Page 63 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
So, they would lean against the wall for support, shifting and fidgeting, afraid of what awaited them behind the door.
I am not like him. I’m not. I’m not hiscreature.
Abruptly, William flew out from behind his desk, diving over to the velvet bell-pull in the corner. He hauled on it and paced up and down in front of the fireplace while he waited impatiently for a response.
When a footman finally answered the summons, William snapped at him immediately.
“I don’t like this room.”
The poor man blinked, bewildered. “I… what do you mean, your Grace? Does it require airing? Dusting, perhaps? The maids were in here only yesterday, but not…”
“No, no,” William interrupted, shaking his head. “I want a different room as my study.”
The man recoiled, as if William had suggested that instead of wearing livery, all the footmen would simply walk around naked.
“But, your Grace, this room has always been the Duke of Dunleigh’s study. For generation. Even your late father had…”
“Yes, yes, I know that! I know that, and I’m telling you I want a different room as my study. Today. Fetch the butler, and some of the other footmen. You’ll need help.”
Looking confused and a little afraid, the footman scurried off to find help. William let out a long breath. He dug into his pocket, feeling the familiar curve of the locket there. He imagined the initials engraved on the pendant. Lavinia Brookford.
I am not like him. I will never be like him. I won’t let it happen. I won’t, I won’t!
Chapter Twenty
“There is nothing better to distract people from an upsetting like a picnic, I think,” Lord Donovan remarked, drawing Abigail’s arm through his with a grin. “I imagine that is why the Dowager suggested it.”
Abigail smiled weakly. She didn’t bother to point out that the picnic had been Aunt Florence’s idea.
The events of last night had shook everybody. For a few awful moments, Abigail had been sure that Lord Grey was going to punch somebody in the face, and there was a good chance the somebody might have been Alexander.
Everybody was talking about it this morning, of course. Lord Hamish Grey was nowhere to be seen, and the Duke had tightly confirmed that Lord Grey had left early that morning. He didn’t say that he’d been forced to leave, but everybody knew that was the case.
They also knew that Alexander had invited Lord Grey, as his personal guest and long-time friend, and people had plenty to say about that, too.
And so, Aunt Florence had suggested to the Dowager that they go on a picnic by the lake, since it was a fine day, to distract everybody.
In the light of day, Lord Grey’s behaviour was less frightening than it had been. People loved scandal, after all, and Abigail imagined that it would blow over fairly quickly. It would not beforgotten,naturally, that was a different thing, but still.
They were all walking up from the house to the valley beyond, with footmen and maids carrying picnic baskets and blankets ahead. It was a fine view, Abigail was told, and if it hadn’t been so clear to her that Lord Donovan was going to spend every minute of the afternoon with her, she might have enjoyed it a lot more.
“I was surprised that his lordship joined us this morning,” Lord Donovan commented under his breath. “I should be ashamed to show my face.”
And I should be ashamed to have run away from a drunk man without even waiting to see that the ladies and older gentlemen were safe first,Abigail thought, but did not say it. A few minutes passed, and she started to wish that shehadsaid it.
Abruptly, the path they were following opened up onto a sloping, grassy bank, which provided a view of a wide, still lake, purplish mountains beyond, and a neat little wooden pier, to which various small boats were moored. People spread out to take in the view, exclaiming and smiling to each other.
The footmen got to work, spreading out the blankets and setting out the food. A good amount of fine wine had been brought out, and generous glasses were poured.
She spotted Alexander at the edge of the picnic spot, with Diana’s arm hooked firmly through his, weighing him down like an anchor. He looked tired, she thought. Diana met Abigail’s eye and pursed her lips. Abruptly, she had turned Alexander around, pointedly pulling him down on the blanket furthest away from the one Abigail and Lord Donovan were standing beside.
She was obliged to sit down but found herself staring at Alexander still. He was pale, and there were dark circles around his eyes. He seemed distracted, not his usual, bubbly self. She found herself remembering how he’d smiled and laughed during the game of charades, playing the fool to make the others laugh.
To makeherlaugh.
A lump rose in Abigail’s throat.
“Now,” Aunt Florence boomed out, voice echoing easily across the party, “Our dear Mary has suggestedboat rideson the lake.”
