“I’ll explain matters to them,” he said, his voice growing more gentle, which only made her want to cry that much more. “You have nothing to fear.”
“How shall you explain that the dreadful, manipulative duke’s daughter kissed you while you were off being the gallant knight for a damsel in distress?”
“Abigail.” His voice hitched with laughter and his tone was gently chiding. “It’s not like that and you know it.”
Do I? She looked away. This conversation would do no good. It changed nothing. Appearances aside, her insides twisted mercilessly every time she thought of the fact that he was courting another.
She might have her faults—all right, fine, she had many. But stealing other ladies’ suitors was not one of them. She swallowed as she looked down at her still-shaking hands. Or it hadn’t been until just now.
“Abigail, please, about Charlotte—”
“Alex, shall we take the cloak back to Miss Charlotte for you?” Marigold called out. “It seems we’re interrupting and—”
“You are not interrupting,” she said, far harsher than intended. All three of them blinked at her in surprise.
She supposed the sweet, kind, mousy Marigold didn’t get snapped at often.
One more strike against Lady Abigail.
“I’ll be off,” she said, speaking loudly enough for all to hear. “Major, you’d best get that cloak to Miss Charlotte. She’s waiting on you.”
He opened his mouth as if to protest but one look at her expression had him nodding. He lowered his voice for only her to hear. “We need to finish this conversation, Abigail. Meet me later. Please.”
She drew in a deep breath, her insides trembling as badly as her hands.
“Please,” he said again.
She felt her heart soften at the tone. “Fine. I’ll be in the library before dinner.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
Abigail took off like the hounds of hell were chasing her. She rode until the sun began to set and the air turned crisp and her hands frigid. If only that insipid Miss Charlotte wasn’t currently wearing her cloak, she might have stayed out even longer.
As it was, the sun was low in the sky when she reached the stables, and the grounds of the manor were cast in a purple hue. The shadows outside the stables were so long when she left it, she nearly bumped right into Marigold.
Oh no. Of all the people she least wished to see.
“I was hoping I hadn’t missed you,” Marigold said softly.
Of course she’d said it softly. Abigail just barely held back a sigh. Everything about Marigold was soft, from the look in her eyes to the tone of her voice to her oh-so-tender heart.
It was an effort not to roll her eyes. Heaven spare her from sweet and gentle wallflowers. They were as different a breed from Abigail as a fellow lady could be.
“To what do I owe the honor?” she managed with a rueful smile.
They both knew why Marigold sought her out. There could only be one reason a quiet little thing like Marigold would go out of her way to confront the villain.
“It’s just…” Marigold wrung her hands together, her pretty brow furrowed. “I’m concerned about Major Mayfield, is all.”
And there it was. Marigold had summoned up her courage in an effort to save her friend from the likes of Abigail.
Abigail let out a long sigh as she started toward the main house, Marigold falling into step beside her. “How very kind of you, Lady Arundel.”
Marigold gave a little unladylike snort. “I feel quite certain we are well acquainted enough for you to call me Marigold.”
“Well acquainted.” Abigail repeated the words slowly, rolling them on her tongue, a touch of amusement flickering despite the gloom that had fallen over her as her long ride had helped her come to a rather grim conclusion. She cast Marigold a sidelong glance. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
Marigold didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I know that there is a lot of...history between us. Or rather, between you and Lily—”
Now it was Abigail’s turn to give an unladylike snort of amusement at the understatement.
“And I’ll admit that those bad feelings have led to some...tensions between us,” she continued.
“My goodness, Marigold, you truly are a wonderful diplomat. Perhaps you missed your calling by marrying the marquess.”
She laughed and the sound was shockingly genuine. “Trust me, being the wife of marquess requires more diplomacy than I could have ever imagined.”
Abigail smiled at the rare display of candor. “I imagine you’re right.” With another sidelong glance, she added, “He’s fortunate to have you.”
Marigold blinked over at her owlishly.
“What is it?”
“That sounded almost...sincere,” Marigold said.
“It was.”
“Oh.”
Abigail’s posture felt absurdly stiff under Marigold’s watchful gaze, but really...was it so very difficult to imagine that she might be capable of a kind word now and again?
Apparently so.
She came to a sudden stop and turned to face Marigold. Weary exhaustion had her out of patience. The ride had been taxing, yes, but mostly it was her thoughts that had left her feeling worn and ragged.
“Coming here was a mistake,” she said now. “I understand this, and I apologize for adding any stress to the lovely weekend you had planned for your guests.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I know,” she interrupted. She just wanted this conversation over with. The sooner she ended any speculations, the better. “I understand completely why you sought me out, Marigold.” Her gaze met the other woman’s evenly and she nearly flinched at the gentle kindness there. This was the type of woman Alex ought to be with.
She forced a smile she did not feel. “You need not fret, Marigold. I understand that Major Mayfield has intentions toward Miss Charlotte, and I will not stand in the way.”
Marigold frowned. “You won’t?”
She lifted a shoulder as if the thought of Alex with Charlotte was not ripping her insides to shreds. “He deserves the very best.” She pursed her lips a bit as
