Page 67 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
The conversation, of course, had veered pointedly into the realms of improper. They should not be discussing anything like this, not even hinting at it.
And yet, Alexander did not feel a single qualm of conscience. It just felt sorightto be talking with Abigail about the most serious matters in his life, and he never had a moment’s worry that she might betray him.
What would I do without her?
The thought arrived suddenly in his mind, making him flinch, but it made so much sense he wanted to laugh aloud.
Then he remembered what they were talking about, and swallowed back the giddy feeling coiling inside him.
“I… I think I must abstain,” he admitted. “From alcohol, I mean. I don’t know how long for, but I believe that moderation doesn’t suit me. I will have to be more drastic. It’s not made easier by people like Lady Lockwell pressing wine on me after I’ve said no. If you hadn’t intervened when you did, I’d likely be on my second glass.”
She bit her lip. “You’re brave to take such a drastic step. Men seem to do little else but drink alcohol in our Society – wine with dinner, port and brandy with dessert, whiskey for afters. Will your family support you?”
“Yes, they will,” he said, without a moment’s thought. “But they can’t always be here.”
“You should talk to them,” Abigail advised. “Tell them everything you told me. Even William. His Grace, I mean.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I think you would feel better if you were honest with them.”
He nodded. “I think perhaps you’re right. Tell me, Miss Atwater, do you always give such fine advice?”
She blushed, hiding a smile. “Not generally, no.”
She seemed about to say something else, but then the splash of oars caught their attention. Somebody was rowing towards them, and fairly fast, by the sounds of it. Alexander had his back to the oncoming boat, but he guessed who was in it by the way Abigail’s face fell.
Heart sinking, he twisted around to look.
Lord Graham Donovan was rowing towards them, red with effort and panting hard. None other than the Merry Widow herself – Diana, of course – sat in the boat with him, idly twirling her parasol over her shoulder.
“Goodness,” Alexander remarked, lifting his eyebrows. “You look exhausted, Graham. Rowing on the lake is meant to be relaxing.”
Graham scowled at him, too out of breath to make a sharp retort. Diana spoke up instead, her voice cool and placid.
“We hurried over here to bring you a message. Miss Atwater, I believe your aunt wants you.”
Abigail and Alexander both glanced over to the shore. Lady Caldecott was standing there, arms folded, glaring out towards them. Alexander bit back a sigh.
“What does she want?” Abigail ventured, looking just as miserable as she felt. It hardly mattered, of course. Alexander already knew that obedience would compel her to go straight back to shore, now that the message had been sent, and no doubt Lady Caldecott would not allow them into a boat together again.
“I have no idea,” Diana responded coolly. “Only that she wanted you immediately. You had better go back, I think.”
Abigail’s mouth set into a thin line, and she glanced at Alexander.
“I’ll take you back,” he assured, gripping the oars, and she gave him a tiny smile.
“Perhaps you can take me out afterwards,” Diana said at once.
“No, I don’t think so,” Alexander responded, more snappishly than was polite. “I’ll be far too tired to row again after this.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I intended for you to spend time with Lord Donovan, Abigail!” Aunt Florence hissed.
Once Abigail and Alexander had reached the shore, closely pursued by their respective would-be suitors, Aunt Florence had quickly ascertained that Abigail was not going to row out again on the lake with Lord Donovan. She then claimed that she had a headache and wanted to return to the house, and Abigail found that everybody expected her to go with her aunt.
The unfairness simmered in her veins.
“I’ve spent more than enough time with Lord Donovan,” Abigail shot back. “I don’t like him, Aunt Florence!”
“Nonsense. You haven’t given him a fair try. If you weren’t dazzled with that silly little Willenshire rake, you’d think differently.”
