Miss Watson's First Scandal (A Miss Mayhem Novella) Page 7

  “Yes.” Abigail met his gaze. “She was quite lost without her husband for a good number of weeks. His passing was peaceful. He was there for dinner and gone before breakfast, she said.”

  “Metcalf was entirely without fuss. It was one of the things I admired about him. I called on her today. She had her daughters and grandchildren visiting.”

  Abigail smiled. “Her family wishes her to move to Hove soon but she will not go. She says Brighton is the only place to be.”

  As she held David’s gaze, a warmth invaded her chest. She was very fond of him. She might even have fallen in love. The realization made her want to throw her arms about him and never let him go again. But he was only here for a few days more. After that, she’d have to wait a year to see him again. That was simply too long. But how could she arrange any better? She bit her lip, thinking it over. Peter’s situation cast a pall over all her plans. Would they even be living here when summer came round again? Would David feel inclined to visit her elsewhere once his business with Peter was done?

  “Do you agree with her?” David’s low pitched question caused her insides to jump.

  “I do love Brighton.”

  But she didn’t know if she could wait an entire year just for another chance to see David. Who knows, maybe when he was away in London he had a lady hoping to see him. She did not like the idea of losing him to another. And she certainly didn’t want him kissing someone else.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.

  “London is simply too far away from Brighton.”

  A look of agreement crossed his face. “I was thinking precisely the same thing, but it is not possible to move the great city based on only a wish.”

  “Then perhaps it is time to move the people.” A movement at the doorway caught her eye, a sign that dinner was ready to be served. She winked at David, a very bold move to be certain given her brother stood several feet away and hurried to catch Imogen’s arm.

  As they gathered in the dining room, she hoped tonight’s dinner would prove to David she was worthy of his notice. She wished with all her heart that he’d be so impressed by her skills as a hostess he would want her for his wife.

  ~ * ~

  “You are to be congratulated, Watson. Your sister has become an exemplary hostess,” David said, meaning every word. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal more in a very long time. Abigail had been warm and gracious, including him in the conversation when Imogen and Watson had returned to their contention over the wide appeal of K. L. Brahms’ work. He could easily see Imogen found Watson’s views amusing that some of the novels touched on the vulgar. As the author, she alone knew the source of her topics and why she’d chosen to write of them.

  Despite his opinion that the works were inappropriate for very young ladies, Peter Watson appeared to be an avid fan. Watson could recall the precise order of publication and he could even quote certain passages that appealed to him.

  “She enjoys entertaining.” Watson pulled a bottle from a sideboard cupboard and filled two glasses. He passed one to David. “Not that we have done much of late.”

  David sipped, noting the flavor was not as agreeable as he was used to enjoying in the great city. However, Peter had given him the opening he needed to start their business discussion. He just needed to follow through. He set the glass down, but the words clogged in his throat. He swallowed, for the first time ever, utterly speechless when it came to discussing his client’s finances. He had to do this. He coughed several times but nothing came to him as a way to start. In desperation, he returned to discussing Abigail. “I understand your sister had a successful visit to London,” he said at last.

  “Not so successful that she made a match, though she had a fair few interested. A pity. She really enjoyed her time in London. She was disappointed to return home when our month was up,” Peter confided. He drained his glass and refilled it again.

  It surprised him that Abigail had regretted leaving London when she’d been so dismissive of the gentlemen she’d met there. “I’m sure she was much admired,” David agreed, resting back in the chair. “I was surprised some lucky fellow hadn’t snapped her up.”

  “They’d have to catch her first.” Peter shook his head. “My sister has very strong notions about marriage.”

  If she had dressed as she had tonight, wearing the sheerest of gowns with tiny capped sleeves, then the gentleman would have been clamoring all over themselves to reach her. She could have had any man she wanted. Keep his eyes from her low bodice had taken a toll on David’s nerves during the meal. He’d imagined any number of ways to peel her out of the dress. “And what of you? We haven’t really talked since my return. Have you set your heart on making a match yourself?”

  Peter stared at him steadily. “That’s unlikely.”

  “The right woman could do wonders for your circumstances,” he said quietly. There, he’d done it. He’d introduced a subject that could lead to discussing Peter’s finances and securing a bride with a fortune at the same time. Abigail should be pleased with him.

  Peter sat forward in his chair suddenly. “I don’t see a wife on your arm.”

  “My circumstances are different.” He shrugged. “I’ve no need for a wife.”

  “You have the money to support one,” Peter countered bitterly. “You’re as rich as Croesus. You could have a wife and a mistress and not feel the pinch to your pocketbook.”

  “But I have little time for either.”

  “And I have ample time, but barely any money to support anyone but my sister.” Peter loosened his cravat, face turning a deep shade of red at his confession. For a man normally full of jovial good spirits, the situation had severely curbed his lighter side.

  David sighed. “I had hoped never to have this conversation with a friend. I wish our fathers had never started this. But you must understand what my partner demands I do while I am here. The debt cannot stand as it is. You must find a way out of this. A good marriage could considerably improve your life.” Slowly, David removed the sealed letter from his pocket and slid it across the table.

  Peter stared at it. “How long?”

  “A month. I will return on the day to take possession of the house,” David said quietly. He wouldn’t let his partner come to Brighton. Knight would not be kind or patient as the Watsons took their leave.

  Peter’s shoulders sagged, his gaze dipping to the floor in defeat.

  For the first time ever, David felt evil. He was robbing a friend of his home. He’d become the antithesis of all he had hoped to be in his career. He wanted people to live a comfortable life. He simply couldn’t do what he wanted for a man in Peter Watson’s position.

  As he reached for his wine glass to wash the sour taste from his mouth, Peter spoke. “Leave.”

  “Peter,” David started.

  But his friend’s chin lifted. His eyes blazed with hate. “Take your money-grubbing ways out of my house. You are not to set foot within until month’s end.”

  David sighed and stood. “As you wish.”

  He strode from the room and picked up his hat and gloves from the entrance table. A movement inside the parlor drew his eye. Abigail waited with Miss George by her side, her clenched hands and panicked expression the final sign he could no longer call himself a good man.

  He knew this could happen but it hurt far more than he’d anticipated. Rather than speak to her, and risk Peter’s temper, David backed toward the door and quickly let himself out. He should not have come to Brighton. He should have let Knight handle the matter himself and mourned the loss of friends at a distance.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Glass shattered within the dining room. Abigail rushed there to see what Peter was about. She ducked as a wine bottle flew over her head to smash against the cream-papered walls. “Peter, what on earth is the matter with you?”

  But the brother she knew and loved had fled. In his place was a caged beast, striding from one end of the small room to the other, hands waving about i
n agitation. She had never seen him this way before and he frightened her. He tore his hands through his hair, almost as if he meant to rip it from his head, but he didn’t stop moving.

  Determined to end the madness, Abigail stepped into his path. “Peter, stop a moment and tell me what’s wrong.” She grabbed for him, but he eluded her. He backed away quickly, and then spun for the door. Unfortunately, Imogen stood between him and the door and, in his haste, Peter didn’t see her. He crashed into Imogen and she was knocked to the hard floor, a startled oomph leaving her lips.

  Abigail hurried across the room as Peter lifted Imogen to her feet, apologies tumbling from his lips so rapidly Imogen had no chance to respond. All of a sudden, Imogen captured his face between her hands and held him still. “Accidents happen, Mr. Watson. I’m uninjured.”

  Abigail’s brother closed his eyes briefly as Imogen moved her fingers over his red cheeks, and then he wrenched himself away, rushing for the door and leaving without even taking his hat or gloves.

  “Peter, wait,” Abigail called after him, but he never replied. She rushed to the front steps and peered down Cavendish Place. The street was deserted at this hour and after a time she had no choice but to shut the front door. He would come back soon. He and David must have quarreled, although she hadn’t heard a word of their conversation from the parlor.

  He would calm down soon enough. He simply needed time to take it all in. She followed Imogen into the parlor, and then realized her friend was limping. “Imogen, you are hurt.”

  “So it would seem. I landed somewhat awkwardly. I’ll be all right in a little while.”

  Imogen sat on the couch, but it was clear from the way she winced that her injury resided on her bottom. “Where will he go, do you think?”

  Abigail rubbed her temple hard. “I hate to speculate, but I hope he does not go to another hell. That won’t solve the problem.”

  “No. Gambling now will not solve anything, but could get you deeper into trouble. I wish he would come back soon. I do not like to think of you here alone if he returns in a temper.”

  “Peter is not a violent person. I am sure today is an aberration.” Abigail nibbled at her fingertip, uncertain of what to do next. It wasn’t like Peter to rush off into the night without a word to where he was going. Should she follow him?

  Imogen pursed her lips. “Troubled times calls for family and friends to stick together not bottle everything up inside. Did he confide in anyone?”

  “Not that I ever learned. He never really told me of his financial issues, remember.”

  They both jumped as three knocks rattled the front door.

  “Simpson will see who it is.” Abigail peered at Imogen as she gingerly repositioned herself on the couch. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?”

  Imogen shook her head. “It’s mostly my pride that is bruised.”

  Simpson’s slow steps echoed in the hall and then male voices sounded. At last, Simpson came to the parlor doorway. “Mr. Hawke wishes to inquire if you are in need, Miss Watson. He is quite concerned.”

  Abigail’s heart raced. If she asked David to find Peter and bring him home again, would he be willing? “Please ask him to come in, Mr. Simpson, so I may reassure him in person.”

  “I did ask him to step inside, but he has refused.” Simpson glanced over his shoulder before he spoke. “I believe the master did banish Mr. Hawke from entering the house ever again before he stormed out.”

  Abigail jumped to her feet. Why would Peter be so cruel to their friend? It wasn’t David’s fault Peter was in debt. She rushed for the front door. David waited on the pavement, pacing to and fro.

  When he saw her, his shoulders sagged. “I shouldn’t be here, but I had to check. Is everything all right within?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.” She glanced up and down the street and saw more than one head at the curtains, outlined by the candlelight behind them. “Please come in.”

  “I am afraid I may not. I wanted to see for myself that you remain unharmed.” David stepped closer to the door. “I heard glass break.”

  His voice dipped to a rough murmur and Abigail’s stomach tumbled all over itself. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but with the residents of the street watching them, she didn’t dare. “It was nothing. Peter was upset tonight. I’m quick on my feet.”

  A soft smile tugged at David’s mouth. “I do recall that. Forgive me for intruding. I saw him rush off and couldn’t help myself.”

  He skimmed his fingertips along her cheek in a fleeting caress.

  “Mr. Hawke,” Imogen called, limping toward the door and breaking the spell between them. “May I have a word in private?”

  Her hard glance caused a blush to heat Abigail’s cheek. She should not allow David to touch her so tenderly where anyone passing by could see. Yet she couldn’t seem to find her good sense around him.

  David nodded as Imogen joined them at the door. “Of course.”

  Imogen kissed her cheek. “Try not to worry. I will see you soon.”

  “You’re going?”

  Her friend nodded. “I shall gather Walter and set out on Peter’s trail to ensure he does nothing foolish.” She stepped out onto the street, whispered something to David that Abigail could not hear and moved away. After a few steps, David glanced over his shoulder, but the expression on his face was as bleak as the day of his arrival.

  ~ * ~

  “If you toy with my friends affections for sport I shall be very cross with you Mr. Hawke. I shall name a terrible villain after you and plot a grisly demise.”

  David gulped, very sure Miss George would paint him the worst bounder. “I hardly know how to answer you. I’d not planned any of this.”

  For a man who planned everything he was completely out of his depth when it came to his pretty neighbor. He needed to take greater care to hide his interest.

  “Then I suggest you start planning how it will end. I hope not badly for Abigail. She has always looked up to you. Ah, here we are.”

  “Miss George, might I inquire as to your plan?” David looked down at the woman on his arm. “Rushing after Peter Watson might not be advisable given his mood.”

  “I do not believe allowing him to wallow in his current frame of mind would be wise.” She rapped on her front door, smiled at her housekeeper. “Would you know the location of my brother, Mrs. Perkins?”

  “He’s at supper, miss.”

  “Ah, perfect. If he’s already eaten then he’ll be an amiable companion for a stroll. If any woman wanted to snare my brother for a wife all they need do is see his meals were delivered promptly. Thank you for your time this evening, Mr. Hawke.”

  She curtsied to him and then quickly shut the door. David remained where he stood, trying to figure out what Miss George thought she could achieve by chasing after Peter in the middle of the night. Did every woman in Cavendish Place have no care for her reputation?

  David raked his fingers through his hair, speculating on the increase of grey appearing at his temples. “Not my problem,” he muttered to himself. There really was nothing more he could do.

  He slowly retraced his steps, glancing at the façade of the Watson’s residence to see if Abigail lingered at a window. The curtain didn’t move and with a pang of disappointment he went to his own door and let himself inside.

  His townhouse was silent, save for the whimpers emanating from the rear of the house. He hurried to the kitchen and scooped the puppy up against his chest. “Here I am, Princess. No need to fret.”

  The animal licked his fingers and wagged its tail so much David feared it would do itself an injury. After soothing the beast, David stepped out into the dark rear yard. He set the puppy down in a small patch of grass and looked up into the night sky.

  Even with the puppy for company, he was lonely.

  Perhaps he should consider finding a wife.

  But the only woman he could imagine spending his nights and days with was Abigail and now he couldn’t e
ven call on her to court her properly. Peter would never agree, given the business between them. The thought of how long it might take to repair their friendship wasn’t comforting. He could be waiting a long time and he didn’t want to wait another day.

  He glanced at the rear of Abigail’s house, where he knew her bedchamber to be. It was dark which must mean she had already turned in for the night. Disappointment filled him. He was alone again and he was tired of it.

  He sat down on a patch of grass and considered what to do. Should he approach Peter first or try to get Abigail alone again to see if she was interested? She’d clearly stated she wasn’t looking for a husband. Would she accept if he asked her?

  The rear garden gate creaked and he looked up. Abigail approached slowly, her head tilted to one side, still wearing the dress that had tortured him during dinner. “I was afraid you had company for a moment.”

  He patted the pup who had just taken an interest in the tip of his boot. “Miss Watson, may I introduce Princess? Princess, you have the honor of meeting our remarkable young neighbor.”

  Abigail knelt beside him and stretched her fingers out to the pup. When Princess licked at her fingers a happy smile flittered over her face. Abigail had a tender heart and made friends very easily. He would like to see her smile so every day. He was sure the effort to make her happy would be worth any sacrifice.

  He yearned to pull her into his arms and promise everything would turn out for the best. “I take it Peter has not returned.”

  Her head lowered and her fingers clasped together. “No.”

  “Abigail, may I ask you a question?”

  Her smile was immediate. “Of course.”

  “Why are you here?”

  She shrugged and returned her attention to Princess. “I feel comfortable with you.”

  “Is that all?”

  She picked up the puppy and cuddled it against her chest. “You leave soon.”