“If you change your mind, the invitation is always open. You need only send word.”
“Thank you, my lord. If things don’t work out here in London as I hope, I will reach out to you.” The last thing she wanted to do was to leave London, but if her conversation with Cranston didn’t go well, she might need to depart.
He couldn’t hide his curiosity at her statement, but he was too polite to press further. He’d been very generous with her and Gemma, but she didn’t know him well. Certainly not well enough for him to inquire about her plans.
“Thank you again for calling. Gemma is out with her governess, but I will let her know that you asked after her.” Unlike the man the world thought was Gemma’s father, the new viscount seemed to genuinely like her daughter. But then it was impossible not to become ensnared by Gemma’s exuberant nature. Which was another reason she’d been glad to spend the past eight years away from her husband. She hated to think about how Holbrook might have mistreated her.
Their call at an end, she stood. Viscount Holbrook rose to his feet as well, and she followed him out into the hall.
He took his top hat from the butler and stepped outside, then stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to her. “I will be in touch to let you know when I’m leaving. Unlike my uncle, I’m not content to just abandon you to your own devices. You and Gemma are family.”
Overcome with emotion at the unexpected sentiment, she placed a hand on his forearm. “Thank you, truly. Your generosity has been most unexpected.”
He placed his gloved hand over her bare one and squeezed her fingers gently. Then, without another word, he made his way down the few steps and onto the street where his carriage was waiting for him.
She watched the conveyance pull away and was about to turn back into the house when a prickling under her skin had her glancing to the left. Cranston stood several feet away, casually resting one shoulder against a neighbor’s house. Her breath caught in her throat.
He was watching her with a slight frown. From the tense set of his broad frame, she realized he’d seen her interaction with Lord Holbrook and he wasn’t pleased. Did he think she was bidding a lover goodbye?
When he pushed away from the building, she feared he was going to turn and walk away. Instead, he stalked toward her.
Chapter 6
Cranston struggled to push back his annoyance as he watched the pair’s tender goodbye.
He knew that the tall, dark-haired man was the new Viscount Holbrook. He’d seen him often enough over the season, but he’d never paid him any attention. Well, the viscount had his interest now as Abigail reached for his arm and smiled up at him.
He couldn’t help but feel as though he was witnessing history repeat itself. The interaction of the two people standing outside the door to her town house could have been innocent, but they were both young and attractive. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the viscount was Abigail’s lover.
He told himself that the disappointment coursing through him wasn’t because he’d expected to resume a relationship with Abigail. But it appeared she hadn’t changed at all over the years. Had she invited him here today, hoping to play the two of them against one another?
He’d done his research before deciding to call on her. Her husband had left her with next to nothing, which Cranston could only assume was because she hadn’t provided him with an heir. It was unusual, but there must have been something in their marriage contract that stipulated she provide him with a son. Abigail’s husband was already over sixty when they’d wed, and he would have been desperate to secure his lineage. But she’d given him only a daughter.
Her town house was in a respectable neighborhood, however, so he could only assume the man now leaving her house had made those provisions for her.
His mouth compressed into a thin line as he tried to banish the unwelcome thoughts. It was entirely possible that the new Viscount Holbrook was simply acting with honor toward a woman who had been left destitute by his great-uncle. Perhaps he thought he was righting the wrong that had been done to her.
But Cranston no longer had it within him to give people the benefit of the doubt. Abigail had done that to him. Killed the optimistic young man he’d once been. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to trust her—or any woman—fully again.
He’d done everything in his power to forget the day she’d broken his heart. And the past nine years serving in the army as they battled Napoleon had achieved that end. But since seeing her again the month before in Hyde Park, the memories refused to leave him.
Her father, the Earl of Hargrove, hadn’t approved of Cranston’s courtship. When Cranston had asked her about approaching her father for the man’s permission to propose, Abigail had been the one to suggest they elope. It was the only way they’d be able to wed, she said.
So when he received a letter from her saying that she’d accepted another man’s proposal, he’d made his way to her house, convinced she was being coerced into the match. Expecting to discover she’d been locked in her room, he’d gone first to the side of Abigail’s London town house. He’d peered up at her bedchamber window, expecting to see her there, motioning in some way for him to come rescue her.
When the window mocked him with its emptiness, he made his way back to the front of the house and knocked. His muscles had tensed as he prepared to push past her family’s butler and storm into the house and he’d been shocked when he wasn’t turned away.
He hadn’t anticipated he’d be shown into the drawing room where Abigail was waiting, a book in her hands. And then she’d turned his whole world upside down. She’d told him that she now agreed with her father that it would be in her best interest to make a more advantageous match.
Despite Cranston’s certainty to the contrary, she’d made it very clear that she wasn’t being forced to accept another’s suit. And now she was a widow. Did she hope for another dalliance with him while she sought out her next husband?
When the viscount’s carriage pulled away, she turned toward him. Had she already seen him, or had she sensed his presence the same way he always knew whenever she was near?
He made his way toward her, keeping his pace steady. When he reached her side, she stood as still as a statue. Her hands were gripped together at her waist. If he wasn’t mistaken, his calm regard made her nervous. That observation improved his mood since it meant he wasn’t the only one affected by this ill-advised meeting.
Neither of them spoke as he followed her into the house.
There was a strange moment when he met the butler’s gaze. The man’s eyes widened as though he recognized him, but Cranston couldn’t remember meeting him. The butler was older, silver-haired, and of average height. Nothing about him stood out, so it was possible they’d met when the man worked in another household. Perhaps they’d met before Cranston purchased his commission.
