Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(71)

If she were truly strong and courageous she would have never humbled herself at Geoffrey’s feet on that stormy night.

A sudden onset of guilt besieged her as she silently confronted the shame of all the turmoil she’d visited upon her uncle and his family, and for what? A man who didn’t love her? A gentleman who had treated her like the refuse upon his boots?

The duke had taken her in, treated her as another daughter, and she’d repaid that kindness with the scandal of her past and the recklessness in going to Geoffrey.

Abigail embraced her burning resentment because it kept her from weeping useless little tears for a man not deserving of those salty droplets.

“Would you care to speak of him?” the duke said quietly. The hiss and pop of the embers within the hearth filled the quiet.

Not of the stormy night, but rather, him.

Geoffrey.

No. She’d rather bury the memory of Geoffrey with all the other painful, shameful sins of her past. Instead she said, “There is nothing to speak about.”

“It is my understanding he turned you away.”

Her uncle would not let the matter rest. Abigail turned her head, and looked toward the heavily curtained windows. “Yes, he did.” Geoffrey had more than turned her away; with his vitriol he’d reduced her to the broken and shamed creature she’d resolved never to be again after Alexander’s betrayal. She cringed in shamed remembrance.

“If Redbrooke hadn’t sent you away…”

“But he did,” she said with a steely rage she’d not felt even after Alexander’s betrayal. She didn’t want to speak of Geoffrey. I can’t.

She wanted to begin throwing bits of dirt upon the memory of him until he was nothing more than a dream of what-ifs.

Her uncle leaned over and touched her hand. “I believe he does care for you, Abigail.”

Abigail looked away a moment. She winced as pain radiated out from her forehead and raced down the side of her cheek, and along her jawline. I should not have gone to him.

She wondered if in the light of a new day, if he’d had time to reflect, would Geoffrey have been more forgiving?

The memory of him as he’d been— hard, unyielding, with, his stiffly held shoulders and a flinty expression in his blue-green eyes confirmed the emptiness of that possibility. No, she thought with more hurt than he deserved. His reaction would not have been different.

Abigail took a deep breath. “I should never have gone to him.” For so many reasons. “I just…”

“You just love him, Abigail.”

She closed her eyes again. “I am so very sorry,” she whispered. For too many things to put to words. “I repaid your kindness with this great scandal.” She seemed incapable of bringing anything but shame to those she loved.

“Abigail, I’m a duke. My family is capable of weathering far greater scandals than this.” Ducal arrogance leant credibility to his words.

Her throat worked under a swell of emotion. Her uncle’s leniency did little to assuage the guilt of her past and present wrongs. In her need to see Geoffrey, she’d set out without a thought to the consequences of being discovered…consequences which would only hurt Beatrice.

He said nothing for a long while, and then he let out a long sigh. “Your mother has proven there is no logic when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Mama, who had braved her family’s scorn, the stinging censure of her social peers, and began a life anew, in a new country, all for the love of a man. Except, Mama’s world had unfolded like the sweetest bloom in spring; bright and vibrant and joyous.

Her lips twisted.

Love hadn’t been as kind to Abigail.

“I do believe, Abigail,” her uncle began quietly. “That he did, perhaps still does love you.”

No, Geoffrey had never loved her. He’d never given her those three beautiful words…and it had not mattered. All that had mattered is that he’d been willing to trust again, and laugh again after his own heart had been shattered.

“Perhaps,” she said, flatly. She thought of Alexander’s desire for her wealth, which had mattered so much more than a life with her. Gentlemen were inconstant. Alexander, now Geoffrey had proven as much.

Her uncle opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He rose. “I will send for the doctor, Abigail. And your cousins have been riddled with worry. May I send them in?”

“Of course,” she murmured.

As he took his leave, Abigail stared at the closed door, foolishly wishing love had been enough, this time.





A gentleman should not conduct himself in a way that earns Polite Society’s censure.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



27

With his free hand, Geoffrey pounded on the front door of the Duke of Somerset’s townhouse. The nobles passing by in their fashionable phaetons and upon horseback, halted, mouths agape, as Geoffrey darkened the duke’s doorstep for the seventh day in a row.

The butler pulled the door open and wordlessly, Geoffrey held his card out.

The servant looked down his nose at the card, but made no attempt to take it. “Miss Stone is not receiving guests.” He started to close the door.

Geoffrey stuck his booted foot inside the door-jamb, halting the man’s efforts. He squared his jaw. “I’d like to see the Duke of Somerset.”