Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(80)

Abigail shook her head. “I…” She took a deep breath. “No. It is not because of Alexander.”

Beatrice picked up one of Abigail’s butterfly jewel-encrusted combs and moved it back and forth between her two hands. She wandered over to Abigail’s bed littered with gowns, and sat upon the only empty corner. “I did believe you would wed Lord Redbrooke.” She glanced up from the combs in her hand. “Did you not want to wed him?”

Abigail swallowed. Her gaze slipped over to the now wilted bouquet in the large porcelain vase upon her mantle. “I did want to wed him. He…”

Does not love me.

Never came back for me.

Was merely motivated by a gentlemanly sense of honor and guilt.

“He…” Her words ended on a sigh. “It’s not to be, Beatrice.”

Beatrice settled back in her seat, hopelessly wrinkling the golden satin gown beside her. “I do not like this forlorn side of you.”

Sally reached for the unopened box Geoffrey had left behind at his last visit. Her maid placed the oddly shaped package into a trunk. “No!” Abigail exclaimed. She felt herself coloring. “Uh…that is just, thank you,” she said, and rushed over to remove the small item from the trunk.

Beatrice cocked her head and studied the box. “What is it?”

Abigail shrugged. “I don’t know. Lord Redbrooke brought it the day he called, and…”

“You never opened it?” Beatrice snorted. “I believe you are the only woman in all the kingdom who’d fail to open a gift.”

Abigail looked down at the package. It’s not that she didn’t want to open it, per se. She did. Rather desperately. It wouldn’t, however, in light of Geoffrey’s rejection, be proper to retain the unopened gift. She’d been meaning to have it delivered to his townhouse with a very informal, polite letter. But she’d never gotten herself round to doing it.

Perhaps because the minute the flowers wilted and the box was gone, it would be the end of something that almost was.

She sighed and set the box down on her vanity. “Will you see that it is delivered to him, Beatrice?”

Beatrice rushed to her feet. “You’d merely return it?”

Abigail nodded. “It is the right thing to do.” After all, it would be the height of impropriety to accept a gift from a gentleman.

Beatrice propped her hands on her hips and tapped her foot on the floor. “Bahh, love is wasted on you and Lord Redbrooke! The two of you are a perfect match.” She threw her hands up in an air of resignation and marched over to the door.

Beatrice yanked it open with great force and stumbled into Nathaniel.

Abigail’s brother stood poised, hand raised as if he’d intended to rap on the wood panel.

“Forgive me,” Beatrice muttered, and slipped by him.

Nathaniel gave his head a bemused shake. “What was that about, poppet?”

She shook her head. “I’m a bit old to be called poppet.”

He crossed over and tweaked her nose. “You’ll always be poppet.”

It appeared her brother still viewed her as the same young girl she’d been; the one who’d chased after him, and put spiders in his boots, and ink in his tea. He somehow had seemed able to look past the scandal and simply see his sister—Abby Stone.

Nathaniel surveyed the room, and seemed to do a kind of inventory of the stacked trunks and valises. “It appears you’re nearly packed.”

She attempted to swallow, with little success. Instead, she nodded.

Nathaniel motioned for her to sit.

He clasped his hands behind his back. “When I journeyed here, Abby, I did so with the intention of reuniting you and Alexander. I expected you’d reconcile, and we would return. The three of us. It isn’t that simple, is it?”

It hadn’t been that simple in very many years. “No,” she whispered.

“You love him?”

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I do.”

“If you wed him, then you’ll have to remain here, and there is nothing more I would hate in the world than to board my ship and sail away knowing that this is where you’ll spend the rest of your days.”

“Well, you needn’t worry, because he has no intentions of wedding me.” If Geoffrey’s offer that day had been a serious one, he would have returned for her. Now, it appeared his proposal had been driven out of his misplaced sense of guilt, and when Alexander had returned, Geoffrey had been relieved of that responsibility.

“The duke informed me that Redbrooke made you an offer.”

Her mind raced. Geoffrey had spoken to the duke?

“Apparently a well-placed servant happened to overhear your conversation, before mine and Alexander’s arrival.”

She blinked. “Oh.” Her fingers plucked at the smooth fabric of the coverlet.

Silence fell, punctuated by Sally’s determined feet, as she padded across the floor packing up Abigail’s trunks.

“Abby?” Her brother said at last.

She looked up at him.

“Would you be willing to give up your family? Mama and Papa, and your brothers and sister all for Redbrooke?”

When Abigail had first journeyed to England, she’d believed there could be no greeter pain than the loss of her family’s presence in her life.