An Arranged Betrothal with a Beast
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Prologue
Arthur rolled his eyes. “I care not, Mother. The ton may call me whatever they wish.”
His mother shook her head and clicked her tongue, striding from one side of the room to the other. “This is not to be borne, Crestwood! How can you bear to be called such a thing as that.”
Lifting one shoulder, Arthur gazed into the flames as the fire licked the sides of the fireplace, the crackling of the firewood beneath the only response he offered his mother. Society could call him what they wished, he did not care. The ton which once thought him the most wonderful, the most handsome and most eligible of gentlemen had now turned their backs upon him.
“This came from Lady Clara, I am sure of it.”
At the mention of the lady he had once been betrothed to, Arthur jerked as cold anger ran through him. “No doubt it has. After all, she is one of the few who saw me when I returned home though she was quick to reject me thereafter.”
His mother sighed heavily and shook her head. “Whatever are we to do? You are meant to be making your way to London this Season and – ”
“I shall be doing no such thing!” Half rising out of his chair, Arthur narrowed his eyes at his mother. “Whatever makes you think that I will set even one foot in London? After the war, I have been more than contented residing here and this is the only place I intend to be. I can give you my word on that.”
“And what of Isabella?”
Arthur’s retort was kept back as the name of his sister on his mother’s lips silenced him. Thus far, he had not given much thought to the requirements of his sister given that he had spent the last two years recovering from his time at war and from the broken engagement. Now, however, he realized there was a slight difficulty there. His sister was of marriageable age, which meant she was now due to make her come out. That would require a trip to London.
“You can take her.” With a sniff, he let his gaze return to the fire rather than look into his mother’s face. “There is no requirement for me to attend.”
“Aside from your duty, as her elder brother and as the Earl of Crestwood!” There was no anger in his mother’s voice but rather a quietness which made Arthur’s jaw clench. She was speaking the truth, he knew, but all the same, he did not want to hear a word of it. “You are quite correct that I could take Isabella to London to make her debut but you know as well as I that it would not be right. You are the one who ought to be with her, as well as myself. Since your father passed away, that duty passed to you. Besides which, do you really believe that with your removal from society, with your hiding away, the ton will not ask her a great many questions about you? Their focus and their interest will be solely upon you and your absence rather than upon your sister and her eligibility.”
“If I am present, Mother, their attention will be solely upon me.” Shaking his head, Arthur threw his mother a glance as she came to sit down beside him. “There is no good in this idea. You should take Isabella to London. Leave me here.”
“Oh, Arthur.”
It was unusual enough for his mother to call him by his first name and Arthur’s heart twisted as she sat down next to him, starting when she took his hand in hers.
“Must you always remain in fear?”
The quiet words whispered around his heart and Arthur scowled, looking back into the flames of the fire rather than into his mother’s face. She did not and could not know what his life was at present, could not imagine the many memories which flung themselves through his thoughts whenever he had even a moment of peace, robbing him of it almost at once. The war had been brutal and terrible and yet, his mind would not release him from it. The explosion which had knocked him to the ground, placed him in the infirmary and torn one side of his face and body with agony was repeated in his mind almost every day. He had believed that Crestwood hall, his home and his fortress, might protect him, might help him to recover but it had done nothing of the sort. Instead, it had become his prison.
Should I return to London?
“You cannot spend the rest of your days here in Crestwood Hall,” his mother said softly as though she knew precisely what he was thinking. “It will do you no good.”
“Please, Mother.” Arthur rubbed one hand over his eyes, his fingers running across the scars which ran across his cheek. Thankfully, there had been no injury to his eyes, nothing which had taken his sight from him – though that did also mean he could see his own reflection quite clearly. How often had he winced when he had looked in the mirror? How often had he jerked his head away, hiding the sight from himself?
Could you imagine what the ton would think of you?
“You are also the Earl.”
Arthur frowned, looking back at his mother. “I am aware of my title, Mother.”
“Then you are also aware, I am sure, that you are required to produce the heir,” she said, all the more gently. “It is something which is expected.”
The tension that gripped Arthur’s jaw tightened to such a degree, it required him several moments to loosen his muscles sufficiently in order to articulate his words.“That is not one of my priorities at the moment. I must recover.”
“No, Crestwood.”
A little surprised at the sharp, quick response from his mother, Arthur looked across at her, seeing her shake her head.
“You have no need to recover any more than you have done already,” his mother continued, firmly. “The injuries to your face and to your body have long healed.” Holding up one hand, palm out towards him as he began to speak, her clear blue eyes drove back into his. “I am not saying that I understand the pain and the torment with your own mind, Crestwood, but I am stating, quite clearly, that staying here in this house with only myself and your sister for company will do you no good. Thinking of Lady Clara and what she did to you will continually burn in your heart. Lingering here will only permit the shadows to wrap around your shoulders all the more. It will encourage the darkness to cling to you all the more tightly. Trust me, my dear son. I care about you and I care also about Isabella and you both deserve a happy future.”
“I am sure I can be perfectly contented here in Crestwood Hall.” Hearing the slight waver in his voice, Arthur cleared his throat, angry at his own lack of control. “I can be happy.”
“Can you?” With a slightly narrowed look, his mother squeezed his hand, only for Arthur to pull it away. “Can you truly be happy being known as the Beast of Crestwood Hall? Can you be contented with the ton believing that you are nothing but a brute? That the war has changed you so greatly, you can no longer find any happiness within society?”
Arthur closed his eyes and let out a long breath. What his mother was saying made sense and yet, he did not want to accept it. Not even for a moment. This was his security and even though he hated the whispering darkness, the lingering shadows, he could not think of a future where he stepped back into society. That would mean revealing his face to them all, to show them the red scars which still laced his cheeks, and brought an ugliness to his once handsome features. They would see a gentleman cowed and broken by the vileness of war, rejected by his betrothed and now burdened by all he had endured. He was no longer the happy, carefree, contented gentleman who had once been a part of society. Instead, he barely recognized himself.
“Please, Crestwood.” Leaning forward, his mother set one hand over his though Arthur had to fight against himself not to withdraw it. “At the very least, tell me you will consider it.”
“I will.” The response came quickly and Arthur caught the look of relief which spread across his mother’s face. Whether he had said it because he genuinely would do so or if it had come merely because of his desire to have his mother drop the conversation at hand, Arthur did not know but all the same, he felt a great deal of relief when Lady Crestwood rose to her feet.
“Thank you, my son.” Reaching out, his mother settled her hand against his cheek – the one which bore all the scars – and Arthur instinctively jerked away. His mother, her gaze soft, bent low and looked into his eyes, keeping her hand firmly where it was. “There is nothing wrong with these scars, Crestwood,” she said, softly. “You have borne a great deal of pain, carried an impossibly heavy burden and have yet endured. These marks are only an outward mark of the weight you continue to carry, I know, but they are not something to be ashamed of. Hold your head high, my son, for you have done more than many a gentleman might and have prevailed through it all.”
With a smile, she rose and walked away, leaving Arthur to look back into the fire and letting the silence begin to curl around him again. Despite his desire to forget all that his mother had said, it would not leave him and even though he had no wish to think on making his way to London, the idea settled so heavily upon his mind, he could not think of anything else.
Was it time for the Beast of Crestwood to return to society?
Chapter One
“I think it is a marvelous idea!”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You do not have to show so much enthusiasm, my friend. And Isabella does not require so much encouragement!”
“I already think it is a wonderful idea,” his sister retorted, throwing Arthur a slightly narrowed look which then blossomed into a smile. “You know very well that I am eager to go to London.”
“You must make your debut,” Captain Harrington murmured, to which Isabella nodded though Arthur did not miss the way her gaze lingered on the Captain’s for a short while. “It is the requirement of every young lady.”
Arthur silently wondered whether he could suggest that Isabella marry Captain Harrington only to shake his head to himself. After all, Captain Harrington was an excellent fellow, having fought alongside Arthur himself, and they had retained a good friendship in the years thereafter but, at the same time, Arthur knew it would not be fair of him to make that idea known. After all, his sister deserved the opportunity to go to London to make her debut, just as every other young lady of the ton did. He could not deny her that simply for his own benefit.
“I am aware you have very little desire to go to London, brother.”
Arthur lifted his eyes to Isabella’s. “That is not something worth considering, my dear. You are my responsibility and your debut is clearly important to you.”
“It is.” A flash of excitement flew into Isabella’s eyes. “I do so very much want to see London and to be a part of the balls and soirees that are enjoyed there! I think it would be a most enjoyable experience.”
Arthur nodded slowly, feeling his own sense of dread begin to curl up within him as he looked into his sister’s eyes and saw the anticipation in her expression. He felt nothing but the opposite. “I am sure that for you, it will be quite wonderful.”
“Whereas for you, it will be nothing but a burden.” Isabella’s expression softened. “I know what society calls you and I am sorry for it.”
Noting the way that Captain Harrington’s eyes roved from Isabella back towards him, Arthur let out a huff of breath. “I choose to ignore such things.”
“Why?” Lord Harrington asked, looking to Isabella again. “What is being said?”
Scowling, Arthur flung one hand up towards his scarred face. “It is said that I am the Beast of Crestwood Hall,” he stated, as matter of factly as he could. “I once made my way through society without a care in the world, whereas now I have retreated and hidden myself away. No doubt someone has either seen my face as it is now or has listened to Lady Clara and decided that yes, this is what I should now be known as.”
“Though it is quite ridiculous, is it not?” Isabella asked, tossing her head so that her light brown curls bounced. “I have never heard anything so foolish. My brother is no beast!”
“I would quite agree.” With a frown pulling at his eyebrows, Captain Harrington nodded in Arthur’s direction. “I do hope you will not permit these rumours to stand? After all, such nonsense ought to be treated as such! You should certainly return to London and prove to them all that you are no beast! After all, it is not as though the war has changed your character.”
Lines ripped across Arthur’s forehead. “Has it not?”
Silence grew between the three of them but much to Arthur’s surprise, there came a small smile to the Captain’s face, one that spoke of sympathy and understanding.
“Certainly, it has changed us as men and for you, it also has changed your appearance but that does not mean that the kindness you showed me, the consideration to your fellow soldiers and your sense of responsibility and duty has altered. Indeed, I think those qualities remain within you. To my mind, Lady Clara failed to see that, failed to give even a moment of consideration to it. She looked only on the outward appearance and thought solely of herself. There is no shame in bearing the scars you do. Verily, it is the shame of Lady Clara, as well as society at large, that their disdain for you lingers.”
The heavy frown on Arthur’s forehead began to fade as he looked back at his friend, considering. The Captain and he had shared many an adventure and dark times and while he valued his friendship a great deal, there were still things he had not told him about. He had not spoken of his dark memories, of his fear of returning to London and what might be said of him there.
Perhaps I should.
“I do not want to place any burden on your shoulders, brother.” With a smile in his direction, Isabella rose to her feet, walked across the room and, opening a drawer, took out a set of cards. “Now, shall we play some whist?”
“A capital idea!”
Again, Arthur noticed, Isabella’s smile lingered – as did her gaze – on the Captain’s face though he himself could not tell what the Captain thought of Isabella’s company. They had grown to know one another very well over the last two years for the Captain lived nearby and had, initially, visited to make certain Arthur’s recovery was continuing but, thereafter, had come as both a friend of Arthur’s and a friend of the family. Arthur was not certain what the man felt as regards Isabella for the Captain had never once spoken of any affection for her, but might there be something there? Something that he himself had never before seen?
Though he bears no title, said a small voice within him. He is not a suitable match for Isabella in that regard.
A scowl pulled at his features as he discarded that thought almost at once. The truth was, he had no consideration when it came to titles and the like. The war had taught him that there was no such thing as rank or status, not when it came to fighting. He had been just one of the many men on the battlefield and it had not mattered in the least that he was an Earl. Would he truly push someone such as the Captain aside, taking him out of his considerations simply because he bore no title? After everything they had endured together, Arthur knew he would do no such thing. After all, the Captain had proven his character time and again and it was that which Arthur considered to be of the greatest importance.
Though again, I cannot forbid Isabella to go to London and experience society for herself, simply because I believe the Captain and she might make an excellent match, he thought to himself, rubbing one hand over his chin. Mayhap, in going to London, she will realise just how exceptional a gentleman Captain Harrington is.
“Brother?”
Arthur looked up, seeing his sister lifting an eyebrow in his direction, a smile dancing across her face. “Yes?”
“Do you wish to play whist with us?”
Nodding, Arthur pushed himself out of his chair and made his way across the room. “Yes, I do. And, Isabella?” Waiting until his sister’s blue eyes looked up at him, Arthur took in a deep breath and forced a smile. “I have determined that we shall go to London this Season.”
The words were spoken. The decision was made. Isabella’s reaction was one of sheer delight, practically throwing herself upon him as she let out a squeal of excitement and though Arthur tried to smile, he was certain his enthusiasm was obvious in its absence.
“You will join us also, Captain Harrington?” he asked, seeing his friend’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “You would be very welcome.”
“I shall think on it,” came the reply, as Arthur nodded quietly. “Thank you, Crestwood. I am certain that whether I am present or not, you will have an excellent Season.”
Arthur grimaced and saw his friend smile rather ruefully. Both gentlemen knew precisely what was waiting for Arthur the moment he set foot back into society but he had already made his decision and he would not turn from it.
The Beast of Crestwood Hall would return to London – and all of society would whisper about it.
***
“Might I ask you something, my friend?”
Arthur looked up before returning his gaze to the billiards table. “If this is an attempt to distract me from this game of billiards, then I am afraid you will find yourself failing entirely.”
Captain Harrington chuckled and leaned against the side of the table. “It is not, though it is a good suggestion for the next time I wish to win at billiards!”
Snorting, Arthur took his shot and, satisfied, stepped back. “Then what is it?”
“Might I ask what your thoughts are – if you have any – on your own present circumstances?”
Frowning, Arthur tilted his head a little. “What do you mean by my circumstances?”
“Your circumstances,” the Captain repeated. “Now that you have agreed to go to London, might you be thinking of your own present unmarried state?”
A coldness immediately shot through Arthur and he scowled. “No, indeed I have not. In fact, it is near enough the last thing I have thought of!”
“Is that so?” Sounding entirely unconvinced, the Captain took his turn and then, with a chuckle, grinned broadly at Arthur. “I believe I have scored a carom.”
“I believe you have.” With a roll of his eyes and a bolt of laughter along with it, Arthur did not pick up his cue to take his turn but rather thought to continue on the conversation with his friend. “Why should you think to ask me about my own state? Have you been speaking with my mother – or, mayhap I should ask if she has been speaking with you?”
The Captain’s grin slowly faded. “No, neither such thing has happened. The truth is, I merely wondered if you, as the Earl of Crestwood, might consider finding yourself a bride since you will be in London and since such a thing is required for a gentleman of your standing.”
Arthur shook his head. “I do not think so. I have no desire for a bride, not at this moment, certainly. Not after Lady Clara’s rejection of me.”
“But would it not be wise?” The Captain frowned as Arthur shook his head. “It is taking a great deal of effort for you to make your way to London, I can see that as much as anyone. Why would you not, then, want to use the opportunity to find a bride for yourself as well as supporting Isabella in her debut?”
A little frustrated, Arthur flung one hand up towards his face. “Have you seen my face of late?” he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. “It is not as though the ladies of London society will be eager for my company! Lady Clara has certainly warned them enough about my appearance for them to already be terrified of me!”
Captain Harrington hesitated but his gaze remained steady. “I understand that and I am very aware that I do not understand all that society requires of one but at the same measure, I do know that there is a degree to which certain things can be arranged? Is that not the situation here? Surely there would be someone who might be willing to enter into that sort of marriage?”
The quick, harsh reply which jumped to Arthur’s lips was held back by sheer force of will and though Arthur was loathe to admit it, his friend did have a fair point in what he had expressed.
“I do not mean to question you or cause you any distress.”
“I understand that.” Arthur managed to smile though it did not linger long. “I suppose I must wonder who, if anyone, would agree to a connection with someone who has the appearance of a beast and who wishes only to retreat back into the confines of their house rather than remain in London.”
“You are not a beast and nor do you have the appearance of one,” the Captain replied, firmly. “You bear the scars of war, that is all.”
Arthur’s smile diminished quickly. “I highly doubt that those in the ton would think so.”
“Mayhap,” the Captain agreed, quietly. “But it would be a good thought to find a young lady, if you could, would it not?”
Sighing, Arthur spread his arms wide. “Mayhap, I do not know. I will think on it, at least.”
The Captain nodded and they returned to their game of billiards, though Arthur’s thoughts did not sit heavily on the game as they had done before. Instead, he found himself frustrated and confused, thinking on about their upcoming visit to London and silently wondering if what Captain Harrington had suggested would be the right thing for him to do.
And if it was, what sort of young lady would be willing to marry someone such as he?
Chapter Two
“And so we are in London.”
“We are.” Abigail offered her mother a smile though Lady Townsend did not return it. A little concerned, Abigail shared a glance with her younger sister Charlotte, though her sister and she quickly returned their attention to their embroidery rather than speaking any further with their mother. Though Abigail would dearly have liked to ask what it was that brought her mother to such a silence, she chose to keep those questions back rather than offer them to her. If Lady Townsend wished to speak of her present thoughts, then she would do.
Though I am a little troubled by what I overheard on my way to the drawing room. Biting her lip, Abigail kept her eyes cast down to the needle and thread in her hand rather than looking elsewhere, recalling the quiet conversation she had caught when walking through the hallway. Her father had been saying something about his debts and her mother had sounded very concerned, though Abigail had hurried her steps so as not to overhear more. It was not her place and, besides which, should there be anything of importance, she was certain her mother or father would speak to her of it themselves, in their own good time.
All the same, she was rather worried about what these financial difficulties – whatever they were – would mean for Charlotte and for herself. This was Charlotte’s debut year while she was still waiting to find herself a suitable suitor, though she did not think that Charlotte would have any difficulty in finding herself a match. She was the prettier out of the two of them, with long, dark hair and vivid green eyes, a smooth complexion and rosebud lips. Abigail, on the other hand, had only dull brown hair, eyes which only sparkled when she was in the very best of moods and skin which was much too inclined to flush red at even the smallest embarrassment. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she had not yet managed to secure a husband, though it also, no doubt, came from the fact that her dowry was a good deal smaller than the other ladies in London.
“Your debut ball went very well last evening, Charlotte.” Lady Townsend sat down and putting her hands in her lap, clasping them together, smiled at Charlotte though she did not look once towards Abigail. “I have had five lots of flowers delivered this morning! I have no doubt you will attract many a gentleman caller.”
“That is wonderful,” Abigail remarked, truly pleased for her sister. “I hope one of them will prove worthy of you!”
Lady Townsend smiled at this as Charlotte blushed, though Abigail only looked back to her embroidery, recalling how few she had received after her debut ball. She was quiet and rather retiring, whereas Charlotte was a good deal more amiable, able to speak to anyone who greeted her without so much as a hint of a blush in her cheeks. There were times that Abigail envied her, envied the confidence which she could pull around herself whilst she, by comparison, struggled to think of what to say in any given conversation.
“My lady?”
Abigail looked up as the butler came in, handing a note to Lady Townsend before asking if there was anything else she required. With a wave of her hand, Lady Townsend dismissed the butler before opening her letter, sinking down into the chair opposite Abigail as she read it. Abigail continued on with her embroidery, only for her eyes to flare in surprise as her mother let out a loud exclamation.
“What is it, Mama?” Charlotte asked, before Abigail could ask the same. “Is there something wrong?”
“The Beast of Crestwood Hall has returned to London!”
“The Beast of Crestwood Hall?” Abigail repeated, sharing a puzzled look with her sister. “Who is that?”
Lady Townsend’s eyes roved over the letter in her hand one more time before she finally answered, giving Abigail a long look before she spoke as though she was thinking something that Abigail could not quite yet understand.
“The Earl of Crestwood,” she began to explain, “is a gentleman who has been absent from society for the last few Seasons. Do you remember him, Abigail? He was tall, with broad shoulders and a very fine appearance. He was very distinguished and with a good deal of wealth also! Many a young lady wished to push herself towards him though none succeeded save for one. But that engagement came to a swift end!”
“And why is that?”
Lady Townsend set the letter down in her lap. “Because the gentleman decided to go to war. It was foolish of him, given that he bore the title and had a responsibility not only to that but also to his family, but he was evidently quite determined! Thus, he went to war and though he returned to England, he did not come back to London. The engagement came to an end once Lord Crestwood had returned.”
Abigail looked again to her sister, though Charlotte showed no understanding in her expression whatsoever.
“Why did it come to an end?”
“Because Lady Clara stated that he was so disfigured, so altered, that she could not bring herself to marry him!”
A hand squeezed Abigail’s heart, though whether it was from sadness, sympathy or fear, she could not tell. “Is that why he has not returned to society, Mama?”
“Yes, because he is naught but a beast now!” Lady Townsend exclaimed, throwing up one hand. “From what Lady Clara told society, his face has been quite ravaged by the dangers that come with war and his spirit, it is said, was quite broken. Instead of coming back to London, he has lived the last two years within Crestwood Hall, seeing no-one save for his mother and sister. He has never shown an interest in returning to society and even those near to his estate have not been invited in. You must understand, Abigail, that there are those who know a good deal more than I and they have said that he is a gentleman so unlike his former self that he is barely recognisable.”
Abigail searched her mind to try and recall whether or not she had been introduced to the Earl of Crestwood during her very first Season but she could not immediately recall him. After all, there had been a good many introductions over the Seasons and none had brought her any sort of happiness as regarded making a match for herself. Lady Clara, however, she did recall and that memory made her frown.
“From what I remember, Lady Clara was not the most… considerate of young ladies.”
Lady Townsend shot her a quick look but then, after opening her mouth to perhaps disagree with Abigail wholeheartedly, sighed and let her shoulders drop. “No, she is not,” she admitted, quietly, “though do not let anyone outside this room know I have said such a thing! If you recall, Lady Clara is the daughter to the Earl of Templeton and thus, a very prestigious young lady and very wealthy also. It would not be wise to let any of the ton know of our true thoughts as regards her.”
“I doubt we will be in the same sphere, Mama,” Abigail replied, reassuring her. “Lady Clara is somewhat aloof and does not involve herself with the daughters of Viscounts.” Especially not poor ones.
“That does sound like a great pity for the Beast of Crestwood Hall – I mean, the Earl of Crestwood.” Charlotte, now looking a little embarrassed, dropped her gaze to her embroidery. “To not only have been injured in the war but also to have had his betrothed break their engagement.”
“I am sure it was very painful,” Lady Townsend agreed, softly. “Though now he has come back to London and mayhap will be eager to seek out a bride for himself.”
“Though what young lady would wish to marry such a fellow?” Charlotte asked, as the very same question lodged itself in Abigail’s mind. “After all, it does not sound as though he is particularly amiable, if he has spent the last few years at home. And indeed, though I do not say it is his fault or that he ought to be blamed for such injuries, it seems to me as though the young lady who consents to marry him will have to accept that there will always be a gossip, whispers and the like whenever he sets foot into society. The ton will always speak of his appearance and even his family, should he have any, will be known by who their father is.”
Abigail’s stomach twisted as she considered this, feeling herself sympathetic for the gentleman. “That is a great pity but I believe that you are quite right, Charlotte.”
“Indeed.”
The strange, softness of her mother’s voice had Abigail looking back at her with concern but her mother did not return her gaze. Instead, she nodded to herself and looked away from Abigail for a few minutes, leaving both Abigail and Charlotte to wonder what it was their mother was considering. Again, neither of them dared question it but there was certainly something that Lady Townsend was considering, given the way she paid very little heed to the conversation which had passed between them for the last few minutes.
“I have something.”
Without warning, Lady Townsend rose from her chair and hurried up towards the door.
“Mama?” Abigail asked, half rising out of her chair. “Whatever is the matter?”
Lady Townsend shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all,” she replied, turning to smile at them both though her gaze quickly slid away from Abigail. “I must speak with your father at once.”
Abigail blinked then looked to Charlotte who, in turn, frowned and then shrugged her shoulders before returning to her embroidery. There was something unsettling in the way their mother had hurried away so quickly when they had been talking about Lord Crestwood and his prospects as regarded marriage. What was it her mother was thinking? And why had she had to speak to their father with such urgency? Swallowing hard, Abigail tried to rid herself of the knot in her stomach but it would not untwist. With a sigh, she picked up her embroidery again and tried to concentrate on what she was doing but the threads only tangled themselves together.
Frowning, Abigail sat back and let her embroidery fall to her lap. Whatever it was, her mother would soon make it plain, Abigail was sure. She only had to wait.
***
“Good evening, Miss Townsend.”
Abigail smiled and dropped into a curtsy, under the watchful eye of her mother. “Good evening, Lady Chesterton.”
The lady laughed and then, the moment Abigail rose, grasped her arm and fell into step with her, pulling her away from Lady Townsend without so much as a glance towards her. “We have finished our formalities, have we not? Now we can simply be contented in each other’s company. I am so very glad to see you again!”
“And I you,” Abigail replied, happy now to see her friend again. “It has been so many months since we last saw each other! Tell me how you are. Is your marriage all you had hoped for?”
“It is.” There was a warm glow in Lady Chesterton’s voice and Abigail tried to quieten the whisper of envy which immediately grew in her heart. “It is more than I had imagined could be, in fact! Lord Chesterton is the most wonderful gentleman and he loves me dearly.”
Abigail smiled. “As you love him,” she said softly, as her friend nodded. “I am very happy for you.”
“I thank you. Though I am quite determined that this Season, given that I am now here as a married lady and do not require a chaperone, to give you as much of my attention as I can so that you might also find yourself a husband.”
There came a protest to Abigail’s lips but she did not speak it. “You are very kind, Harriet. However, I fear that might be rather difficult given that I have spent the last few Seasons attempting to do the very same and have found no gentleman to so much as glance in my direction.”
Lady Chesterton clicked her tongue and gave Abigail a somewhat sharp look. “You must not give up hope! You know as well as I that your father has not been the most considerate of gentlemen, has he? He has not done all he could to aid you in your search, though your mother has been most diligent.”
Abigail let out a slow breath and chose not to ignore her friend’s remarks but rather speak as honestly as she could. After all, Lady Chesterton had become a dear friend of hers over the last few years and saw things just as they stood. What reason would there be to hide the truth from her?
“My mother’s attentions will be focused on Charlotte,” she said, plainly. “I believe that my mother and father have both given up on me. Charlotte has made her debut and has already received more interest from the gentlemen of London than I have ever managed. She had three gentlemen callers yesterday afternoon and I myself had none.”
“That does not mean that you are somehow inadequate,” Lady Chesterton told her, firmly. “Do not let yourself think such a thing. You are different from your sister in so many ways but you do not lack in beauty. Your quiet spirit, your kind heart – it all is your beauty, Abigail. And all it requires is a specific gentleman to see that.”
Silently wondering which gentleman that might be, Abigail offered her friend a small smile and then looked away as they wandered through the ballroom. Much to her surprise, a quietness began to grow as they continued their steps, until all that could be heard was the music of the orchestra and a few quiet murmurings.
“Whatever is the matter?” Keeping her own tone low, Abigail looked around only for Lady Chesterton to grasp her arm tightly.
“Look.”
Abigail turned her head back around again, only to spy a gentleman walking in through the crowd, a young lady on his arm. The young lady looking straight ahead, her eyes a little wide and the smile on her face a little lackluster. There was clearly a tension there, an uncertainty which came from the sheer number of eyes placed upon her. Abigail’s attention was then drawn to an older lady who walked a little behind the first gentleman and lady, though she was walking arm in arm with a gentleman dressed in regimentals.
Was that who the guests were staring at?
“I do not understand,” she murmured, as Lady Chesterton put one hand to her heart. “What is the matter?”
“It is the Beast of Crestwood Hall,” came the whispered reply. “Do you not see him? I had heard that he was to be coming back to London but I did not believe it!”
A little surprised, Abigail looked back at the first gentleman, only for him to turn his head and, entirely unexpectedly, looking back at her directly. Her breath stopped, her face heating from the embarrassment of being caught staring. She could not look away, taking him in, seeing the red lines which twisted up one side of his face, marring his cheek and licking close to his eyebrow. Dark hair swung across his forehead, touching the very top of his scars as though to hide them from view and piercing blue eyes were filled with nothing but ice.
Abigail turned her head away.
“He does look a little like a beast, does he not?” Lady Chesterton whispered, as Abigail moved away directly, turning her back on the gentleman and bringing Lady Chesterton with her. “He was practically snarling!”
“He was scowling, that is all.” Having no desire to encourage the whispers about the gentleman, Abigail kept her gaze set straight ahead rather than looking back at him. “I do not think he looks like a beast at all.”
Lady Chesterton looked over her shoulder only to then gasp and come to a complete stop, dragging Abigail back with her. “Your father is speaking with him!”
“My father?” Unable to help herself, Abigail turned her head and saw that Lady Chesterton was quite right. Her father, the Viscount Townsend, was busy in deep conversation with the Earl of Crestwood, though the Earl of Crestwood had not stopped scowling as yet. Her heart clattered with a sudden fear and she turned her head away again, squeezing her eyes closed as fright crept into every part of her being.
“What do you think he is doing?” Lady Chesterton asked, as Abigail opened her eyes. “He seems to be very eager to be acquainted with him. He is the first person who has gone to the Earl of Crestwood so as to be introduced. Perhaps he feels the same as you do and has a lot more sympathy for the gentleman than I do.”
“I do not think it is that,” Abigail replied, softly, her voice trembling a little. “I have a great and terrible fear that my father is about to try and build a connection between the Earl of Crestwood and our family.”
Lady Chesterton turned and grasped both of Abigail’s hands, looking back into her face with wide eyes. “What can you mean?”
Abigail closed her eyes again as tears began to prick them. “I am unwed,” she said, so quietly that she could barely hear herself speak over the orchestra and the growing conversation of the crowd around her. “My father does not want me to be a spinster, I am sure. So what better idea might he have than to push me in the direction of the Earl of Crestwood?”
Lady Chesterton’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and then closed again, as if she were trying to find some way to refute the idea but could not. Abigail swallowed hard and blinked furiously, only for her friend to shake her head.
“I am sure such a thing will not happen,” she said, firmly. “It is only a thought and even if it were to take place, it would require an agreement from the Earl of Crestwood. He is clearly here with his sister rather than for himself. I am sure you need not worry.”
The confidence in her voice did nothing to reassure Abigail and try as she might, she could not shake the fear from within herself for what else might her father be doing in seeking out the Earl of Crestwood so urgently?
Let me know your thoughts!
I’m glad that you finished reading the preview of “An Arranged Betrothal with a Beast”. It will be on Amazon very soon!
