It Takes a Scandal (23 page)

Penelope interrupted her ruminations one day as she sat with a book on her lap, watching the clouds scud across the sky through the windows of the conservatory. “Something to cheer you, Abby!” she announced.

“Where did you get it?” Abigail gasped as Penelope flourished a copy of
50 Ways to Sin
, instinctively glancing about for any eavesdropping servants or parents.

“Don’t worry, I made certain the door was closed before I revealed it.” Penelope wrinkled her nose. “I’ve learned my lesson on that score.”

“Where did you get it?” Abigail repeated, reassured enough to take it out and open to the first page. “Is it good?”

Her sister snorted. “As if there’s been a bad one! I didn’t like it as well as the last, but it’s still quite thoroughly naughty. Never mind how I got it. Look at page two.”

Abigail read for a moment, then gasped in shock. “Two lovers at once?”

“Indeed.” Penelope lowered her voice even more. “Brothers.”

“Oh my.” Abigail choked on a disbelieving laugh. “As if finding one gentleman to love isn’t difficult enough!”

“I daresay Constance has lower standards than you, Abby.” Penelope put her head to one side. “Has the esteemed Mr. Vane written to you?”

She carefully folded the pamphlet cover closed. “No, nor do I expect him to. He didn’t ask.”

“Well, he must not plan to be gone very long, then,” said Penelope. “The man is mad in love with you.”

“How would you know?”

“From the way his eyes follow your every move. Because he came to call even though the rest of Richmond thinks he’s a misanthrope, and because he won Mama’s heart by making Milo obey. And I think you’re in love with him because you’ve been sad and quiet ever since he left.” She tapped one finger against her lips. “Now that I think of it, you were like that even before Mama mentioned his note begging off the barge party. Did you meet him on one of your solitary walks in the woods?”

Abigail bit her lip, debating what to say. Her unanswerable questions were weighing heavily on her mind, but Penelope wasn’t always the most thoughtful confidante. “Yes. He told me he was going away.”

“Aha!” Her sister’s eyes gleamed. “Where did he go?”

“To Bristol, and I do not know why,” she said before her sister could ask. “He estimated he would be gone no more than a fortnight.”

“That’s not so long,” Penelope said, almost consolingly. “I’m sure it will pass before you know it.”

There was a tap at the door and a maid peeked in. “Pardon, Miss Weston, Miss Penelope, but your mother asks you to come to the drawing room to receive callers.”

“Of course, Jane,” said Penelope brightly. She had lunged out of her chair to stand in front of Abigail, who was frantically trying to conceal
50 Ways to Sin
. “We’ll be right there.” Jane nodded and ducked back out of the room. Penelope wilted. “That was close!”

“I think the orange trees concealed it.” The pamphlet was now safely hidden between the pages of Abigail’s book. “I’d better run upstairs and hide this. Tell Mama I’ve gone to fix my hair.”

Penelope nodded and hurried off to the drawing room. Abigail went to her bedchamber, heart still thumping from almost being caught. She couldn’t resist taking a peek at the story, and ended up reading it all. It was even more shocking than the previous tales; Lady Constance met two friendly gentlemen, and—unable to decide which suited her more—took them both to her bed. Abigail had already accepted that the stories were the most improbable fiction, but this surely went too far. Constance seemed to regard her lovers with warmth and respect, if not love, but at least she gave each of them her full attention. How could she embrace two men, figuratively and literally, at once? Abigail reread one page, to be certain. Yes, Constance most definitely managed new ways of finding pleasure and giving it.

The blush still lingered on her cheeks as she went to the drawing room, having hidden the story in the bottom of her sewing basket. She took a moment to compose herself, and opened the door.

Sitting beside Penelope on the settee was Lady Samantha Lennox. She had called before with her sister, Lady Turley, but this time she was accompanied by someone else. He sat with his back to the door, but leapt to his feet at once and turned as Abigail came in.

“Here is my eldest daughter, Abigail,” said Mama warmly. “Abigail, come meet our guest, Viscount Atherton. He is Lady Samantha’s brother.”

“How do you do, sir?” She curtsied.

“Very well, Miss Weston.” Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton was tall and handsome, with black hair that lay in thick waves at his temples. He wore the crisp uniform of the King’s Guard, which beautifully displayed his athletic figure. His bright blue eyes brightened in frank appreciation as he bowed to her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For no good reason, Abigail blushed again. She murmured something polite and went to take a seat, only realizing a moment later that the only seat left was next to Lord Atherton. She greeted Lady Samantha and accepted a cup of tea from her mother, all the while vividly conscious of the gentleman beside her.

“It’s so very kind of you to call with Lady Samantha, sir.” Mama hardly needed to express her pleasure aloud; Abigail could almost see it radiating off her mother. She stole a glance at Penelope, who was sipping her tea without taking her eyes off Lord Atherton. Well. Perhaps her sister would find Richmond more interesting now that there was an inarguably splendid viscount sitting in their drawing room. She wondered if her father would be lying in wait outside the door to encourage the man to start courting one of them.

“The kindness was yours, in receiving me,” replied Lord Atherton. “My sister has told me so much about the new tenants of Hart House, I implored her to bring me to call. She’s had no peace from me.”

“It’s true,” said Lady Samantha with a fond smile. “It’s impossible to resist him once he begins imploring.”

“But our door is always open,” declared Mama, stroking Milo’s fur. The puppy was curled up next to her on the sofa. He must have made friends with the visitors, to have ceased his yapping already. “Particularly to any friend of Lady Samantha’s.”

“I’d like that very much. I’m on leave from my regiment for a month, and would be honored to help show you the delights of Richmond while I’m here.”

Penelope made a noise like a muffled snort.

He turned to her. “I sense doubt, Miss Penelope. On which score, I wonder: my desires, or the delights of Richmond?” From the gleam in his eye, Abigail thought he knew which one it was.

Penelope smiled brightly, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “Who could doubt either?”

“Which is no sort of answer at all!” He turned to Abigail. “Have I intimidated your sister? Please tell me I haven’t, Miss Weston. I would hate to have begun so badly with my new neighbors.”

She had to laugh. “When you know my sister better, my lord, you’ll know how impossible that is! I believe she meant to say, we would be pleased to learn the delights of Richmond; thank you very much for offering to show us.”

“It will be my pleasure.” His eyes were so very blue, and the little lines at the corners suggested his good humor was perpetual. Even his voice was attractive, rich and well pitched. “What have you seen so far?”

It took Abigail a moment to register the question as he gazed at her with such interest. “Oh!” She blushed, unaccountably flustered. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

“Have you been to the crest of Richmond Hill? The botanical gardens at Kew? The palace at Hampton Court?” His voice grew more anguished with each shake of her head. After the third, he laid one hand on his breast and turned to Penelope in mock humility. “Miss Penelope, I humbly beg your pardon. Who would not be bored, with only the village for amusement?”

Now that she had been publicly supported in her disdain for all of Richmond, Penelope smiled modestly. “I’ve greatly enjoyed the shops in the village.”

“And you, Miss Weston?” Lord Atherton turned to her again, his eyes shining with mirth.

“The village is charming,” she agreed. “But I enjoy simpler pleasures: a jaunt in the boat, a walk in the woods.”

“Ah, the woods.” Now real feeling warmed his voice. “I remember these woods well. They are almost more familiar than Stratford Court to me. When I was a boy, Lady Burton was gracious enough to grant me leave to explore at will. I spent hours there.” He shook his head ruefully. “My sister would summon me home with a light in a particular window, lest I be punished for being out too late.”

“Can you see Stratford Court from our woods?” Penelope raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize that.”

He cleared his throat. “You must go a little higher on the hill.”

“Oh, you mean Montrose Hill?” Penelope nodded, not noticing the way both guests seemed to freeze in place for a moment. “Did you ever discover the grotto in the woods?”

Abigail almost choked. How could Penelope—and in front of Mama, too? She would never forgive her sister if Mama banned her from walking in the woods.

“No,” said Lord Atherton after an almost imperceptible hesitation. “I don’t believe it still exists. It was filled in years ago.”

“Right,” said Penelope, finally catching Abigail’s eye for a moment. “Such a pity. It would have been fascinating to see.”

“Where was there a grotto?” asked Mama. She was idly stroking Milo, but Abigail knew her ease was an illusion. She had the attention of a hawk.

“It was rumored to be somewhere in the woods, Mrs. Weston,” answered Lord Atherton. “A bygone curiosity from the days of the Stuarts. But like all rumor, it was founded on nothing reliable. No one’s seen it in living memory.”

Except me
, thought Abigail, thinking of a cut-glass mermaid pining for her love, and the secluded intimacy of the chamber. And Sebastian.

“I never heard of it.” Mama’s keen gaze touched Abigail for just a moment. “Abigail, you must be careful when you walk in the woods. I wouldn’t want you to fall down an old grotto.”

“I am,” she quickly assured her mother.

“There’s little cause for worry, Mrs. Weston. Lady Burton always believed it had been filled in even before she owned Hart House.” Atherton gave a penitent grin. “If it were still in existence, I would surely know, for I scoured those woods for years. She indulged an eager boy in allowing me to hunt for it, but alas; it must have been buried decades ago. I never found any trace of it—and I really
looked
. I longed to prove everyone wrong by discovering it.”

“I suspect that was the grotto’s greatest allure,” Lady Samantha added.

Her brother laughed. “So it was! Not even pirate treasure would have been more appealing—although I must confess, when I was a boy I hoped to find the grotto filled with pirate treasure!”

Everyone laughed. Abigail caught her sister watching her, though, and she tried to deliver a stern message with only her eyes. Penelope gave her a tiny nod and sipped her tea.

The conversation took a more mundane turn, and after a while the guests took their leave. Mama invited Lord Atherton to join them on the barge party in a few days’ time, which he promptly accepted. Everyone rising to their feet roused Milo from his puppy nap, and he leapt off the sofa and began racing around the room, yipping excitedly. When someone opened the door, the dog took advantage and ran into the hall, then right out of the house.

“Oh dear,” sighed Mama. “Not again.” By now Milo’s escapes had taken their toll even on her. Her attempts to train him to come when called hadn’t been as successful as Sebastian’s had been.

“We’ll catch him,” Lord Atherton promised immediately, his eyes dancing. “Come, Samantha! A chase!” Briskly he strode off after the dog.

“I can’t run in these shoes!” his sister protested, looking at Penelope in chagrin.

“I wouldn’t bother,” muttered Penelope. As usual, she made no effort to chase Milo.

From outside came the whinny of a horse. Mama gasped, jolted out of her resignation. “Oh my! He’ll be trampled.” She rushed out of the room, and Abigail went with her.

Outside, the dog really was tempting death this time. A tall black stallion was tossing his head and dancing skittishly from side to side while Milo ran laps around the gravel, darting under his hooves, then under the carriage, then circling in front of the carriage horses as he evaded Lord Atherton’s and the groom’s attempts to catch him. The more Milo barked, the more restive the horses grew, snorting and stamping their feet. Any one of their hooves could crush the puppy.

Mama gave Abigail a worried look. “I will never forgive your father,” she said in despair.

“I’ll get him,” Abigail promised. She watched the chase for a moment, waiting for a good opportunity. Lord Atherton was obviously enjoying himself, waving at the harried groom to go around the carriage while he stalked the dog on the near side. But Milo was too wriggly; just as the viscount was about to grab him, Milo twisted and turned and went right under the carriage, between the groom’s boots, and toward the trees along the drive . . .

Where Abigail had run to wait for him. “Milo,” she called, crouching on her knees. “Come, Milo, I have cheese for you.” She held out her hand as if she had a something in it. It worked on Boris, who was admittedly far better trained. She held her breath, hoping against hope it would fool Milo.

The puppy stopped a few feet away from her, his tail wagging. “Milo, come,” Abigail repeated firmly. She waited, not moving. After a moment, the little dog gave himself a shake, then trotted forward. As he licked her fingers in search of the cheese, Abigail seized him by the scruff of his neck. “You don’t deserve a treat, wicked creature,” she told him. The puppy barked at her, then accepted disappointment philosophically, and began thumping his short tail against her arm.