Page 29 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
“Be careful who you tell that to,” he said quietly. “Lots of people here are penniless, but it’s all about maintaining the façade. You have to pretend. Ifyouplan to get married this Season, Miss Atwater, I’d suggest you keep your lack of dowry to yourself. People can be unforgiving.”
She bit her lip, colour rushing to her cheeks. “At least you have your charm. My sister is charming, when she wants to be.”
“You are charming too.”
“I wasn’t fishing for compliments, my lord. I was merely stating a fact. It seems that both of us have serious things to overcome this Season. I intend to marry, too. This will be my last chance. My third Season.”
The reality trickled down her spine like cold water.
If this doesn’t work, if I don’t marry this Season, there’ll be no more chances.
It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that ladies got a handful of chances to make a life for themselves, and more unfair still that their ‘chance’ involved catching a decent man who could build a life for them.
Fit in, but stand out, otherwise no man will want you. Follow the rules, or you’ll receive censure, but the gentlemen are all bored of the same old Society misses. Excel at the traditional feminine accomplishments, ready to cast them all aside the instant you marry. You must be noticed for your beauty. If you have no beauty, then your wealth.
If you have neither… well. Be thankful for whoever you get, and even one or two measly proposals may not be guaranteed.
She shivered. The dance was winding down. Another couple of minutes. She was too hot, sweat pricking at her temples and at her hairline, the lace of her neckline and sleeves itching against her skin. Her heart thudded under her tightly-laced bodice, and she made a mental note to ask Lucy not to tie it so tightly next time. How was a girl meant to eat? Orbreathe? Just because short stays and narrow waists were the fashion didnotmean that Abigail needed to follow it.
“We’re meant to speak of ordinary things,” he said, the ghost of a smile dancing around his lips. “Your hobbies, for instance. Let me guess – watercolours? Embroidery? Then, I could tellyouabout my hobbies. Hunting, mostly, for a gentleman.”
“My painting is abysmal,” Abigail admitted, “and my embroidery worse. I love to read, though. Novels, if that shocks you?”
“Not at all. And hopefully it won’t shockyouto know that I abhor hunting.”
She smiled. “It certainly does not. I thought all rakes hunted, in one way or another?”
He smiled grimly.
“I have something of a reputation, which I believe you’ve already guessed,” Alexander said suddenly. “A well-earned reputation, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I see how happy my brother and sister are, now that they have married their respective partners. I would like some of that happiness. William, now, he is in love with a phantom.”
“Awhat?”
Alexander shook his head. “It’s no matter. Not really my secret to tell, you know.”
Abigail itched to ask more, but resolutely pressed her lips together. Alexander did not seem to be hearing or seeing her, his gaze drifting over the top of her head.
“She’s there again, isn’t she?” Abigail said aloud. “Lady Diana Lockwell.”
“She’ll try and collar me as soon as the dance ends. Don’t be offended if I go haring off.”
“I won’t. Although,” Abigail added, catching a glimpse of her stone-faced aunt in the crowd, “Aunt Florence might well chase you off.”
“Now, thatisa horrifying prospect. I know Lady Caldecott well enough to be thoroughly frightened of her. And… and Miss Atwater, I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention to anyone – even your aunt – about what we have discussed tonight. I’m not sure what came over me. I ought not to have burdened you with all of that.”
Abigail bit her lip, nodding slowly. There wasn’t much else to do, really.
“I’m not a gossip, my Lord.”
“I didn’t mean to imply…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I told you how charming I thought I was, and all I’ve done is act the fool. It’s rather funny, isn’t it?” He gave a short, low, mirthless laugh. “That’s the story of my life, in fact. I act the fool, and I act the rake, and now I find myself cut off from most decent Society. If you have sons, Miss Atwater, don’t let them grow up like me.”
Before she had the opportunity to say anything – although whatcouldbe said in response to such a speech, Abigail did not know – the music ended with a flourish. The dancers stepped apart, bowing and curtsying to their partners, and Abigail and Alexander were obliged to do the same.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Alexander said, face a blank, polite mask, “I think I had better go and find my friend. Let me escort you back to your aunt.”
In fact, it wasn’t necessary for him to escort her anywhere. Abigail turned and found Aunt Florence striding towards them, expression set.
“Don’t worry, Lady Caldecott,” he said, voice forced and light. “I relinquish your niece back into your care.”
