A pause had followed before Mr. Chesterfield asked, “How so?”
“It’s nothing.” Lady Abigail had spoken so low James had struggled to hear the words. “Forget I said anything.”
Understanding Mr. Chesterfield’s emphatic response, however, had not been difficult. The man had spoken clearly and with extreme passion when he’d said, “Abby, if Mr. Townsbridge has treated you ill in some way, then I would suggest you speak up now before it’s too late.”
The nerve of the man to suggest such a thing! Incensed, James had made his presence known only to find the blighter holding Lady Abigail’s hand. At which point James had abandoned every intention he’d had of trying to be polite. It didn’t matter if he didn’t like her much himself. Somehow, seeing another man showing an interest made him possessive and downright boorish.
Which probably explained his inability to say something nice to the woman with whom he would soon face a vicar. Her cheeks had turned a delightful shade of pink, not that he cared. And she was eyeing him carefully from beneath her lashes, as if looking at him directly required extreme caution.
He, on the other hand, was determined to be direct. “I’m sorry on both our behalves that we must marry. You may rest assured that if I could somehow prevent it from happening, I would.” Her eyes widened and started to shimmer, which made no sense at all. After all, she was the one who had said she couldn’t tolerate him. And yet...a tear now slid down her cheek.
James’s chest grew suddenly tight. He tried to think of what to say, but before he managed to do so, Lady Abigail had risen and walked away. He stared after her as she stepped down onto the grass and walked toward a flowerbed filled with roses. As she went, she dismissed the maid, who quickly disappeared back into the house.
Puzzled and unsure of what to do, James stood and glanced around. On one hand, he was tempted to leave and avoid further conversation, but on the other, he was curious to know what was going on. Lady Abigail’s response to his proclamation was downright bizarre if she felt the same way as him about the wedding, which he’d been certain she did in light of what she’d told him.
Raising his eyes to the sky, he blew out a breath before striding after her. With two sisters, one would think he’d have some understanding of women by now, but either he didn’t or this one was simply proving to be particularly complex.
Having passed the roses, she was now moving along a graveled path that led to a boxed-in corner where neatly trimmed hedges offered a private spot no doubt intended for contemplation. Four stone benches stood there, but Lady Abigail chose not to sit. Instead she remained standing, her back toward him as he approached.
“Stop. Please...don’t come any closer.” Her voice was soft but firm, prompting him to comply.
Before this moment, he would have taken offense at her wish to avoid his company. But now...
As he stood there studying her, he noticed something tortured about her entire person. It was almost as if she were carrying some colossal weight upon her shoulders. And then, of course, there was the tear.
“Lady Abigail.” She seemed to flinch a little in response to his voice, so he paused briefly before asking, “Is something the matter?” When she failed to respond, he gently added, “I’m sorry for what I said about not wanting to marry you. But after what you told me last night and then seeing Mr. Chesterfield treat you with such familiarity, I just—”
“Please.” Her voice cracked beneath that one word. “I...” She drew a shuddering breath. “I am the one who owes you an apology. For not expressing myself properly.”
She was speaking to the hedge, James noted, and yet this was the most she’d ever said while in his company. “You could do so now,” he suggested. The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he took a step forward.
Lady Abigail gasped. “Only if you stay where you are. Please. I cannot function properly when you are near.”
Trying not to feel affronted, James halted his progress and did as she asked. Glancing sideways, he considered the opposite side of the hedge from where she stood and crossed to that spot instead. “Very well,” he told her when she was no longer within his line of vision. “You can turn around if you wish without having to see me. And when you’re ready, I’ll listen to whatever it is you would like to say.”
