to the carriage waiting to take them back to the ferry crossing the river, Atherton drew her slightly aside. “May I call on you tomorrow, Miss Weston?”

“Hmm? Oh—certainly, my lord.”

He grinned. “Splendid. I hope you enjoyed Stratford Court.”

“Very much, sir,” she said with a distracted smile. “I do hope Mr. Vane wasn’t terribly ill.” Lord Stratford had said he’d felt unwell and been forced to leave early. Abigail had a sinking feeling the dancing had wounded his leg more than he’d let on, if he’d departed so abruptly and unceremoniously.

Atherton had taken her hand to help her into the waiting carriage; at her words his fingers twitched around hers. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“But what a sad thing to happen at a party.” She shook herself. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, my dear Miss Weston.” He stood back and watched them drive away.

“What a glorious evening!” Papa was in high spirits. “That’s living, I tell you. My love, what did you think of the chimneypiece in the dining room? Shall we replace the one in town with pink marble?”

Mama smiled. “Too grand for my taste, Mr. Weston! I’m very content with the one we have, thank you.”

He grinned. “As you say, madam. But what a dinner—and what hosts! Abby, my dear, did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, Papa,” she murmured.

“Very good,” he said with a wink. “I’m very glad to hear that, indeed.”

She forced another smile, trying to catch her sister’s eye. Penelope had thrown herself into a corner of the carriage and was glaring out the window. When they reached the ferry, where the earl’s man was waiting to take them across, Penelope climbed into the prow and crossed her arms, exuding a forbidding air during the short trip across the river to the deserted landing at Hart House. She only turned around when Papa exclaimed in irritation, “Where’s Adam? I told the fellow to be waiting for us.”

“I sent him on an errand, Papa. And look, here he comes.”

Papa sighed, but let it go. Abigail, though, caught the way her sister hurried to exchange a quick word with Adam, who had just driven up in the carriage. She saw Penelope’s face ease at whatever he said to her.

What in the world had happened?

Thankfully, Penelope didn’t make her wait much longer. The maid had barely left after helping her prepare for bed before Penelope slipped into her room. “I have something to tell you,” she said without preamble.

“I hope so!” Abigail beckoned her to the window seat and grabbed a shawl. “Where did you go this evening? You were gone an age. And what did Adam tell you?”

Her sister held up one hand, grimmer than Abigail had ever seen her. “Bother that. I just went to freshen up, but as I was returning to the drawing room, I saw Mr. Vane in the corridor. Abby, he could hardly walk. He was doubled over his cane, his face was as white as a sheet, and I thought he would be ill. I—I think he fell on his wounded knee.”

“What!”

Penelope made a shushing noise at her exclamation. “He swore to me he was fine, but I didn’t believe it. Conveniently, Lord Stratford and Lord Atherton both came out of the room behind him at that moment. Naturally I presumed they would leap to help a stricken guest, but neither of them did a thing. They both looked right at him, clutching the balustrade for support and inching along, and they both walked away.”

“But Sebastian?” Abigail exclaimed. “How did he leave?”

“I sent Adam to help him. He refused to let me fetch you,” she added as Abigail opened her mouth in outrage. “I don’t think he wanted you to see him.”

“But why?” She covered her mouth with one hand, feeling sick. It was bad enough to think he became ill and left without saying good-bye. But he’d been hurt, and he allowed Penelope—not her—to help him.

“If I had to guess, I’d say Lord Atherton or his father had something to do with it.” Penelope’s eyes flashed. “Not only did they see him struggling to walk, Lord Stratford looked almost pleased. You must have noticed he’s a cold man—I didn’t like him one bit—but I don’t think he spoke a word to Mr. Vane all night. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

Abigail said nothing. This was all her fault. If not for her, Sebastian would never have gone to Stratford Court and dined at the table of a man who called him a thief and a murderer. He must have dreaded it—she could still hear the echo of fury in his voice as he described Lord Stratford’s reply to his request to regain his property—but he’d gone. And then he’d risked his knee to dance with her. What if the dancing had weakened his knee and led to his fall? She could picture Lord Stratford mocking any sign of weakness or infirmity. Her eyes prickled with tears to think she had been so selfishly happy to dance with him when it hadn’t been good for him at all.

“And if I were you, I would refuse to receive Lord Atherton again,” Penelope went on. “He also saw how unwell Mr. Vane was before he walked away. Surely even you can’t excuse that.”

“What?” She shook her head. “He’s coming to call tomorrow. But Pen, what did Sebastian say?”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “He’s coming tomorrow? Why? Did you hear what I said? He saw how injured your Mr. Vane was, and he did nothing to help him. A guest he’d invited!”

“He asked if he could call, and since you hadn’t told me any reason not to see him, I agreed.” Abigail jumped up and began pacing. “I wish you’d come to get me, no matter what Sebastian said. He’s so stubborn . . .”

Penelope tucked her knees under her chin and stared out the window for a moment. “Are you in love with him, Abby?”

The word brought a warm, happy smile to her face. “I am.” She went to her desk and took out the cameo, safe in the box. “He gave me this.”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Penelope gave her a wry smile. “Better than a book, even.”

She blushed as she stroked one finger over the delicate carving. “Yes.” She remembered the kiss he’d given her along with the jewelry, and her heart skipped a beat. She was in love, and unless she was very much mistaken, he was in love with her, too.

“I’m going to Montrose Hill tomorrow,” she murmured, still fingering the cameo. She should have worn it tonight. “I have to know he’s well.”

Penelope seized her hand. “Excellent thought! I’ll tell Mama you’re reading in the conservatory—”

She shook her head. “You’re a dear to lie for me, but I think I’ll tell Mama where I’m going.”

“What? Abby, she’ll never let you go . . .”

“I shall go anyway.” It was time to take a stand. If Sebastian could face down Lord Stratford, she could face down her parents.

U
nfortunately, her plans went awry from the first, next morning. With one task after another, her mother kept her busy. Normally she was free to do as she liked, but this day her mother seemed bent on keeping her close, filling every vase in the house with fresh flowers, sorting linens, writing letters, even getting her hair trimmed. At first she went along with good grace; surely by the afternoon she would have done everything, and gained some favor from her mother. She thought her errand to Montrose Hill House was a very reasonable one, and she was perfectly willing to take her sister and a maid as chaperone.

But the hours ticked by and Mama showed no sign of letting up. Abigail began to feel aggrieved as she helped organize her mother’s jewel chest. There was no reason Marie, her mother’s maid, couldn’t do this just as well. “May I be excused now?” she asked as she put away another bracelet.

“Not yet, dear.” Mama smiled. “I believe this chest is too full. I’ve had some of these pieces for many years, and I don’t think they all suit me.” She held up a strand of pearls. “Try this one.” Abigail obediently held it up in front of her neck. “No, no, put it on,” urged her mother.

“I’ve already got a necklace, Mama.”

Her mother’s sharp gaze touched the cameo pendant. “So I see. But take it off for a moment and try the pearls.”

Abigail sighed but took off the pendant. “Mama, I would like to go for a walk.”

“Not today. I would like you to remain at home.” Her mother studied her as she put the string of pearls around her neck. “Yes, it looks better on you than it does on me. You may have it, Abby.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She reached for the clasp.

“Oh, leave it on, dear,” exclaimed her mother. “Jewelry isn’t meant to be left in a box.”

Abigail’s fingers tightened around the cameo. “Why must I stay home?” She’d never been denied before. Outside the window, the sky was a flat blue, with towering mounds of clouds. It might rain later, which would spoil her plan to walk to Montrose Hill.

“Because I want you to,” said her mother absently, still sorting through her jewels. “These would look so lovely with your eyes.” Mama held out a pair of amethyst earrings in gold filigree. “And the opals might do for Penelope . . .”

She pressed her lips together. “I want to call at Montrose Hill. Mr. Vane left early last night, and I want to be sure he’s not unwell.”

“Not today.”

“Penelope would go with me if I asked her, and I would take Jane,” Abigail persisted. “It would be only neighborly, Mama.”

“If Mr. Vane is unwell, he won’t want company. But I shall send a kettle of soup and some oranges, with our good wishes.”

Abigail bit her lip in frustration. Perhaps she should approach her father. Yes, that would be ideal; he would have another chance to see how decent Sebastian was. She was just about to excuse herself to go find him when the butler tapped at the door.

“Lord Atherton and Lady Samantha Lennox to see you, madam,” Thomson announced.

Mama rose at once, looking pleased. “How delightful! Marie, finish putting these away. Thomson, I hope you showed our guests to the drawing room.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Come, Abigail, let’s not keep them waiting.” She headed for the door.

And just like that her chance was gone. Mama didn’t even give her time to change necklaces, and she was forced to slip the cameo pendant into her pocket.

In the drawing room, Abigail made the polite greetings and sat beside her mother on the sofa. She didn’t really feel like having visitors today, partly because of her desire to go to Sebastian and partly because of Penelope’s story from last night. As Lord Atherton talked and laughed with his usual good humor, she studied him through newly critical eyes. Could a man so charming and thoughtful really turn his back on a friend, on a guest? If he could stoop to treat Sebastian that way, there must be a core of coldness in him. She allowed that his side of the story might be different, and it would be hard to condemn him for choosing to defend his sister instead of his friend. But her heart and her allegiance lay with Sebastian, and she couldn’t help the instinctive disapproval of Lord Atherton for being less than she’d thought him.