Chapter One
Miss Abigail Margate crouched behind a winged chair, heart pounding so hard she felt as if whoever had just entered the room must surely hear it. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, grateful that she’d had the presence of mind to have scrambled for cover the moment she had heard the door handle turning.
Peeking around the edge of the chair, Abbey caught a glimpse of well-polished hessians. As her gaze traveled upwards, her heart began to hammer all the harder; she had been hoping that the interruption would be no more than a servant, coming to check the fire in the hearth or to light several more tapers. Instead the familiar face of Lord Hanwood, Earl of Huntingdon met her appalled gaze. He was the last person she had been expecting to see tonight! Abbey bit her lip, fingers tightening on her reticule. Inside were the letters she had risked so much to retrieve, letters that her improvident cousin Cecile had written to his Lordship’s ward Edward. As mortifying as it would be to be discovered, it would be far worse to have her good work undone if Hanwood discovered her and guessed at the reason behind her presence in his library! Edward, possessed of a considerable fortune, which he would attain on his twenty-first birthday in a little less than two months, had the rare good fortune to have not one, but three men entrusted with his welfare. And Hanwood, curse him, intended to use Cecile’s – admittedly colorful – missive to convince his fellow guardians to postpone his inheritance for twelve months as Edward had expressed his desire to marry her cousin.
Abbey was extremely fond of Cecile, who had shown her nothing but kindness since her arrival from Derbyshire several months ago. The poor girl was so cast down by the prospect of not marrying the man she loved that she seemed in danger of going into a decline which was why Abbey had decided to take matters into her own hands. Lord Hanwood was far too used to having things go his way. It was high time somebody did something to take the wind out of his sails.
She shot another surreptitious look around the edge of the chair. The only time she had seen Hanwood was at the balls and routs that made up such a large part of the London Season. Lord Hanwood, the Earl of Huntingdon was certainly popular enough to rate an entrée into any salon. With his income, position and address he could do no wrong, although what brief glimpses she’d had of him since coming to London seemed to suggest that he was as arrogant as he was handsome. Abbey had watched him from the sidelines, watched the way his mouth was inclined to curl distain whenever some hopeful young lady attempted to catch his eye – and the great good fortune of becoming his wife. She had not wanted to look at him for she was quite certain he was exactly the kind of man that she most disliked but there was something about him that continually drew her gaze. In fact, he seemed to exert the most extraordinary fascination on her and she found herself looking for him at the endless array of engagements that made up her social calendar since her arrival in London. That she did so was not a little vexing for she had met his kind before; proud, cold men who believed they were superior in every way to those lesser beings around them, an attitude she most cordially despised. But dislike him as she did, it did not stop her from looking for his tall, distinguished figure at every opportunity, nor listening to the gossip that followed the mention of his name; who he had danced with, which girl he had graced with his favor and the endless speculation as to who might be selected to become that most fortunate of creatures; Lady Hanwood, the Marchioness of Huntingdon.
Speculate as people would, Abbey had never seen anything in those dark eyes but polite boredom, no matter how hard some pretty young hopeful tried to please. If Hanwood was planning on fixing his interest with anyone, he gave no outward
Miss Abigail Margate crouched behind a winged chair, heart pounding so hard she felt as if whoever had just entered the room must surely hear it. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, grateful that she’d had the presence of mind to have scrambled for cover the moment she had heard the door handle turning.
Peeking around the edge of the chair, Abbey caught a glimpse of well-polished hessians. As her gaze traveled upwards, her heart began to hammer all the harder; she had been hoping that the interruption would be no more than a servant, coming to check the fire in the hearth or to light several more tapers. Instead the familiar face of Lord Hanwood, Earl of Huntingdon met her appalled gaze. He was the last person she had been expecting to see tonight! Abbey bit her lip, fingers tightening on her reticule. Inside were the letters she had risked so much to retrieve, letters that her improvident cousin Cecile had written to his Lordship’s ward Edward. As mortifying as it would be to be discovered, it would be far worse to have her good work undone if Hanwood discovered her and guessed at the reason behind her presence in his library! Edward, possessed of a considerable fortune, which he would attain on his twenty-first birthday in a little less than two months, had the rare good fortune to have not one, but three men entrusted with his welfare. And Hanwood, curse him, intended to use Cecile’s – admittedly colorful – missive to convince his fellow guardians to postpone his inheritance for twelve months as Edward had expressed his desire to marry her cousin.
Abbey was extremely fond of Cecile, who had shown her nothing but kindness since her arrival from Derbyshire several months ago. The poor girl was so cast down by the prospect of not marrying the man she loved that she seemed in danger of going into a decline which was why Abbey had decided to take matters into her own hands. Lord Hanwood was far too used to having things go his way. It was high time somebody did something to take the wind out of his sails.
She shot another surreptitious look around the edge of the chair. The only time she had seen Hanwood was at the balls and routs that made up such a large part of the London Season. Lord Hanwood, the Earl of Huntingdon was certainly popular enough to rate an entrée into any salon. With his income, position and address he could do no wrong, although what brief glimpses she’d had of him since coming to London seemed to suggest that he was as arrogant as he was handsome. Abbey had watched him from the sidelines, watched the way his mouth was inclined to curl distain whenever some hopeful young lady attempted to catch his eye – and the great good fortune of becoming his wife. She had not wanted to look at him for she was quite certain he was exactly the kind of man that she most disliked but there was something about him that continually drew her gaze. In fact, he seemed to exert the most extraordinary fascination on her and she found herself looking for him at the endless array of engagements that made up her social calendar since her arrival in London. That she did so was not a little vexing for she had met his kind before; proud, cold men who believed they were superior in every way to those lesser beings around them, an attitude she most cordially despised. But dislike him as she did, it did not stop her from looking for his tall, distinguished figure at every opportunity, nor listening to the gossip that followed the mention of his name; who he had danced with, which girl he had graced with his favor and the endless speculation as to who might be selected to become that most fortunate of creatures; Lady Hanwood, the Marchioness of Huntingdon.
Speculate as people would, Abbey had never seen anything in those dark eyes but polite boredom, no matter how hard some pretty young hopeful tried to please. If Hanwood was planning on fixing his interest with anyone, he gave no outward
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