Page 69 of Stealing the Rake's Heart
In two strides, her aunt was in front of her, grabbing her shoulders.
“Look, you silly girl, if you don’t marry Lord Donovan, you’ll regret it.”
“I’ll regret it if I do marry him!”
“Can’t you justthinkfor a moment? What will your life be like if you go home, hm? I took a risk in inviting you here, and you took a risk in accepting. I thought you would act more sensibly than this, Abigail. Be honest with me, what objections do you have against Lord Donovan, beyond the fact he isn’t Alexander?”
Abigail found herself taken aback by the question. “I…”
The truth was, she couldn’t think of any. She wasn’t attracted to Lord Donovan, and didn’t find him particularly interesting, but that wasn’t considered anything to consider in the Marriage Mart.
But when one came down to it, Aunt Florence was right.
Lord Graham Donovan was not Alexander, and that made all the difference.
She waited too long to reply, and Aunt Florence gave a growl of frustration and roughly released her.
“You are more stupid than I expected, Abigail. If I believed Alexander was serious, things would be different, but I know him. He is never serious. Why would he consider marriage now? If you must know, Lady Diana Lockwell broke his heart years ago, and it’s clear she’s set her cap at him this time around. If he’s going to marry anyone, he’ll marry her. You’re just a wallflower, my poor girl.”
That hurt. Abigail flinched, swallowing hard. She wrenched away, turning her back.
“That was unkind,” Aunt Florence said, after a pause. “I am sorry, Abigail.”
She shook her head, saying nothing. “I can’t marry him, Aunt Florence. I won’t.”
There was a long, pregnant silence. Aunt Florence let out a long, tired sigh.
“You’re of age, and I have no real authority over you. I can’t oblige you to do anything. Just know that Lord Donovan has my blessing as a suitor. If he makes a proposal and you refuse, that will end our trip.”
Abigail flinched again, turning to stare at her aunt. Part of her believed that Aunt Florence must be joking.
She wasn’t.
“I mean it, Abigail,” Aunt Florence said, her expression impassive. “I vouched for you. Please don’t be hurt when I say this, but somebody like you turning down a man like Lord Donovan will cause a stir when it gets out. I can assure you that it will get out. It will do no good for your reputation, and will make no sense to many people, least of all your family. I will be obliged to return you home as soon as possible.”
Abigail found her voice. “That isn’t fair.”
Aunt Florence shrugged. “That is Society, Abigail. The rules are strict and unforgiving. You are not a dazzling personality, or a beauty, or remarkably rich, and as such you will not be given any mercy if you break the rules. Believe me, I have been where you are. I was not rich or remarkably beautiful, and my character, although strong, was not what people considered ladylike. I married well, and it saved me in more ways than one. If I had let that opportunity slip away, I dread to imagine what my life would have been like. Now, I cannot and I will not insist on you doing anything, but those are the plain facts. I don’t want to bring you home unmarried – it feels like burying you alive.”
On that upsetting metaphor, Aunt Florence swept past her niece, head held high, and strode towards the house.
She did not look back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alex looked for Abigail Atwater, but there was no sign of her. Not in the library, or in the drawing room, or even wandering in the morning room. He even collared a passing servant and asked if Miss Atwater was in her room, and he was informed that she was not.
He wasn’t about to embarrass himself by asking just anyone where she was, but there was somebody who was likely to know.
“Mama?” Alexander asked, tapping on the door and poking his head into the morning-room.
“Ah, Alex,” Mary said, smiling and rising to her feet. “See how the rain comes down! I’m glad we had our picnic and our boat-rides first. It was a shame that poor Florence and Miss Atwater had to go home early.”
Alexander glanced at the rain drizzling down outside, as if seeing it for the first time.
“Yes, quite. Mother, do you know where Abigail is? Eh, Miss Atwater, I mean?”
Mary tilted her head to one side. “Why?”
