Page 6 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Beast
“Look.”
Abigail turned her head back around again, only to spy a gentleman walking in through the crowd, a young lady on his arm. The young lady looking straight ahead, her eyes a little wide and the smile on her face a little lackluster. There was clearly a tension there, an uncertainty which came from the sheer number of eyes placed upon her. Abigail’s attention was then drawn to an older lady who walked a little behind the first gentleman and lady, though she was walking arm in arm with a gentleman dressed in regimentals.
Was that who the guests were staring at?
“I do not understand,” she murmured, as Lady Chesterton put one hand to her heart. “What is the matter?”
“It is the Beast of Crestwood Hall,” came the whispered reply. “Do you not see him? I had heard that he was to be coming back to London but I did not believe it!”
A little surprised, Abigail looked back at the first gentleman, only for him to turn his head and, entirely unexpectedly, looking back at her directly. Her breath stopped, her face heating from the embarrassment of being caught staring. She could not look away, taking him in, seeing the red lines which twisted up one side of his face, marring his cheek and licking close to his eyebrow. Dark hair swung across his forehead, touching the very top of his scars as though to hide them from view and piercing blue eyes were filled with nothing but ice.
Abigail turned her head away.
“He does look a little like a beast, does he not?” Lady Chesterton whispered, as Abigail moved away directly, turning her back on the gentleman and bringing Lady Chesterton with her. “He was practically snarling!”
“He was scowling, that is all.” Having no desire to encourage the whispers about the gentleman, Abigail kept her gaze set straight ahead rather than looking back at him. “I do not think he looks like a beast at all.”
Lady Chesterton looked over her shoulder only to then gasp and come to a complete stop, dragging Abigail back with her. “Your father is speaking with him!”
“My father?” Unable to help herself, Abigail turned her head and saw that Lady Chesterton was quite right. Her father, the Viscount Townsend, was busy in deep conversation with the Earl of Crestwood, though the Earl of Crestwood had not stopped scowling as yet. Her heartclattered with a sudden fear and she turned her head away again, squeezing her eyes closed as fright crept into every part of her being.
“What do you think he is doing?” Lady Chesterton asked, as Abigail opened her eyes. “He seems to be very eager to be acquainted with him. He is the first person who has gone to the Earl of Crestwood so as to be introduced. Perhaps he feels the same as you do and has a lot more sympathy for the gentleman than I do.”
“I do not think it is that,” Abigail replied, softly, her voice trembling a little. “I have a great and terrible fear that my father is about to try and build a connection between the Earl of Crestwood and our family.”
Lady Chesterton turned and grasped both of Abigail’s hands, looking back into her face with wide eyes. “What can you mean?”
Abigail closed her eyes again as tears began to prick them. “I am unwed,” she said, so quietly that she could barely hear herself speak over the orchestra and the growing conversation of the crowd around her. “My father does not want me to be a spinster, I am sure. So what better idea might he have than to push me in the direction of the Earl of Crestwood?”
Lady Chesterton’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and then closed again, as if she were trying to find some way to refute the idea but could not. Abigail swallowed hard and blinked furiously, only for her friend to shake her head.
“I am sure such a thing will not happen,” she said, firmly. “It is only a thought and even if it were to take place, it would require an agreement from the Earl of Crestwood. He is clearly here with his sister rather than for himself. I am sure you need not worry.”
The confidence in her voice did nothing to reassure Abigail and try as she might, she could not shake the fear from within herself for what else might her father be doing in seeking out the Earl of Crestwood so urgently?
Chapter Three
“I thought the ball went very well indeed.”
Arthur grimaced. “I am sure you did, Mother.”
“You did not have too many people staring at you, did you?”
Looking at her for a long moment, Arthur waited until his mother had the decency to blush before he answered. “I had almost everyone staring at me, as you well know,” he said, quietly. “But at least Isabella had a good many gentlemen seeking out her company. I think she danced every dance save for the waltz.”
Lady Crestwood smiled, clearly satisfied with the progress her daughter had made. “Yes, she did. It was wonderful to see.”
Arthur chose to say nothing further, picking up his brandy and wandering to the window of the drawing room. Last evening had been a success in terms of Isabella’s introduction to society, having already been introduced to the King. What he had not been too pleased about, however, was the sheer number of gentlemen and ladies who had simply stared at him and thereafter, whispered about him behind their hands. He had felt the heaviness of their gaze and had hated the intensity of their attention upon him. It had done nothing other than mortify him all the more, to remind him that his scars were ever present and, for theton,something worthy of gossip.
And there had been that very strange conversation with the Viscount Townsend who had come up to speak with him almost the moment he had arrived in the ballroom. The gentleman had been urgent in his desire to introduce his family to Arthur and though he had done so at a later hour of the ballroom, Arthur had not understood the gentleman’s reasons for doing so – unless it was that he simply wanted to be able to spread a little more gossip than others in theton.
“There were many eligible ladies present last evening.”
Arthur stiffened, turning his head to glance at his mother before returning his attention to the window. “I have no interest in engaging myself to anyone, Mother.” His jaw tightened. “Besides, Lady Clara was present last evening.”
“Was she?”
The shock in his mother’s voice had Arthur wincing. He had felt the very same overwhelming surprise when he had first set eyes on her and, in truth, had felt his breath stolen away from him. Instead of feeling nothing, as he had hoped, there had been dark and heavy anger which had settled low in his stomach and had then sent a heat through each of his limbs. She had looked at him, yes, but had quickly turned her head away as though she had no interest in his presence whatsoever.
