of them.
And her mother could not seem to stop apologising on her behalf. ‘We cannot tell you how grateful we are for your assistance.’ Mrs Prescott’s hands fluttered nervously as she spoke and drops of rain water splashed from lace cuffs to baptise the little dog that sat at the Countess of Comstock’s feet. ‘If there had been any other choice...’
‘One cannot predict the weather,’ the Countess said with a shrug. She was a plain woman with a matter-of-fact manner. Though she was even younger than Abby, she had the serene composure of a woman twice her age and did not seem the least bit bothered to have a carriage full of wet strangers imposing on her hospitality.
‘But to arrive in your home with no introduction...’ her mother added, still pretending to be horrified that they had wandered into an earldom without an invitation.
‘Do not discompose yourself. Even if your carriage was undamaged, I would not have expected you to return to the village in this storm when my home was in sight.’
The exaggeration was another example of the Countess’s generosity. The Manor was almost a mile from the spot on the main road where they had abandoned the brougham, leaning drunkenly on its broken springs. Since she and her mother had got thoroughly soaked during the trudge up the muddy drive to the house, it could have been no worse to walk back down the road to the nearest farm. But her mother had turned towards the luxury of the Manor like a needle to a lodestone and here they were.
‘We have interrupted your house party,’ her mama said, throwing a wistful glance towards the back of the house and the sound of laughter and conversation.
‘You cannot possibly continue your journey until your carriage has been repaired and the road cleared of fallen branches. That will not be possible until the storm has ended,’ the Countess replied. ‘In the meantime, there is ample space here for a few more guests.’
It was probably true. Abby had got little more than a glimpse of the Manor as they had run towards it, bonnets dipped to the ground to protect against the driving rain. But it had seemed almost ridiculously large, with more wings and ells than could be filled by even the largest party.
‘If it is truly no bother...’ her mother said, all too eager to be persuaded.
‘I will send a servant to retrieve your luggage and a maid will show you to your rooms. However...’ The Countess paused. There was a faint smile playing about her lips as though what she was about to say would pay them back for any inconvenience they might have caused. ‘I feel it necessary to warn you that the Duke of Danforth is currently among my guests.’
At this announcement, her mother’s composure failed and her lip trembled, signalling the beginning of a response that might be far too sincere and more embarrassing than her dripping apologies.
Abby grabbed her hand and tugged sharply, pulling her away from the Countess before she could speak. She felt worse than her mother did about seeing the Duke again, but she was not about to break down in the entrance hall and display her emotions to the whole house. ‘Thank you for informing us. I will do my best to prevent any awkwardness.’
‘As will I.’ The Countess smiled. ‘As I said before, it is a very large house.’
Not large enough.
Abby had known that she would have to face the consequences of her actions eventually. But when the moment came, she’d assumed she would have had time to prepare for it. She had not expected that she would come upon him without warning and be unable to get away.
‘I will arrange the seating at the table accordingly. You need not speak, if you do not wish to. Or participate in any activities that might force proximity.’ The Countess gave an airy wave off her hand to indicate the insignificance of the problems. Then she grew serious. ‘But the other guests are likely to gossip.’
Behind her, Mama gave a small yip of distress and the Countess’s lapdog whined in response.
‘There cannot possibly be more talk than there has already been,’ Abby said, reaching into her sleeve for the spare handkerchief she kept for her mother. She turned and offered it, and accompanied it with a warning look to remind the older woman that fussing over the situation only made it worse. Then she turned back to the Countess with a smile. ‘We will be fine. And again, we thank you for your help.’
Lady Comstock nodded in return and reached for a nearby bell pull. ‘You will feel even better after a hot drink and some dry clothes. Dinner is at eight and I do not want you to miss it.’
When the maid arrived to take them to their rooms, they were led up the main stairs, past the main wing of guest rooms and down a dimly lit centre hallway with threadbare carpet and faded wallpaper. Her mother cast a longing glance over her shoulder at the newer, nicer rooms in the front of the house.
‘I am sure these are lovely, as well,’ Abby whispered, not wanting to appear ungrateful in front of the servant.
‘It does not matter,’ her mother replied with a watery sigh. ‘We will not have the opportunity to compare accommodations with the other guests. Despite what the Countess said, we shall have to take all our meals in our room.’ The maid had opened the door of the first room and Mrs Prescott hovered in the doorway, fluttering in and out like a moth trapped in a chandelier.
Abby walked in without hesitation and smiled at the maid. ‘The room is lovely. Please thank the Countess again for her generosity.’ The statement was true enough. Though it was clear that it was not in the first tier of accommodation, the linens had been recently aired and the blue silk on the walls and heavy damask curtains on the bed were free of stains or dust. She gave her mother what she hoped was a significant look. ‘And I assume you are right next door.’
The older woman disappeared after the maid only to reappear a few moments later through an adjoining door. Before she could embarrass them again with her complaints, Abby glanced into the hall to make sure the maid had gone, then shut the door.
Judging by the look her mother was giving her, she had decided against tears in favour of recrimination. ‘Have I not told you often enough that your past misbehaviour would come back to haunt us? Now, when a perfect opportunity to re-enter society has appeared, we have been relegated to the back of the house and kept far away from the rest of the guests like lepers.’
Abby sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what might be in store for them when they went downstairs again. Just the thought of seeing the Duke again made her head ache. But that was the future and could not be predicted. Here and now, she must calm her mother or she would have two scenes to deal with instead of one.
She opened her eyes again, then put on her most patient smile. ‘We have been given these rooms because the best ones have been given to people that Lady Comstock invited to her home. We would not be here at all if you had not ignored my request to return home when the weather worsened. You insisted that we must go on towards London. Now we are trapped and must make the best of 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.’