Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(79)

“She is,” he said, his voice hollow.

“You must go to her.”

Geoffrey pulled his hand free, and climbed to his feet. “I did go to her, Sophie.” He dragged a hand through his mussed hair, and proceeded to pace a small path in front of his desk.

“And?” she prodded.

“And the gentleman she loved,” Loves. “Has come for her. It would seem some kind of misunderstanding occurred.” He grimaced.

Misunderstanding. One seemingly innocuous word. Yet, it represented the death of Geoffrey’s dreams

Sophie wrinkled her nose as though she’d taken in a distinctly unpleasant odor. “A misunderstanding?”

After Geoffrey had handed Abigail over to her brother’s arms, he’d fled but not before he deduced that some manner of lie had been told to separate Abigail and Powers. Odd to think if that one untruth hadn’t been perpetuated, then Abigail would have never come to London and Geoffrey would have never lost his heart to her generous, spirited hands.

Even suffering as he was, he could not bring himself to regret having met her.

Instead, Geoffrey would have to find solace in knowing Abigail was once again happy—even if that joy came in the arms of another man.

His heart lurched.

Oh god, this would destroy him.

His sister sat back on her heels. “Hmph.” She tapped her finger alongside her jaw. “Well, there is nothing for it. You must fight for her.”

Geoffrey froze mid-movement. Could he fight for her? At one time, Geoffrey had believed nothing mattered more than his pride and honor. What Sophie proposed would require him to set aside all those aspects of his character, and humble himself in the vain hope that Abigail would forget her love for Powers, and…

His breath died on a long sigh. “No, Sophie.”

Her cornflower blue eyes went wide in her face. “But…”

“No,” he said, this time more adamantly. He’d caused Abigail enough pain. She’d been bruised and battered and nearly killed because of Geoffrey’s faithlessness. He remembered back to that miserable night when she’d stood before him, pleadingly in his foyer. A good deal of her suffering had transcended physical wounds. “I cannot.”

Sophie stood, with fire snapping in her eyes. “Then you do not truly love her.” With a flounce of her curls she turned around and stormed toward the door.

Denial tore from him, harsh and guttural. “Don’t.” He could imagine how someone such as Sophie believed him incapable of that emotion. Geoffrey had been an utter bastard to Sophie over the years. “I cannot cause her more pain,” he said at last.

Sophie spun to face him. Her gaze moved over his face. “Oh, Geoffrey,” she whispered.

He looked away, hating that he’d become an object of his sister’s pity.

“Please, let me help you.”

Unless she could convince Abigail differently of the feelings she carried in her heart, then nothing could be done. His throat moved up and down. “I do not deserve your kindness, Sophie.” Not after the great hurt he’d done his family all those years ago on a different road, on a different thunderous night.

“You are my brother,” she said simply. “I love you. Now, we must devise a plan.”

“No,” he said.

Her widened eyes indicated she heard the finality in that succinct utterance.

She folded her arms across her chest, a determined glint in her eyes. Then, she nodded once. “Very well, Geoffrey. But this is not done.”

He stared at her as she took her leave.

It was done.

It had been done the moment Alexander Powers entered the Duke of Somerset’s parlor.





A gentleman should always be punctual.

4th Viscount Redbrooke



31

Abigail stared down at her packed trunks and valises. They rested in an orderly heap at the foot of her bed. Her maid, Sally, continued to pull garment after garment from the armoire, and lay them upon the coverlet of Abigail’s four-poster bed.

He’d not come.

He’d not returned for her.

Pain twisted Abigail’s heart, and she drew in a deep, shuddery breath.

Odd, how very similar this moment was to another. Abigail stood, numb while Sally moved to place the remaining gowns inside the trunks.

Abigail folded her arms across her middle. Only this time, she’d not been forced away in shame. She’d chosen to leave.

Nothing remained for her here. There was no life in England without Geoffrey. His world had very clearly resumed its proper, practical course—a course that did not include the shameful, American Abigail Stone.

The door opened.

Abigail glanced over distractedly. Her cousin stood at the front of the room. Her wide, blue eyes filled with sadness tugged at Abigail’s already broken heart.

“Oh, Abby, you mustn’t leave,” Beatrice said softly.

Abigail picked up her silver comb and brush. She turned the delicate pieces over to Sally who accepted them, and rushed over to another trunk and began to pack Abigail’s accessories.

“I must,” Abigail murmured.

Beatrice walked over to Abigail. She stopped several feet away, and ran her gaze over Abigail’s face. “Is it because you love Mr. Powers?” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Because I did believe that perhaps you loved Lord Redbrooke.”