Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(73)

“No!”

Three pairs of eyes swiveled to Abigail.

She swallowed, feeling the hot flood of color rush her cheeks. “I…” She glanced down at the floor. It shouldn’t matter and yet she couldn’t bear the sight of proud, proper Geoffrey humbling himself outside the duke’s townhouse for all to see.

“Absolutely not,” Robert barked. “That blackguard isn’t to set foot in this house.” He waved a hand at Abigail. “It is Redbrooke’s fault you’re in this condition.”

With his gruff, commanding presence, he reminded her so much of her brothers.

“No,” she said quietly. Upon first awakening, she’d been filled with acrimonious rage over Geoffrey’s treatment. She would forever regret Geoffrey’s inconstancy, his unwillingness to see her as a woman who’d made a mistake with her heart…just as he’d done with Emma Marsh. But, as much as she longed to hate him, and blame him for the injuries she’d suffered, she could not fault him for putting her in the carriage that stormy night.

With the experience of life, she could regret decisions she’d made but she now knew she must accept the consequences of those decisions. Abigail could not fault Geoffrey or Alexander or anyone else for the mistakes she made.

And it had been a mistake to go to Geoffrey’s residence.

“Uncle,” Abigail began, turning to the duke. “I need to see him.” Unless she spoke to him, she would never be free to move forward. “He’ll not go unless I speak to him.”

He held her gaze, and then after a long while, a sigh escaped him. “Robert, have him shown in.”

Robert cursed. He held his father’s stare, but then gave a slight nod.

Abigail directed her attention to the window yet again.

“Beatrice, I require a word with Abigail,” the duke said to his daughter.

Beatrice hesitated, and then touched Abigail’s right hand. “He loves you, Abby,” she whispered for Abigail’s ears alone.

Abigail bit the inside of her cheek to keep from tossing out a denial. Geoffrey didn’t love her. He may have cared for her—at one time. But never love. His heart had been dead and buried with Miss Emma Marsh’s betrayal and his father’s death.

“He does,” Beatrice insisted. “I saw him, Abby and I’ve never witnessed greater despair than Lord Redbrooke the moment he saw you.”

“Beatrice,” the duke called.

She nodded. “He made a mistake, Abigail. But I believe, in my heart that he loves you.” Beatrice ran her gaze over Abigail’s face, and then hurried from the room.

Abigail stared after her, contemplating her cousin’s words. Geoffrey’s actions since the accident were surely motivated by nothing more than guilt.

The duke stood, and strode over to her. “You need to sit.”

“I do not—”

“Sit.” The stern ducal command brooked obedience.

Abigail sat.

“What would you like me to do?”

She blinked.

He spoke without preamble. “Do you want to wed him?”

Wed him? At one time she had. Once upon a time ago when she’d believed him to be a man of courage and strength who would brave scandal just to be with her. She shook her head. “He does not want to wed me.”

“If he offers for you—”

“He won’t,” she interrupted. The duke didn’t know the vile, hateful words Geoffrey had hurled at her in the foyer of his townhouse.

“If he does,” the duke continued. “I’d encourage you to consider his suit. I believe Beatrice is correct when she says the viscount does indeed care for you.”

She said nothing, grateful when he took his leave, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Abigail sat there, waiting for Geoffrey.

She would listen to him, and then she could begin to move on from the pained reminder of all she’d lost.





A gentleman should be committed to goals that he sets for himself.





4th Viscount Redbrooke




28

Rain poured from Geoffrey’s hat, and filled his eyes. He dashed the back of his hand over his face, blinking back the moisture. He tucked the small box he’d arrived with under his arm, and with bouquet in hand, pounded on the duke’s door.

It opened.

He stared wide-eyed, stunned by the unexpected admittance.

Fearing whoever had permitted him entry might change their mind, Geoffrey swiftly entered. With his free hand, he pulled off his drenched beaver hat and handed it over to the servant, who helped him from his cloak. Water sprayed the duke’s Italian marble floor.

Then Geoffrey froze. The Marquess Westfield stood at the base of the staircase, arms folded across his chest.

“Must you persist?” he snapped. “You’re a soaking mess and you’re making a bloody fool of yourself.”

Geoffrey’s mouth tightened. He’d not explain himself to Westfield. The words in his heart were reserved for Abigail. “I’d like to see Abigail.”

Westfield’s scowl deepened. “She doesn’t want to see you, Redbrooke. I’ve notified her each day since you’ve been here and every day she instructs me to send you on your way. Today is no exception.”