Julia London (29 page)

That outing had caused quite a stir. Her tea with the slightly senile Aunt Neva had begun uneventfully, but when other patrons realized she was the wife of the mysterious Marquis of Darfield, there had begun a steady stream of visitors to their table, all wishing for introductions. They were stifled in the corner of the tearoom, and Aunt Neva looked positively peaked. Abbey had been forced to speak with practically the entire room before she could get the older woman safely through the crush and to the awaiting carriage.

She thought the interest in her was peculiar, though, granted, Michael was something of a celebrity. She had heard enough gossip to know that the
ton
believed he had almost risen from the dead, but there was nothing particularly remarkable about her. Nonetheless, if the afternoon in the tearoom or the mound of invitations was any indication, the
ton
was very interested. And tonight, she thought with sickening dread, was the Delacorte Ball. Sebastian had told her it was
the
event of the season; everyone who was anyone would be in attendance.

“Lady Darfield, have you decided if you will accept the invitation from the Duchess of Kent?” Sebastian reminded her. Abbey dragged her gaze from the window to the secretary.

“Oh! I don’t know, Sebastian, what do you think?” she asked apathetically.

“I think one does not refuse the Duchess of Kent unless one is on one’s deathbed,” he sniffed.

Abbey moaned and tossed the quill down and stood abruptly. “I can’t seem to think today! Sebastian, please excuse me. I think I should like a short walk.”

“But, my lady!” Sebastian protested as Abbey paused to smooth her skirts. “There is quite a lot of correspondence that should be answered!”

Abbey smiled and patted Sebastian on the arm. “I am quite
certain you will manage it nicely,” she said brightly, and disappeared through the door, in spite of the man’s protestations. She stopped only long enough to retrieve a bonnet and a pair of gloves, then walked briskly into the bustling street, headed for Hyde Park.

It was a glorious day, and in the park, she began to gain some serenity. She convinced herself she was being ridiculous. She had nothing to fear tonight; she was not going to do anything calamitous, like careen off the dance floor and into a tray of drinks. Giggling to herself at that visual image, she noticed a group of elderly women calling to her and furiously waving white handkerchiefs from across the green. Abbey groaned, smiled and waved, and began walking as quickly as she could without appearing to run. They started toward her.

For elderly women, the trio gave her quite a race, finally catching her as the path turned toward the middle of the green. Abbey sighed and slowed when it became apparent they would chase her all the way to her front door if necessary, then turned reluctantly, pasting a thin smile on her face.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but I should very much like to introduce myself! I am Lady Thistlecourt, your neighbor!” the slightly plump woman said in a raspy voice as she caught her breath. She beat a gloved hand at her red face in such furious fashion that Abbey was reminded of a hummingbird.

“A pleasure, Lady Thistlecourt, I am sure,” Abbey murmured. “You are a neighbor of Blessing Park?”

“Oh, no! I meant your Audley Street residence! We are just across the park, near Belgrave Square.” She panted, pointing in the very opposite direction of Audley Street.

“We have been so eager to meet you and welcome you to our country.” She smiled and glanced at her two companions, who, peering closely at her, nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “May I introduce Lady Billingsly,” she said, pointing to the thin woman on her right, “and Lady Fitzgerald.” The short woman on her left curtsied in perfect unison with Lady Billingsly.

“Good day, ladies. It’s a pleasure”—Abbey smiled, taking
a tentative step backward—“but I should not want to interrupt your turn about the park—”

“Nonsense! You shall walk with us!” Lady Thistlecourt declared, and reached up to adjust her slipping bonnet, knocked loose, no doubt, from her sprint down the path.

“Oh, thank you, but really, I have a rather pressing engagement this afternoon and just stepped out to take some air. Very briefly. For only a minute or two.” Abbey took another small step backward.

But Lady Thistlecourt, who had not run since she was a girl, did not intend to lose the Season’s elusive prize. “Lady Darfield, if you are not familiar with our park, it is quite possible to become lost. You would do well to stay with us,” she insisted.

“Yes, have you been here very long? That is, long enough to learn your way about the park? Or did you only come recently to London?” Lady Fitzgerald asked, squinting intently at Abbey’s gown. Abbey self-consciously looked down at the gold day dress she wore, realizing, in a moment of polite horror, that she was not wearing the obligatory walking dress.

“I just came out for a moment. Why, I am not even dressed for strolling,” she said nervously, plucking a piece of imaginary lint from her lap. “I will not go very far,” she promised hopelessly.

“That’s a highly unusual color, isn’t it dear?” Lady Billingsley observed.

Abbey bit her lower lip and told herself to ignore their frank perusal. Their reaction was
not
a portent of things to come tonight at the Delacorte Ball. They were simply three elderly women who wanted to meet her. And peer curiously at her gown. She unconsciously took another step backward, prepared to flee if she had to, and racking her brain for a polite excuse.

“She probably has a modiste from the continent,” Lady Billingsly declared to her companions, then frowned at Abbey and demanded, “Do you? Have a modiste from the continent, that is?”

“Oh, dear, the time!” Abbey gasped. “Ladies, if you will excuse me, I really
must
be going.”

“So should we. We shall escort you back Audley Street, madam. We would not rest if we thought you undertook that walk alone! Lord only knows what danger may lurk in these trees!” Lady Thistlecourt declared, and, with a conspiratorial look at her companions, shifted her weight to one leg and waited for Abbey to come forward.

Abbey sighed and cast her gaze to the ground. It was useless to point out they could almost see her home on Audley Street from here, so she resigned herself to the fact these women were going to escort her. No doubt they would expect to be invited in for tea.

Lady Billingsly made a strange sound. Abbey looked up; the trio were looking past her shoulder, staring very intently. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled with relief. The Duke of Southerland was walking toward them, on his arm an elderly woman with curls as fat as sausages dangling about her plump face. He was truly her neighbor, owning the grand town house just next door, and he and Abbey had exchanged polite greetings on a couple of occasions.

“Dear God, I can’t believe it! It’s the
duke
!” one of the women whispered in awe. “He
never
comes to London in the Season! Dear God, it can only mean he intends to offer for Miss Reese!”

“Miss
Reese?
Have you lost your mind, Rose?” another whispered just as frantically.

Abbey smiled gratefully as the duke approached; she could not have been happier if it had been Michael himself. He responded with an exceedingly charming smile that made the corners of his green eyes crinkle.

“Lady Darfield,” he said, bowing low when he reached her. “May I introduce my aunt, Lady Paddington?”

Abbey curtsied and nodded politely at the woman, whose eyes grew wide. “Oh, what a
pleasure
!” Lady Paddington gushed. “I have so wanted to meet you! I could scarcely believe it when Alex told me Darfield had married! I thought he was trifling with me until I saw the announcement in the
Times
with my own two eyes. The
Times
would not fabricate such a story!” she blustered, smiling broadly.

“Apparently I would.” Alex chuckled and smiled fondly at his aunt.

She responded by slapping his arm with a pair of gloves, her little eyes never leaving Abbey’s face as the duke greeted her new-sprung companions. “Oh, my! It’s true what they say, isn’t it Alex? She is really quite lovely,” Lady Paddington remarked. She then slid her gaze to the three women standing behind Abbey, and frowned. “Good day, Hortense,” she sniffed, her tone cool.

“Oh, Clara, for heaven’s sake! You’re not still angry about that silly game, are you?” Lady Thistlecourt exclaimed.

“No, Hortense. I do not get
angry
over something as silly as a card game, thank you!” Lady Paddington shot back, and, releasing Alex’s arm, waddled toward the three women, immediately engaging Lady Thistlecourt in an argument about said card game.

Alex smiled down at Abbey, his green eyes dancing merrily. “Someone should have warned you about the prowlers in this park,” he said, and shifted his gaze meaningfully to the women, whose conversation was growing more animated as their collective voices became louder.

Abbey chuckled as they watched the women argue. “I did not think I would be accosted,” she muttered.

He laughed and whispered, “Shall I see if I can rescue you from these prowlers?” When Abbey nodded, he winked slyly and straightened. “Aunt Paddy?” All four women stopped immediately and turned puzzled looks, as one, to the duke. “I would escort Lady Darfield home. Shall I retrieve you in a quarter of an hour?”

The ladies nodded in agreement. Alex offered Abbey his arm and after exchanging farewells, they began to stroll away.

Alex laughed. “Would you believe that there is a pack of those prowlers, numbering around a dozen or so, that roam the best homes of London? I have encountered them on more than one occasion in my aunt’s salon. They quite enjoy their card games; in fact, one might say they are obsessed.”

“No!” Abbey pretended shock. “I shall have to talk with Jones. He is usually quite good about warning me of danger!” Alex grinned, but Abbey quickly sobered. “I must confess, I cannot for the life of me understand why they seem so terribly interested in me.”

“That’s simple. You are a beautiful woman, new to London and the peerage.” He flashed a row of even white teeth at her self-conscious flush. “But most important, you have married the scandalous Devil of Darfield,” he said dramatically. “Naturally, the prowlers, having too much time on their hands, are overly curious.”

Abbey rolled her eyes heavenward. “Naturally.” She sighed. “It’s so unfair they should call him that! There is not a devilish bone in his body.”

“They remember the rumors.”

Abbey dragged her gaze from the path to him. “You mean about the scandals surrounding his father? Surely that is all behind him now.”

Alex considered her closely for a moment. “Lady Darfield, if I may be so bold as to offer some insight?” he asked after a moment.

“Please.”

“It’s quite difficult to explain, really. The
ton
is like a parasite, one that feeds off ill fortune. Darfield—Michael—in my humble estimation, has never done anything to deserve the vile gossip that has been spread about him,” Alex started.

Abbey was momentarily reminded of Mrs. Petty and the despicable things she had uttered. “What
were
the scandals? I have heard he is quite popular with the ladies; is that what you mean?”

With an amused smile, Alex shook his head. “Who told you that? I am quite certain Michael would not approve of your being bothered by such ugly tales—”

“Then how am I to understand if no one tells me?” she asked, her exasperation showing.

Alex considered it, looking at her curiously. “If I have your word you will not repeat anything I am about to tell you … I tell you only so you may understand why the keen interest in
your every move,” he said reluctantly. Abbey quickly nodded her agreement. Alex was silent for several moments, staring at the path ahead of them as he gathered his thoughts.

“Michael and I were boys, attending Eton, when the first scandals occurred. His father apparently gambled away the family fortune, and he was removed from school. Lord Darfield was a man possessed, frankly. He would win a few pounds, then lose twice as much. He was not partial to any particular type of gaming—he would bet on anything. He borrowed from everyone—family, friends, business associates—ostensibly to repay his debts, but then he invariably gambled
that
away. The Ingram family owed virtually everyone, and for a period of a few years, they were shunned, treated as if they were lepers.”

Abbey winced.

“Michael bore the brunt of his father’s disgrace and, reportedly, his abuse. Before he was of age, he escaped to the French wars. He hid his identity, fighting in the trenches with common men. He told me years later a captain recognized him, and he was promptly sent home, as it was unheard of for an heir to a title to fight like a commoner. When he returned, I think he found things much worse than before he left. A little older and wiser, he did the only thing he could to save his family from complete ruin. He turned to trade, a profession wholly unacceptable to most of the
ton
. Nonetheless, Michael took to the seas, and over the years made a fortune to repay his father’s debts. Unfortunately, even though he amassed a fortune far greater than what was needed to restore the family honor, his father continued to gamble it away.

“Eventually, the marquis became so ill with his liver ailment—brought on by his strong predilection for whiskey—he could no longer gamble. Michael was able to rebuild the family fortune and good name and the talk seemed to decrease. The Ingrams were not deemed the pariahs they once had been.”

Abbey sighed as they strolled along, trying to imagine Michael, working hard to restore the family. And all that time, she had thought he was happily sailing the open seas, working
to build a future. For her. She suddenly flushed, embarrassed by her foolishness.

“In amassing his fortune, your husband made some enemies along the way,” Alex continued, his face darkening. “In particular, there was an Englishman who held himself up as a paragon of virtue but who was actually pirating. Rumors began to circulate that the pirate was none other than the Devil of Darfield. This news, of course, was easy for the
ton
to believe because he had amassed not one but
two
fortunes in shipping. The culprit behind the vicious rumor was a ruthless businessman whom Michael had occasion to meet in foreign ports. The man
was
pirating, and when Michael threatened to expose him and captured his routes, the man turned the tables and accused
him
of pirating.