Page 48 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
“Oh, my dear,” Aunt Florence shot Abigail a stern look. “Don’t take that flirtatious rake’s flattery as anything serious. I mean it. He’s a fool, and I wish he would leave you alone.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“The trouble with gentlemen like Lord Alexander,” Aunt Florence continued, as if Abigail hadn’t spoken, “is that they confuse innocent young ladies like yourself. You start to think that perhaps that is what courtship is like. You crave the excitement and are disappointed that more serious suitors are not asexcitingas the rakes. Believe me, my dear, the saying that reformed rakes make the best husbands is the exception rather than the rule.”
Abigail bit her lip and stayed quiet.
Aunt Florence’s eyes bore into her, and she avoided the older woman’s gaze.
“There,” Aunt Florence said at last, hands dropping away from Abigail’s shoulders. “You’re ready. You look beautiful, my dear.”
Abigail glanced back at her reflection, but all pride in her appearance had mostly filtered away.
***
Dinner was an ordeal.
Abigail’s fragile mood had been half-crushed already, before she stepped into the dining room. The meal did nothing to lift her spirits. She was seated by Lord Donovan, of course, who spent the whole time complacently chattering about some political development which Abigail did not care about and could not understand. She smiled politely and nodded in the right places.
She could feel her aunt’s watchful eyes on her across the table.
Alexander was sitting opposite. Diana was not beside him – clearly, she hadn’t been able to wangle herself a chair next to him today – and she looked as black as thunder.
Lord Donovan told a story to the table, something dull and not funny or entertaining at all, but he received a polite chuckle at the end of it. Enthused, he embarked on a second anecdote. At this point, he’d monopolized the conversation for close to ten full minutes. Not even realizing what she was doing, Abigail’s gaze flitted across the table to Alexander.
He met her eye, swilling his half-drunk glass of wine, and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.
Something like laughter bubbled up inside her, and Abigail was obliged to press her napkin to her face to smother the laughter.
The amusement passed almost immediately. Sensing eyes on her, Abigail glanced across the table, and found Aunt Florence staring at her, expression hard. Any impulse to laugh faded away immediately. Aunt Florence leaned over to William and began to whisper urgently.
On cue, the Dowager rose to her feet.
“Ladies,” she said smoothly. “Shall we retire?”
Abigail found herself walking alone at the back of the little procession of ladies, making their way to the drawing room.
No, not quite alone.
A tall, svelte figure materialized at her side, making Abigail flinch.
“Goodness, that gown of yours looks good enough to eat,” Diana remarked, smiling coyly. In the flickering candlelight of the dark hallway, it was hard to read her expression. “I’m not sureIwould like to look like a piece of sugar candy, though.”
Abigail bit the inside of her cheek. The gown that had seemed so beautiful in her room suddenly seemed a little… well, a little gaudy.
What had she been thinking? Aunt Florence could wear all kinds of wild and strange clothing, because she had the confidence to wear it well, butAbigaildid not.
“It was a present from my aunt,” Abigail heard herself say.
Diana smiled pityingly. “Oh, I thought as much. I’m afraid it makes you look rather sallow. I don’t say it out of unkindness, of course, only a word to the wise. You understand. People werelooking, you know. I think a person with your complexion ought to stick to quiet colours and simple styles. Perhaps a nice grey, or a pale brown, or a dark blue would suit you better? Something lessfrothy.”
Abigail swallowed hard, resisting the urge to smooth out her bodice and pick at the frilly, lacy sleeves. “I rather liked this dress. Aunt Florence said…”
“Oh, one can never listen to the opinions of those who love us! They’ll always say we look pretty regardless. We women must be cannier than that, don’t we, Miss Atwater?” she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Between us, Lord Alexander simply couldn’t take his eyes off that monstrosity of a dress. He was hard-pressed not to laugh. That’s when I decided to speak to you about it, you poor thing.”
Abigail swallowed reflexively. “Oh.”
Diana straightened up, smiling demurely. “Just a little word in your ear, my dear. We’d better go in, then.”
