A Hero for Lady Abigail by Dallen, Maggie (top novels of all time txt) 📗

looks for years to come. “My mother is just there.”

“Well, in that case, I bid you adieu.” He bowed again and turned to go. Dancing with Abigail, he had to confess, had been interesting...arresting even. But it was not an experience he planned to repeat. She was the sort of woman who stirred trouble and he was looking for anything but.

“I’ll see you again soon, Major.” She dipped into a curtsey.

He didn’t reply as he started toward Charlotte once again. But Alex doubted he would see Abigail Purewater ever again.

3

The poor man. Abigail watched him go. Off to pursue the wrong lady. Not that Abigail was the right lady, but even so—a man like him deserved better than that simpering simpleton Charlotte.

“Dearest, you two made quite the pair,” her mother’s voice cooed behind her. “Once the poor man resigned himself to a dance with you.”

Abigail stiffened but she did not take her eyes off the major. Poor fellow had missed another chance with Charlotte as the young lady in question had disappeared in the direction of the retiring rooms just as the major approached.

“I do not know where I failed you, Abigail. How could I have raised such a brazen young lady?”

Her mother continued, but for once Abigail was well able to ignore the sharp barbs. She even managed to avoid sniping back that her mother hadn’t raised her at all. A long string of nannies and governesses had done that. So if she were brazen—and she was—she had no problem admitting that—her mother deserved neither the blame nor the credit.

She drew out her fan and used it as a decoy to hide her keen interest in Major Mayfield. Not that there was much to see. In short order, she watched Charlotte disappear, her mother speaking to Major Mayfield with an apologetic smile, and then the major taking his leave of the ball.

She pursed her lips. There was no doubt in her mind that the good major had come to this ball for one reason and one reason only.

And that reason was currently hiding herself away in the retiring room like a ninny.

“You cannot just force yourself upon a suitor, you know,” her mother was saying. “You must be coy, dear. Truly, have I taught you nothing?”

Oh, her mother had taught her plenty. And she had every intention of using those lessons just now. Namely, know thy enemy. All right, fine, that lesson came from a Chinese general, but even so, it was relevant.

“Will you excuse me, Mother?” she murmured, not waiting for a response before she glided through the crowd, exchanging smiles and greetings with her acquaintances like some sort of viper mating dance.

When at last she reached the retiring room, she saw exactly what she’d expected. A smug Charlotte Ainsworth laughing and gossiping with two of her debutante friends. “Did you see Darling’s eldest sister?” one of the girls asked, cruel laughter in her voice.

Charlotte shook her head in poorly feigned pity. “Poor dear. Her first fete of the season and she made such a fool of herself.”

“Your mother certainly put her in her place,” the third girl said with a giggle.

More laughter, followed by more whispers. They hadn’t spotted Abigail yet as she paused in the doorway, and for one moment she was back to that time. Her first season.

She and her former friends ferreting away someplace private to do just this exact thing. Laughing at the pathetic stammering gentlemen they’d managed to give the slip or the sad, desperate wallflowers who were never asked to dance.

One particular wallflower came to mind.

A wave of guilt hit her so hard she nearly lost her breath. Lily had been her best friend, once upon a time. But that season had changed everything between them.

She gave her head a shake just as the room fell into silence. The three foolish girls who thought they held world by its strings turned as one to face her.

Her chin came up on instinct, a smirk curving her lips as a natural reflex.

One did not spend four seasons as the most fearsome belle of the ball without acquiring a certain aptitude for the role.

“Why, Lady Abigail,” Charlotte said. “How lovely to see you again.”

Abigail smiled as the others fell into line, following Charlotte’s lead by bestowing compliments over Abigail’s gown and her hairstyle.

The words and the tone of voice, all part of the performance. It took everything Abigail had not to let her shoulders sag with exhaustion. For a moment she was too weary to respond as she ought. For a moment she was tired. So very tired, of the feigned smiles, and the artificial cheerfulness, and the pretty words that held an intricate layer of hidden meanings and veiled insults.

None of these girls knew how to do it as well as she. While she typically reveled in being the best, this was one crown she was tired of wearing. “It’s a shame you left the ballroom when you did, Charlotte,” she said to the younger girl when the requisite small talk had faded to uncomfortable silence as these young fools waited to see what Abigail had really come here for.

“Is it?” Charlotte’s brow crinkled in confusion.

“Major Mayfield seemed to be intent upon seeking you out for a dance,” she said.

Charlotte turned to her friends with a knowing smile. As Abigail had suspected, Charlotte was well aware of the major’s interest. When she turned back, Abigail spotted a glimmer of intelligence that belied the silly, witless, simpering facade she donned in mixed company. “I noticed that you and he shared a dance just now,” she said.

Abigail smirked. “He’s an excellent dancer.”

“Hmm.” The girl pursed her lips. “I was not aware you were acquainted.”

She laughed and the other girls laughed with her, though they knew not what they were laughing about. Simpering fools. “Oh, Charlotte, dear. I am well acquainted with just about everyone.” She lifted one shoulder. “The perks of being a duke’s daughter, I suppose.”

Charlotte’s friends looked to her with wide eyes