Page 77 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
He was right about one thing,Alexander thought, shaking with barely controlled mirth.He doesn’t know me at all. He never did.
There was a tap on the door.
“Alex, darling?”
Alexander was on his feet at once, opening the door. Mary stood there, smiling anxiously up at him.
“You look so handsome,” she murmured, reaching up to touch his face. “And dear Abigail is so sweet. She’s terribly reserved, but remarkably kind. I like her very much. Do you know, I always knew you would marry a wallflower.”
Alexander smiled, tears pricking at his eyes. “You always knew me best, Mama.”
She stared at him for a long moment. He could see a sort of misty, vague expression in her eye, a hint that in the not-too-distant future, her mind would wander more and more, until there was no trace left of Mary Willenshire, Dowager Duchess of Dunleigh.
But not yet. Sniffling, Alexander offered his arm.
“Come on, Mother. We have a wedding to get to.”
***
“You look beautiful,” Scarlett gushed, tweaking another of Abigail’s curls into place. “Doesn’t she, Mama?”
“Indeed she does,” Mrs. Atwater agreed, grinning complacently. “Didn’t I say that going away with Aunt Florence would be the making of you, Abbie? Didn’t I say it?”
No,Abigail wanted to shout, bewildered.No, you did not!
There didn’t seem much point, though, so she only smiled vaguely.
They were nearly there. The carriage taking them to the church was borrowed from Aunt Florence, who’d contributed a great deal to the wedding.
Aunt Florence was the one sitting next to Abigail, smiling quietly and saying nothing. Beatrix was joining them at the church.
To do her credit, Beatrix made no attempt to fuss over her previously ignored sister, unlike the rest of them. The engagement of Lord Alexander Willenshire, the infamous rake, to a quiet little spinsterish wallflower by the name of Abigail Atwater – with no money at all – had been the talk of the town, almost eclipsing Lord Donovan’s elopement with a married woman and Lady Diana Lockwell’s departure from the country altogether in an attempt to flee her debts.
“Once you’re settled in London,” Mrs. Atwater said, beaming, “you can have Scarlett stay with you. You can do a Season together! Won’t that be fun?”
She was saying it as if it were already decided. Glancing at her aunt, Abigail drew in a breath.
“I don’t think so, Mama.”
The smile faltered. “And why not?”
Scarlett had the grace not to meet Abigail’s eyes.
“Well,” Abigail said slowly, “Scarlett and I are not close. She can stay with me – you both can – but things are going to have to change. I’m not a wallflower anymore, Mama. I’m not the same person you knew.”
“I don’t see how that changes anything.”
“I tell you what,” Aunt Florence interrupted, leaning forward, “Why don’tItake Scarlett on a trip to London, like I did Abigail? Look at the success I had.”
Mrs. Atwater seemed relieved. “Yes, that would work.”
Scarlett looked somewhat nervous, and Abigail had to bite back a smile.
They reached the church shortly after, and Mrs. Atwater and her daughter hurried inside, leaving Aunt Florence and Abigail to see themselves in.
“How are you feeling?” Aunt Florence asked, tilting her head to one side. “You seem pensive.”
Abigail bit her lip. “I’m nervous.”
