Page 28 of Scoundrel for Sale
“Oh, do shut up.”
Abbie froze upon hearing a voice that was as familiar as it was unwelcome. She glanced across the carriage, and her suspicions were confirmed.
“Nigel, this is an outrage! What on earth are you doing?”
“Negotiating. Don’t you think it’s time to put this silly misunderstanding behind us?”
She lifted her chin. “This is entirely inappropriate. Considering you are suing me, I do not wish to speak to you without my barrister present.”
“Yes, well, you may convey my offer to your barrister.”
She cut her eyes to him warily. “What offer?”
Nigel’s smile reminded her of a cat toying with its prey. “I think you saw today that this proceeding is not going to go well for you.”
Abbie stiffened but said nothing.
“George left you four thousand pounds in your annuity,” Nigel continued. “Which produces enough income for you to live on. But not if you have to spend down the principle.” Nigel leaned forward, enunciating his words so she could not fail to escape their meaning. “You will be destitute. In a year, perhaps two, you will have nothing. Unless…”
“I will not give you what you want,” Abbie snapped. “You have stolen someone’s legacy. And what is most ghastly, you know it, yet you will do nothing to make things right. Some of us have principles.”
“Principles.” Nigel made a sound of mock admiration. “A wonderful thing, to be sure. But principles, Abigail, will not put a roof over your head nor food on your table. I wonder what you will have to do to survive once they are the only thing you have left. Something, I fear, that violates those cherished principles.”
Abbie’s spine stiffened. She knew exactly what Nigel was implying, that once she had lost everything else, a woman had only one thing she could sell. How on earth had her life been reduced to this? She was the daughter of an earl, and she had married a peer.
And yet, here she was, friendless and alone, and on the brink of destitution.
She bit her lip to stop it from quivering. She would not rise to Nigel’s bait, nor would she give in to despair. “You said you had a proposal for me. Tell me this instant, or I am getting out of this carriage.”
“It has occurred to me that it is time to bring you back into the fold.” Nigel’s eyes strayed down and came to linger flagrantly, lasciviously, on Abbie’s bosom. “Marry me, return the dower house—and its full contents—to the Dulson estate, and let’s forget about this whole sordid business.”
“You are the last man I would ever marry!” Abbie spat. She rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Stop! Let me out!”
“My lord?” the coachman called from his place on the box.
“It’s all right, John,” Nigel said with a wave of his hand. “Our conversation has concluded.”
The carriage pulled to the curb. Abbie worked the latch with hands that shook and wrenched the door open, not bothering to wait for the footmen. She stumbled out onto the pavement in her haste to escape.
“Think about what I have said,” Nigel called, leaning forward so he could glare at her from inside the carriage.
Abbie made a slashing motion. “I have already given you my answer.”
“I will give you one week to properly consider it. If you do not accept it in that time, you may consider it withdrawn.” Nigel’s eyes were hard as he added, “And you will face the consequences of your decision alone.”
A footman closed the door and the carriage pulled away, leaving Abbie standing on the pavement as a light drizzle fell, her chest heaving as if she’d run all the way from the Palace of Westminster.
She glanced around. Nigel had deposited her just outside of Green Park.
Green Park seemed as good a place as any to contemplate her impending penury. The dreary weather meant that the park wasn’t crowded. And so, she spent the next hour wandering listlessly down the graveled paths, turning her problems over and over in her head. Her options were few, and each more unappealing than the last.
Uncle Edmond was the only family she had left. She doubted he would take her in, but if he did, the constant remarks about how she was a drain upon the family’s resources would make her life a misery.
She could keep up the legal fight, but for how long? At the rate expenses were currently accumulating, her nest egg would be gone before the year was out. And once her money was gone, she would have to make some hard choices. Perhaps she could find work as a governess, or as a paid companion, rather than having to become some man’s mistress. Although honestly, Abbie had seen enough of the world to know that a young, somewhat pretty woman in those positions was regarded as sexually available by whatever men were part of the household. For many women, the positions of courtesan and governess had a surprising degree of overlap in job duties. The best-case scenario would be if she could find a rich dowager who lived on her own, but she could think of no such friend or acquaintance who might want a companion.
The only other possibility was finding a rich man to marry.
Abbie laughed blackly at that absurd idea. She might have once had enough youthful charm to catch a man’s eye. But that felt like a lifetime ago. Now she felt about as lively as a funeral. The notion that she could snare a rich man felt preposterous enough, but to do so in the space of one week?
