Secret Confessions 0f The Enticing Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 10

  Lady Rosaline's eyes traveled around the room before she landed upon Abigail, giving her a wide, smug smile.

  “I see you’re busy today,” she took a step closer. “I do hope you will have enough time for my fitting.” Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked around the room, her arm firmly ensconced in the Duke's elbow.

  “O-of course,” Abigail mumbled, feeling as though her heart would beat right out of her chest.

  She fumbled among her fabrics, looking for the blood-red gown. Her fingers trembled minutely as she searched, and she bit her lip to keep them from doing the same. The familiar warmth and smell of her mother coming to stand beside her, had her turning her head. Her mother was holding the gown out to her, face somber. Abigail stretched her lips in a parody of a smile and took the gown, turning to Lady Rosaline.

  “Follow me,” she turned towards the dressing rooms, which were merely a corner of the shop, cordoned off by a curtain. Lady Rosaline smiled again and followed her, performing for her audience by sashaying slowly from side to side, nodding at acquaintances, and even waving. The crowd parted to let her through, probably feeling that this was a better show than any at Drury Lane.

  She entered the changing room, with Lady Rosaline bracing herself for anything. She was sure that Lady Rosaline was here to declare war, and whether she liked it or not, she would have to fight back. She took a deep breath, shaking the dress out and displaying it for Lady Rosaline’s benefit. She barely looked at the gown before fixing her eyes on Abigail.

  “Hmm. Is this the best you can do?” her mouth twisted in a sneer.

  Abigail looked down at the gown and then back up at Lady Rosaline. “It was done exactly to your specifications. Perhaps if you tell me what you're not satisfied with I can correct it.”

  “Humph. I doubt you have the expertise to do that. Clearly, I made a mistake in choosing you as my dressmaker. Your workmanship is shoddy at best. I shall be taking my business elsewhere from now on.”

  Abigail sighed inwardly, trying not to roll her eyes. “As you wish, My Lady.”

  Lady Rosaline frowned, whirled on her heel and stormed out of the dressing room. Abigail followed more slowly, folding the gown as she did so. She heard Lady Rosaline demand that they leave, doing it much too brown, as she hustled the Duke out the door.

  The shop erupted in excited twittering and Abigail escaped to the back, needing a moment to herself.

  She was breathing into her mother’s shawl, her face flying its colors as she tried to get herself back under control. She had barely pulled herself together when she heard shouting out in the main shop. She paused, listening, recognizing Lady Rosaline’s voice. She frowned, hearing the accusing tone of it as she demanded that Abigail show herself.

  She stood up slowly, took a deep breath, and walked out into the main shop where she found Lady Rosaline haranguing her mother, the Duke standing aside, wearing a deep frown of disapproval.

  “What seems to be the matter?” she said sharply, cutting Lady Rosaline off mid-harangue.

  “Where is my ring?” Lady Rosaline cried, shooting accusing glances at Abigail.

  Abigail’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Where is my ring?” Lady Rosaline was practically screeching while fans about the shop waved at high speed, signaling their owner’s excitement, “I had it with me when I walked in here and now it’s gone. You stole it from me. You’re nothing but a bunch of thieves!”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped open and the Duke stepped forward.

  “Now, now, Lady Rosaline, you cannot say such things without any proof,” he said.

  Abigail gawped at him as well, unable to believe he was lending credence to Lady Rosaline’s words.

  “Perhaps you dropped the ring in the changing room,” he continued, oblivious to Abigail’s ire, “Did you think of that?”

  Abigail nodded along, looking from Lady Rosaline to Percival.

  “No!” Lady Rosaline screamed, “She stole it. She stole it because she is jealous of me. Don’t you see?”

  The Duke tried to put his hand on Lady Rosaline’s arm and calm her down, but she shook him off and continued to demand that Abigail produce the ring.

  “I-I don’t have your ring. Let me look in the changing room for you.” She took a step toward the curtained corner, but Lady Rosaline blocked her way.

  “Look for it, or put it back there? You are a thief. Admit it. Admit it I say!” her voice had reached a high crescendo.

  “I have taken nothing of yours.” Abigail declared.

  Lady Rosaline sneered. “Nothing?” she hissed, venom in every syllable as her eyes cut to the Duke.

  Abigail stood her ground, glaring back. “Nothing,” she declared with absolute dignity.

  “You are shameless!” Lady Rosaline cried, and the Duke stepped in to try to hold her back as she flew at Abigail.

  “What is going on here?”

  The crowd of spectators turned as one to the new voice at the door, as a tall man, the masculine older version of Lady Rosaline, strode into the shop.

  “Father! This...Philistine has stolen my ring and she won’t give it back!” Lady Rosaline cried, pointing accusingly at Abigail.

  “We have no evidence of that,” the Duke cut in.

  “Are you calling my daughter a liar?” the Earl demanded.

  The Duke grimaced, shaking his head, “I merely pointed out that her accusation is conjecture at this point and she might have lost the ring anywhere. I myself do not recall seeing it before we came into the shop.”

  “So, you are calling my daughter a liar?”

  The Duke sighed in exasperation and then Philip was striding in, taking in the scene with one glance. He glared at the Duke before coming to stand between Abigail and everyone else.

  “If you have an issue with these ladies, you will take it up with me,” he declared, glaring equally between Lady Rosaline’s father and the Duke, “this is a place of business and you are disrupting the flow. Shall we take this outside?” he began to herd them toward the door amid Lady Rosaline’s continued protestations.

  “She must give me back what is mine!”

  Abigail had a feeling she was not talking about a piece of jewelry.

  * * *

  “Well...that was exciting,” Joan declared once the shop had emptied and they had closed up for the day.

  “If you say so, Mother,” Abigail slumped on the sofa, clutching at her bowl of broth as if it might solve all her problems. She took a sip, focusing on replenishing her energy. If asked, she would declare that this had been the longest day in history.

  “Thank God for Philip,” Joan said, taking a seat beside her and spooning her own broth.

  “Mm-hmm,” Abigail said, her mouth filled with broth.

  “I don’t know what we would have done without him.”

  Abigail swallowed, “It doesn’t matter, Mother. The damage has been done.”

  Joan regarded her with narrowed eyes, “No, honey, you will not get blue-deviled over this. It was not your fault.”

  “Not my fault that I shall be the talk at every dinner table and ton assembly this week? Indeed, not. But it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “Come. Finish your broth and we shall go home. I do hope this has dissuaded you from your plan of agreeing to the Duke’s proposition?”

  Abigail shrugged. “We are about to lose a lot of business because of this scandal, Mother. There is no way I could say no to him now.”

  “Forget about the business. We shall manage somehow. We always have. After all, we are not ladies, afraid of manual labor, are we?”

  Abigail shook her head slowly and tried to smile, if only to reassure her mother. “No, we are not.”

  “Well then, rinse your bowl and let us go home.”

  * * *

  Percival was torn between mortification and amusement at what had happened in Abigail’s shop. On one hand, he felt that he should have expected Lady Rosaline to do something of the kind.
On the other hand...he was quite proud of how Abigail had handled the whole affair—with class and poise as if she were the true lady and Lady Rosaline a doxy.

  He snorted, remembering how Lady Rosaline had screeched loudly and stamped her foot and demanded. She really was quite the spoiled little chit. He had not been impressed by her behavior.

  I may have to rethink on her suitability as my bride.

  Chapter 12

  Three’s a Crowd

  Percival pondered whether to send his steward, Sherwood, with compensation for Abigail and her mother or whether he should take it himself. Being in proximity of the shop would undoubtedly fuel all the talk that was already spreading like wildfire through the ton. However, he needed to see for himself that Abigail was all right. She had put on a good front but he knew that every word must have felt like a knife to the chest. He did not want her to think that he supported Lady Rosaline’s stance, or believed her accusations.

  He nodded, preparing to stand up and leave for Bond Street when his aunt came in the room. He sighed tiredly, preparing himself for the inevitable harangue.

  “Aunt Martha, what may I do for you today?” he settled back in his seat.

  She sat down with a sigh, rearranging her skirts with short, sharp movements that let him know that she was in high dudgeon.

  “I fear we are the subject of talk this day,” she began sadly. “I heard tell that the modiste that caught your eye had the audacity to steal from Lady Rosaline today.”

  Percival rolled his eyes, “No one stole from her, Aunt. It was all a misunderstanding.”

  “Is that so? I heard differently.”

  “No jewelry was found on Miss Thorne’s person and there was no evidence that she had ever had any in her possession. Lady Rosaline was simply being hysterical.”

  “Humph. Do not be too quick to dismiss her concerns, Your Grace. These people are not like us. They are dishonest, thieving, malcontents who will gull you of your last penny if you let them.”

  Percival snorted, letting his amusement show. “Don’t you think you are doing it much too brown right now, Aunt?”

  “I am simply telling you the truth, Percival. You would do well to heed my words.”

  Percival merely shook his head. He decided that he would venture to the shop himself. He needed to see Abigail and get their situation resolved. He did not know how, but he was willing to try.

  * * *

  “What kind of threat does this girl pose to our daughter’s future?” the Earl asked Vivian as they took a nightcap together.

  His wife laughed, “She is but a dressmaker, Benedict. What threat could she possibly pose?”

  “She has already caused disruption in Rosaline's life. Shall we just sit back and wait to see what else she can do?”

  “What would you like to do?”

  The Earl shook his head, “Well, for one thing, I intend to find out everything I can about them. Their history is shrouded in mystery. I am sure if I look hard enough, I will find enough to drive them out of town.”

  Vivian nodded. “You do that, then.”

  * * *

  Abigail's hands were still shaking as they made their way home. Her mind was far away so she did not notice when the carriage came to a stop beside them. It was only when her mother stopped walking that she looked up to see what the delay was. That was when she noticed Percival, looking down at them from his curricle.

  “Ladies, may I offer you a ride?”

  Abigail was already shaking her head even as her mother agreed. “Thank you, kind sir.” She let the Duke help her up into the seat. It would be a tight fit with the three of them as the curricle was meant for two. She sighed, knowing that she could not leave her mother to travel without her and so she let Percival help her up, as well.

  “Heeya!” he cried, and the horses took off at a brisk trot.

  “You will have to show me where to go,” he said, as he whipped the horses to greater speed. Abigail was glad that her mother was sitting between them and so she had an excuse not to say a word as her mother gave Percival directions. They arrived at their abode in no time and then Percival was helping them to alight.

  “Would you like to come in?” Joan asked, like the genial hostess she was. Abigail sighed inwardly in defeat as Percival graciously accepted the invitation. Her mother led the way as the Duke gestured for her to proceed him. She headed for the drawing room, knowing that the Duke wanted to speak with her. Somewhere along the way, her mother disappeared, and she was left alone with him. She turned to face him as she entered the drawing room, head held high.

  “What do you want, Percival?” she asked wearily.

  “I came to apologize for Lady Rosaline’s appalling behavior this afternoon. I do assure you that I did not support or believe her accusations.”

  Abigail nodded. “Thank you for that. You should go now.”

  The Duke hesitated and then took a step closer, “Abigail,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “Have you given any thought to my proposition?”

  She raised an eyebrow, “You would still want to go ahead with that?”

  He shook his head. “More than ever.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are everything that I need in a woman. You are honest and trustworthy. You carry yourself with dignity and grace. You give of yourself with no expectation of reward. It has been a long, lonely life that I have led. I feel that with you I might not be lonely anymore.”

  Abigail merely gaped at him, taken aback by the sincerity of his words. She had not been expecting that.

  “I...see.” She said at last, “In that case, I should tell you that I had considered taking your carte-blanche, but my reasons were purely material. I had to salvage my reputation while securing a sort of pension for when times get hard. I am being practical here. If that is acceptable to you, then yes, I will be your mistress.”

  Percival gave a twisted smile, “And here I was going to ask for your hand.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Percival gave her a look, “I was taken aback by Lady Rosaline’s behavior today, and it occurred to me that I should not be happy with her as my wife. Moreover, seeing as a Duke can do whatever he likes, I sought to offer the privilege to you. However, here you are ready to be my mistress and for financial gain, to boot. You have thrown me for a loop, my dear.”

  Abigail's mouth closed and opened in shock. She could not believe what she was hearing. Percival came to propose? Surely, he is jesting.

  “I...do not know what to say. You would marry me?”

  “I had every intention of doing so. But it does make more sense for you to be my mistress.”

  Abigail felt quite faint. She could not fathom what the Duke could possibly mean by his statements. He had been so adamant before, so insistent that they could only be together if she agreed to his carte-blanche.

  Now he is offering me marriage after the scandal that his current fiancée has perpetuated in my shop. What does he mean by this?

  “I...don't know what to say.”

  “I imagine everything is a bit of a shock. I know it is a bit sudden, so I will give you some time to think. May I give you something to think about?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, instantly suspicious. “What do you mean by that?”

  He took a step towards her and then another, her eyes widening with anticipation and fear the closer he got. “What are y—?”

  He bent down, his lips closing in on hers, cutting off her speech. They felt warm and wet against her mouth, moving experimentally as if he was using them to feel her, pressing in close, the teasing tip of his tongue running along her bottom lip, the hard, wet feel of his teeth not far behind. Her lips parted of their own volition, letting him in and his tongue plundered her mouth, tasting, teasing. Her eyes were wide open as she took it all in, every touch, and every sensation—paying attention to her own reaction.

  Her body stiffened and then melted against him, her nipples peaked, and her hands trem
bled for completely different reasons than before. They held onto his shirt for dear life, supporting her weakened knees even as his arms circled her waist, pulling her in closer. He was so big and hard all around her. He towered over her and seemed to surround her with his gentle manliness. She had never experienced anything like it.

  He took her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it and then soothing the burn by suckling it like a babe. She could not help the whimper that escaped her throat as her own body arched in response wanting...things she could not name.