The Brooding Duke Of Danforth. Christine Merrill

it.’

      ‘And if you had not jilted the Duke of Danforth, we might have been invited here in the first place.’

      There was some truth to that. But if she had married the Duke like everyone had wanted her to, she’d have made everyone happy but herself. After years of keeping the peace by putting her own needs behind those of the family, Abby had not been able to manage it. ‘The Countess of Comstock seems prepared to forgive me on that account. Perhaps, some day, you will as well.’ She sat down at the dressing table, removed her soggy bonnet and began pulling out pins so she might properly dry her hair. ‘For now, I mean to do as she suggested and prepare for dinner. I have no intention of hiding in my room to avoid one man.’ Even if she wanted to, now that they were in the same house, she doubted she could prolong the inevitable meeting for more than a day or two. It would be easier to get it over with quickly.

      ‘Have you no shame at all?’

      ‘I have nothing to be ashamed of. I am not the one travelling about England with a mistress always in tow.’

      ‘Do not be ridiculous.’ Her mother tutted. ‘You could not possibly do so because you are a young lady.’

      Abby sighed again. ‘As usual, you are missing the point.’

      ‘I am ignoring it,’ her mother replied. ‘That is what a decent young girl would do, when given the opportunity to marry a man of such stature.’

      ‘Then I am sorry to be such a disappointment,’ Abby countered. ‘Despite all your efforts to the contrary, you have raised an abomination.’

      It was fortunate that she had not expected a denial after that proclamation, for none came. ‘I knew there were too many books in the house. But your father insisted you be educated. And now look at you.’

      Abigail smiled into the mirror. ‘Despite the rain, I do look quite well today, thank you.’

      ‘You know that is not what I meant.’ Now Mama was positively huffing with indignation.

      ‘I am what I am,’ Abby announced. Though, in her heart of hearts the fact frustrated her even more than it did her parents. Life would be so much easier if she were anyone else. ‘If I could not manage to ignore Danforth’s mistress before we were to be married, it would have been just as hard, after. I saved us all from future unhappiness.’ In truth, it had been nothing more than a brief reprieve. Despite her mother’s belief she was without shame, she had been far too embarrassed to question the Countess as to whether the Duke had come alone or brought Lady Beverly with him. Tonight, she might have to face her worst nightmare at dinner. She would have to share a table with the two people in England she had never wanted to see again. At the thought, her stomach clenched. Perhaps she could excuse herself early, for she doubted that she could eat a bite, feeling as she did.

      ‘I am more concerned with the past than the future. The least you could do is apologise to him for the trouble you have caused,’ her mother said with a note of pleading in her voice.

      ‘Since a lady has a right to change her mind, I have nothing to apologise for,’ she replied, ignoring the niggling fact that there had been many less embarrassing ways to call an end to the engagement. Instead, she had chosen to make a spectacle of him. She felt even worse knowing that she had earned any punishment society decided to inflict.

      Her mother deserved some small share as well for putting her in this situation, so she added, ‘I will endeavour to avoid him so as not to make things worse. And, since you were no doubt hoping when we barged in here that we might find me a husband, I will set my cap for the first fellow I see on the ground floor. Then Danforth can keep his mistress and I can keep house somewhere else. The whole matter will be settled by morning.’

      At this, her mother’s lip began to tremble, a signal that her brief show of courage was over. ‘Abigail Prescott, you will not flirt with a stranger under the nose of the man you spurned. If you humiliate me again, I do not know what I shall do.’

      She would probably cry, in public or private. If Abby was the cause of those tears, she would be no better than Father was. She rose and went to her mother, taking her hands and giving them a comforting squeeze. ‘I was jesting, Mama. It was cruel and I am sorry. While we are here, I shall be on my best behaviour. Since I refused to marry one total stranger, I promise you I will not be flirting with another.’

      ‘He was not a stranger. He was a duke. Everyone in England knows him,’ her mother said with a wail, still mourning the loss of Danforth. ‘What more did you need to know?’

      ‘What else could I possibly need to know but his title?’ she said with an ironic smile that was lost on her mother.

      There were myriad answers to that question. His favourite colour. Whether he preferred coffee or tea with breakfast. If he had a dog. There were a hundred things she wished to know about him that she had not learned. The most important of them was what had motivated him to offer for her in the first place.

      She pushed them all to the back of her mind and tried to give her mother a sincere smile of encouragement. ‘Since he was not particularly interested in me during our engagement and has made no effort to speak with me after, I doubt he will want to acknowledge my existence, much less trail me around the house interfering in my doings. I am sure we will both feel better if I ring for a maid to get us out of our wet clothes and changed for dinner. Then we will go downstairs and meet the other guests, and I will prove to you that things will not be as terrible as you fear.’

       Chapter Two

      Benedict stood patiently in the finest guestroom of Comstock Manor as his valet dressed him for dinner. When he’d arrived, the Earl had told him that it was a former repose for King Henry VIII.

      He had seen better.

      Until recently, Comstock had been an American. It was quite possible that he knew little to nothing about the house or its previous guests and had made the story up out of whole cloth. Still, it was comfortable enough. The mattress was not a Tudor antique and he slept well on it.

      ‘Chin up, Your Grace.’

      He obliged as Gibbs flipped the linen cravat about his neck and began the knot.

      There was a single knock on the door and, as usual, it opened and closed before he could even give his permission for entrance. He watched in the mirror before him as Lenore crossed the room to sprawl among the pillows on his bed.

      ‘You should not be here,’ he reminded her with a sigh. ‘Especially not during the day when anyone might notice.’

      In response, she laughed in the deep, throaty way that made heads turn and breeches tighten. After twenty-two years of exposure, he had developed some immunity to it. ‘Might notice? Darling, I made sure that they did. I would much rather that people think I am with you than that they realise what I really get up to on these trips. I doubt some of them could stand the shock.’

      Despite himself, he laughed. The movement of his head earned an annoyed grunt from Gibbs, who tossed away the spoiled neckcloth and went to the wardrobe for a replacement.

      He took advantage of the respite to turn from the mirror and address her directly. ‘You know that I would never deny sanctuary to a lady in distress, especially when she is my best and oldest friend. But some day, it might be interesting to go on a trip where I do not have to be the last bulwark between you and disgrace.’

      She answered with a shrug and a smile, and, as usual, no promise to change in the slightest.

      ‘Do I want to know who you have been visiting when you are pretending to be with me?’

      She shook her head. ‘It is better that you do not. But my liaison will pale in comparison with the scandal about to break at supper tonight.’

      ‘Do tell,’ he said, taking care not to move as Gibbs began the new knot.

      ‘The