Allowing an inward groan, James followed his brother back into the parlor. The conversation that had been taking place between his parents and Bethany died as soon as he entered.
A moment of awkward silence followed, and then his mother said, “You really must make more of an effort, James. Why, you hardly spoke more than two words to your poor fiancée all evening. It’s no wonder she looked so unhappy.”
“You neglected her,” Roxley added in that dry tone he used to reprimand. “I dare say your manners were utterly lacking.”
James stared at them all in turn while trying to figure out how to respond without sounding horribly rude. Eventually he said, “We spoke at length while we were taking some air on the terrace.”
“About what?” his mother demanded.
Since being completely honest would only lead to comments and questions he had no interest in facing, he said, “Our likes and dislikes.”
“Did she mention charades?” Bethany asked. When James shook his head, his sister-in-law knit her brow. “How odd. It used to be one of her favorite games.”
James struggled to hold back a snort. He could not for the life of him envision Lady Abigail engaging in such an outgoing activity. “Perhaps it’s not anymore. After all, people do change and it has been some years since you saw her last.”
“I suppose,” Bethany conceded though she didn’t look even remotely convinced.
“What does she like then, if not charades?” Charles asked. He’d taken a seat next to his wife while James remained standing.
James opened his mouth and uttered an uncertain, “Umm...” which led to some very perplexed expressions until he was able to gather his thoughts and say, “Playing pretend.”
His father tilted his head and gave him a rather odd look. “Is that not the same as charades?”
“Not exactly,” James murmured. It involved trapping unsuspecting men into marriage and then deceiving them so completely they started to imagine there was hope for the future.
“Well,” his mother remarked, “that’s hardly any information at all. Certainly not very useful.” She expelled a suffering breath. “Really, James, you must do better. Which is why I suggest you call on Lady Abigail tomorrow. Bring her some flowers and try to... James? Are you listening?”
He was. But the idea of having to spend time with Lady Abigail again so soon had practically paralyzed him.
“Honestly,” his mother continued, “I dare say this is part of the problem. Women like to be heard, James. So please, encourage Lady Abigail to speak, and do your best to listen to what she has to say.”
“Or at the very least, pretend to,” Roxley said. “That’s what I do most of the time.”
This comment earned the viscount a slap on his arm from his wife, though it was accompanied by a mischievous smile. The two shared a look – the sort that suggested they were both enjoying a private joke.
James sank onto a vacant chair with a sigh. This was the kind of relationship he wanted for himself. Why the devil did it have to be so hard to obtain?
#
HAVING VENTURED INTOthe garden the following day after breakfast, Abigail chose to pass the morning by deadheading the roses, an activity she found both relaxing and rewarding. It also kept her mind off the previous evening and, most importantly, away from a certain Mr. Townsbridge. Good heavens, she still could not fathom how rude she had been. Of course, it hadn’t been her intention to make him think he made her ill, but her inability to explain herself properly had caused him to do precisely that. Which only made her more nervous about seeing him again and...
“There you are,” came Tobias’s voice.
Abigail looked up and waved when she saw her brother’s friend striding across the grass. “I’m afraid Lance has gone out,” she said.
“So I’ve been told. But since you’re here, I thought I’d see you instead. I told Arundel I’d manage to find you myself.”
“And so you have,” she said with a grin. Setting the knife she’d been using aside in a nearby basket, she went to greet him. “Would you care for some tea? Or perhaps some refreshing lemonade?”
“Arundel already offered. Some lemonade should be on its way along with a plate of biscuits.” Together, they made their way up to the terrace where a wrought iron table and chairs stood beneath the shade of a nearby birch. “How are your wedding preparations coming along?” Tobias asked once they were both comfortably seated.
“Can we not find another subject to discuss?”
“That bad, is it?”
A maid brought a tray with refreshments which she placed on the table. Glasses were filled and Abigail took a quick sip of her tart drink before saying, “I may have suggested to Mr. Townsbridge that I feel unwell in his company.”
Tobias responded with a guffaw that ended in a half-choked cough. His eyes went wide. “You did not.” When she nodded, he laughed even more. “Good God, Abby. Whatever were you thinking?”
