It Takes a Scandal

Chapter 12

The afternoon in the grotto eliminated the last shred of doubt in Abigail’s mind: she was utterly fascinated with Sebastian Vane.

All her anger over his early behavior was washed away, not only by the way he gave her his mother’s book but by the way he cleared the grotto for her, not even knowing if she would return. When he spoke of his father, going slowly mad before disappearing one night while Sebastian was unable to stop him, she’d wanted to put her fingers in her ears. How awful people were, to call him a murderer when he’d been a gravely wounded young man facing the loss of his father, the ruin of his expectations, and the pain of his injury. Who would not turn away from the neighbors who thought he was evil?

But she knew differently. She refused to be cowed by other people’s wrong assumptions, and she was outraged enough by the extremity of them to want to prove them wrong.

“Why haven’t we invited any neighbors to dine with us?” she asked the next day as she sat with her mother and sister.

“What do you mean, Abby? We had a ball barely a month ago, and a picnic,” Mama replied in surprise. “Of course, it’s always lovely to have guests . . .”

“Precisely. And we’ve barely become acquainted with one neighbor.” Abigail ignored the way her sister’s eyebrows shot up. “Shouldn’t we invite Mr. Vane? Without him, Milo might still be lost in the woods, wild and savage by now.”

“Wild and savage!” Mama smiled. “What a way you have with words, dear. I’m sure James would have found him if Mr. Vane hadn’t been there.”

“But Mr. Vane was there, and he did save Milo,” she argued.

“And I thanked him, when he called,” Mama replied, gently but firmly. “I don’t think he’ll come to dinner. Your papa says he’s a very reserved fellow who prefers to be left alone.”

“If he won’t come, there’s even less harm in issuing an invitation,” Penelope remarked. “You’ll get the credit for inviting him, without having to entertain him. Besides, he might think us rude if we don’t, as such close neighbors. Everyone in Richmond was invited to the ball, but a dinner invitation shows more solicitude.”

“Exactly,” said Abigail immediately, feeling very grateful to her sister. “What’s the harm in issuing an invitation?”

Mama leaned back on the sofa and fixed a sharp gaze on her, idly stroking Milo with one hand. “What’s your interest in inviting him, Abigail?”

“Neighborly gratitude, Mama.”

Mama said nothing, but her expression remained suspicious. Abigail fought to keep from squirming, but feared she’d failed when her mother said, “Penelope, would you please go upstairs and fetch my embroidery case?”

“Oh, it’s right here, Mama, on the table,” said Penelope.

“Then go upstairs and find the length of blue silk.”

“I’ll ring for Maria to fetch it.”

“Penelope,” said Mama, a faint ring of steel in her voice, “go find it yourself.”

Her sister’s face creased in frustration. She knew she was being ordered from the room, and she wasn’t happy about it. She rose, slowly, and threw down the ladies’ magazine she’d been reading. “Where is it, Mama?”

“I don’t know, you must look for it.” This time Mama looked away from Abigail and pinned that sharp gaze on her youngest child. “Go, Penelope.”

Dragging her feet, Penelope went.

Mama set Milo aside and crooked her finger. “Come here, dear.”

Abigail’s heart sank. Feeling every bit as reluctant as her sister had been, she moved to sit beside her mother on the sofa.

“What is your interest in Mr. Vane?” her mother asked bluntly.

She prayed she wasn’t blushing. “Neighborly, Mama.” Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “And perhaps a little more,” she added, knowing confession was better if made willingly and quickly.

“How much more?”

Now she knew she was blushing. Still, she didn’t look away, and she clenched her hands together in her lap to keep from fidgeting. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’ve gone for several walks in the woods. I know you’re very fond of finding a peaceful spot to read, and I am not calling you deceitful,” Mama said. “But I can’t help wondering if perhaps you’ve met him on your strolls and formed an attachment.”

Abigail cleared her throat. She hadn’t planned on making this much confession, but lying about it now would be a crucial error. “Well, yes, when Penelope and I went walking the other day, we did meet him. He was looking for his dog, who’d got lost in the woods, and since he was so kind when Milo ran off, we offered to help him look.”

“And did you find the dog?”

“No, Penelope fell in the mud, so we came home.”

Mama just sat watching her, saying nothing, for a long, long moment. Abigail tried to tell herself she wasn’t really lying—everything she’d said was true, after all—and that there was nothing to be gained by saying more.


“I have long trusted you, Abigail,” said Mama at last. “You’re a girl of such good sense. But even sensible girls can lose their heads over men, particularly handsome, mysterious men like Mr. Vane.” She nodded at Abigail’s slight start. “He’s a very handsome fellow; did you think I hadn’t noticed? I know those woods straddle Hart House and Montrose Hill lands, and he has every right to walk in them, too. I merely want to assure myself that you’re still being sensible.”

Abigail thought about it for a moment. She didn’t think she was being foolish and rash. She had asked other people about him; Lady Samantha called him a decent gentleman. Many of the rumors about him didn’t even make sense, so she felt sensible in regarding them with doubt. And for the rest . . . Was it possible for love and attraction to make sense? She didn’t know that answer.

“Yes, Mama,” she said. “I believe so.”

“I hope so.” Mama watched her another minute. “Is he more charming in the woods than he is indoors?”

She blushed. “I—I think I would say he is less reserved.”

“How much less reserved?”

To Abigail’s intense relief, she was spared having to reply by a tap on the door. Her relief was short-lived, though, as the butler stepped into the room and announced, “Mr. Sebastian Vane to see you, ma’am.”

Mama’s face didn’t change, but she slowly turned to look at Abigail. “Indeed? Show him in, Thomson.” And as the butler bowed and left, she murmured, “How very timely.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “I had no idea, Mama! You mustn’t think I mentioned him earlier because I thought he might call!”

“No?” Mama rose. “I wonder.”

Abigail flushed in misery. What luck, that Sebastian would choose to call—after repeatedly refusing to do so—right as she was trying to persuade her mother to think better of him. Of course it smacked of planning. Still, that discomfort was nearly blotted out by the burst of delight his arrival caused. Tense with anticipation, she stood beside her mother as the door opened again.

Penelope came in first, her hands conspicuously empty. “See whom I met in the hall!” she said happily. And then he was there. Milo gave a shrill bark, and leapt off the sofa to run and sniff his feet. Sebastian wore a dark blue coat and gray trousers, a little plain but more refined than what he wore into the woods. His boots shone, and the white of his cravat showed how tanned his face was. This time his gaze landed on her first. Abigail bit her cheek to stop herself from beaming like a lovesick girl, and ducked her head in a curtsy.

“Mrs. Weston,” he said, bowing. “Miss Weston.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Vane.” Mama smiled. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you.” He glanced down at Milo, whose nose was practically stuck to his boot. “This is the fondest welcome I’ve received in some time.”

“Do pardon Milo.” Mama reached for the bell. “I’ll have him taken upstairs.”

“No need. A dog learns through his nose.” He stooped down and held out his hand. Milo sniffed each and every finger, and then began licking them.

“He likes you,” said Abigail warmly. “If a sniff means ‘How do you do, sir,’ a lick on the hand means, ‘Stay for tea.’ ” Penelope laughed, and Mama smiled.

Sebastian glanced up at her. “I think you’re correct, Miss Weston. Dogs are much simpler than people. All it takes is a thorough sniffing to tell if someone is a friend.”

“That’s not as clever as it sounds,” remarked Penelope. “I can tell just by looking at some people whether or not we’re meant to be friends.”

“Penelope,” said her mother in a low, warning tone.

“Milo approves of Mr. Vane,” said Abigail quickly, motioning to the puppy’s continued licking. “This is quite the most entranced I’ve ever seen him.”

“It is indeed,” Mama conceded. “You have a way with him, Mr. Vane.”

Sebastian rose. “I’m delighted to have won his favor.” He pulled out his handkerchief to dry his fingers where Milo had licked. When he went to replace the handkerchief in his coat pocket, though, his cane slipped from where it had been propped against his leg, and in catching it, he dropped the handkerchief. With a joyful yip, Milo seized it in his teeth.

“Milo, no!” Mama reached for her dog. He scampered out of her grasp, his stubby tail wagging furiously; being chased was one of his favorite games. “He’s such a naughty creature sometimes,” she said apologetically to Sebastian.

“He’s not naughty, he’s just a puppy who doesn’t know better.” Abigail was astonished to see a faint smile light his face. “Is he your first dog?”

“Clearly,” said Mama, adding with a sigh, “and likely the last!”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “May I try to teach him something?”

There was a moment of silent astonishment in the room. Mama recovered quickly. “Of course!”

“Please do,” added Penelope.

“Have you any sort of food he particularly likes?”

Mama blinked. “He likes everything, Mr. Vane; bits of cheese and ham, bacon, cake . . .”

He smiled again. “I wouldn’t feed him cake; dogs need something to chew. If you have a bit of cheese . . .” He glanced at Abigail, who remembered Boris. “My dog is excessively fond of cheese,” he explained. “Nothing makes him obey like a small lump of it.”

“Penelope, ring for some cheese at once,” Mama exclaimed. “I simply must see this!”

Cheese was fetched in just a few minutes. Milo had retreated under the sofa with his prize while attention was diverted from him. Sebastian cut a small lump from the block of cheese the maid brought, then went down on his good knee and snapped his fingers. “Milo,” he said in a voice of unmistakable command.

The dog gave a little yip; he knew his name. But he stayed under the sofa.

“Come,” said Sebastian firmly. He didn’t move except to tap the floor in front of him. “Milo, come.” And he set the cheese on the floor where he had tapped.

Nose quivering, Milo emerged. He still held the handkerchief in his mouth and his tail still wagged, but he glanced at Mr. Vane curiously. Mama watched with hope.

Milo tossed his head, shaking the handkerchief, then trotted across the room. He stopped short of Sebastian, but when Sebastian still didn’t try to grab him, the dog sidled closer. His nose twitched at the cheese. Finally he dropped the handkerchief and came right up to the cheese and ate it.

Mama let out a breath of relief and made a motion to get her pet, but Sebastian stayed her with one upraised hand. Never taking his eyes off the puppy, he held out another lump of cheese with his fingertips. When Milo tried to nip it from him, Sebastian raised it just above his head. As Milo craned his neck back to follow the treat, his hindquarters sank, until he was sitting, seemingly mesmerized by the bite of cheese.

“Good dog,” said Sebastian in the same firm voice. “Sit.” After a moment of waiting, he gave the puppy the cheese, patted his head, and got to his feet. Milo jumped up at once and began sniffing the floor, but Sebastian ignored it.

Abigail hurried to retrieve the handkerchief, spotting a rip in one edge. “I’m so sorry, Milo’s bitten a hole . . .”


“Mr. Vane, I shall send you a large box of new handkerchiefs,” said Mama, gazing in delight at Milo, who was still sniffing attentively at his feet. “If you can teach Milo how to behave—”

He shook his head. “You can teach Milo, Mrs. Weston—and you should. It does you no good if he only obeys me. You must all of you take turns teaching him to obey, so he will learn it’s a general rule, not something particular to one person.” He cut another tiny bite of cheese and walked across the room. “Milo, come.”

The puppy barked and ran after him. “Sit, Milo.” Again Sebastian lowered the cheese until the dog had no choice but to sit if he wanted to keep his mouth near it. “Good boy.” Milo nipped the cheese from his fingers, and got another pat on the head. Sebastian came back to stand near Abigail. “Milo, come.” Again the dog ran after him, and this time sat without being prompted. “Good boy.” This time he only petted the dog’s head.

“You forgot to feed him cheese,” pointed out Penelope as Milo continued to sit in expectation, his little tongue hanging out.

“I did not forget,” Sebastian told her. “Affection is the real reward. He must learn to come just for that. If you only train him to come when you have cheese, he won’t listen when you don’t. If he only gets the cheese some of the times you command him, he will obey even better, for he never knows if this is to be the time he gets the reward or not, and he won’t want to miss that chance.”

The door opened to reveal Papa, who stopped short. “Mr. Vane,” he said in surprise.

“Sir.” Sebastian returned Papa’s bow. His smile, however faint, had vanished, and he looked as formal and proper as Abigail had ever seen him.

“Mr. Weston, you’ll never guess what Mr. Vane has just done,” exclaimed Mama. “He has taught Milo to come when called!”

Papa raised his brows. “How fortunate you visited, Vane. An invaluable service!”

“I only showed Mrs. Weston how I trained my dog when he was a pup,” Sebastian explained. “I hope it will help her train Milo.”

“Is your dog a terrier?”

“No, a large black boar hound.”

Papa nodded approvingly. “Ah, a proper dog.”

“Mr. Weston,” scolded Mama. “How could you?”

“What?” Papa spread his hands innocently. “I only meant one couldn’t mistake a boar hound for an overfed cat.” He grimaced as his wife and younger daughter cried in protest. “Yes, I know he is adorable and sweet and all that anyone could want in a pet.”

“Let us have some tea,” said Mama firmly. “We shall teach Milo more tricks later.” She carried her puppy back to the sofa just as the maid brought a tray. By careful maneuvering, Abigail managed to take the chair opposite Sebastian, but away from her mother. She reminded herself to be her usual self, not betraying any interest, but her father, of all people, saved her. He had come to speak to Mama about a barge, and like the house, it came out that he’d already bought it.

“Mr. Weston, you’re too indulgent,” said Mama with a smile. Apparently the barge was more pleasing than the house had been.

He winked at her. “I’m still in search of the Egyptians to sail it for you, my dear.” He turned to their visitor. “Vane, there must be some good boating to be had on the river. Where would you advise Mrs. Weston to plan her first barge outing?”

For a moment Sebastian seemed frozen, as if the sudden focus of attention on him was uncomfortable. Then his face eased into the half smile that so teased Abigail. “I daresay merely sailing up the river would be delightful. The countryside is magnificent, once you get past the turn at Hampton Court.”

“A capital idea,” declared Papa. “Shall we plan it, Mrs. Weston?”

She smiled. “Far be it from me to deny it! Mr. Vane, will you join us on the expedition?”

His gaze darted to Abigail. “I would be delighted, ma’am.”

By the time he rose to take his leave a short time later, all the details for the barge outing had been fixed. Papa had, of course, suggested they invite the Lennox ladies. Abigail, still mildly curious about the rumored attachment between Lady Samantha and Sebastian, glanced at him, but he showed no sign of distress. It set her mind more at ease. Lady Samantha might have some lingering regret or affection, but so long as Sebastian didn’t grow melancholy and tense at the sound of her name, Abigail didn’t see the need to wonder.

When he had gone, she picked up her embroidery again, trying to act as though it had been a very ordinary call. But it hadn’t been, not to her—her heart almost sang with delight that he had come. It hadn’t been to be polite this time; he had come for her. She stabbed her needle through her cloth and drew the bright blue floss through, feeling as bright and happy as the bird she was stitching.

“Well, well. I never thought I’d see Sebastian Vane in this drawing room,” remarked her father.

Her face warmed. She tried to guess, without looking up from her sewing, if he meant that comment for her.

“I suspect we’ll see him again,” said her mother.

“Will we, now?”

This time she could feel Papa’s sharp gaze on her. Abigail glanced up, affecting surprise. “At the barge expedition, of course. Mama invited him and he accepted.”

Papa raised one brow. “Yes, and from what I’ve heard, he never accepts invitations. Or pays calls.”

“Perhaps he’ll take a fancy to one of us,” Penelope piped up. “You should be pleased, Papa; isn’t that why you bought this house in the first place?”

He snorted. “That is not why I bought this house.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “We heard you telling Mama exactly that! ‘Just think of all the eager gentlemen who will line up to court our daughters in this hall,’ ” she said, lowering her voice and pulling a wily expression that made her mother raise one hand to her mouth to hide a smile. “ ‘We have to buy this house for our grandchildren’s sake! In fact, we may not have grandchildren if we don’t buy this house!’ ”

“That’s enough out of you,” said Papa, but with a twinkle in his eye. “I understand why ladies wear those curls around their temples; it’s to hide the size of their very keen ears.”

Penelope shrugged, petting Milo, who had crawled into her lap. “I didn’t think it was a secret. But if you want us to get married, you ought to welcome any potential suitors, don’t you think? Who knows; this might be Abby’s only chance.”

“Thank you very much,” exclaimed Abigail in pretend outrage. “I will try not to get in the way of all your suitors, who number . . . wait a moment, let me count . . . Oh yes, there are none.”

Her sister snorted. “There aren’t enough interesting gentlemen in this entire village to fill a barouche. I’m glad they aren’t pestering me.”

Papa shook his finger at her. “I ought to marry you to the first country curate who asks.”

“Only if he’s dark and mysterious and gives very short sermons.”

“Enough,” said Mama firmly. “No man will be called a suitor before he’s asked permission of your father. Penelope, where is my blue silk? I specifically asked you to fetch it.”

“I couldn’t find it.”


“Then let us go look together.” Mama rose and waited until Penelope, reluctantly, did the same, and they left. Abigail could hear her sister trying to beg off the errand as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Well.” Papa slapped his knee. “Let’s have a stroll outdoors, shall we, Abby?”

Her mother must have said something to him, either earlier today or perhaps in that secret communication her parents seem to share, when volumes could be spoken with a single glance. Abigail put aside her embroidery and went with him.

They went outside and paused for a moment to take in the view. It was a beautiful day, the sky clear and the light soft. The lawns looked as lush as velvet, rolling down to the river. It was quiet and peaceful out here, and Abigail took a deep breath, letting her shoulders ease.

“Do you like Richmond, Abby?”

“Oh yes. It’s not as entertaining as London, but I like the quiet.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad someone does. Your mother will always prefer town, I suspect.”

“Do you prefer it out here, Papa?”

“It’s a pleasant change. I’ll be glad to go to London in the winter, and glad to return to Richmond again next summer.” He cast her a sideways look. “And is it only the quiet that appeals to you?”

She widened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Her father snorted. “Mr. Vane, the so-called Misanthrope of Montrose Hill House, in my drawing room. I don’t think he was here to see me or your mother.”

Abigail thought about how to reply. Her father was no fool, and he’d see through any evasions she tried. Finally she decided it was best not to deny, but not to confirm. “Do you not like him, Papa?”

He sighed, and nudged her forward. They walked across the terrace and over the gravel path, onto the grass. “When I bought Hart House, more than one person warned me about him; he’s mad, they said, dead broke and a cripple. Build a tall wall around your property if you don’t fancy a deranged leech making off with one of your daughters.” Abigail scowled, but her father went on in the same affable tone. “I’ve met the man a few times now, and didn’t see any sign of madness. I can’t say whether he’s bankrupt or not, but he’s still in possession of an unentailed house and property, which is not insignificant.” He paused. “But that pales to the other reports I heard.”

“You mean that he killed his father and turned to thieving?”

“Something like that,” agreed her father.

Abigail knew that tone. It sounded unconcerned, but it wasn’t; he was trying to draw out her thoughts without rousing her temper. He’d got her to confess to all manner of childhood mischief with that tone. She tried to turn it back on him. “He told me all those rumors, too.”

Her father glanced at her, startled. “He told you?”

She nodded. “He came to call on Mama once before, and I spoke to him. He took his leave rather abruptly when Mrs. Huntley arrived.”

“That’s hardly a sign of madness—more like sanity,” muttered her father.

“Exactly what I thought.” She wrinkled her nose and laughed as he grinned. “So I had a word with him, to make certain there had been no offense taken, and he told me what everyone says about him—what Mrs. Huntley would say about him, I suppose.”

“Hmm.” He stopped and turned to face her. “They’re serious charges, Abby.”

“But there doesn’t seem to be evidence,” she pointed out. “Otherwise he’d have been arrested, don’t you think?”

Papa didn’t look pleased by her response. “Lack of proof doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”

“It can hardly mean he’s guilty, either.”

That seemed to please him even less. For a long moment he said nothing, but appeared to be thinking hard, judging from the furrows on his brow. “It’s one thing to suffer some disdain over your origins,” he said at last, “and another to suffer it because of your own actions. Have you thought what it would mean for your standing, if you encourage this man? Your sister’s teasing aside, I did hope to raise my family up by purchasing Hart House. I know you and Penelope are snubbed by some merely for the circumstances of my birth, but I have very high hopes for both of you.”

“I don’t care about the opinion of those people,” she tried to say, but he shook his head.

“You don’t care because you’ve been insulated from most consequences. It’s crass to speak of it, but the truth is that money has made the difference. Even people who shudder at the thought of their sons dancing with an attorney’s daughter will grit their teeth and smile when that attorney’s daughter is an heiress. I know you are much, much more than that,” he added at her expression. “But not everyone does. Have you any idea what they will say if you attach yourself to a man of even worse reputation and no fortune?”

It took her a moment to master her voice. “Anyone who would condemn a man—or a woman—simply because of his fortune, or misfortune, is a fool!”

“Abigail.” He put his hand on her arm. “You’re not chasing after this man, are you?”

She blushed. “No!” Not really. Was she?

His close scrutiny didn’t let up. “You’ve got a sensible head on your shoulders, and I find it hard to believe you’d do something like that. If any of my children gave me trouble in that way, I always thought it would be Penelope,” he said, making her smile a little uncomfortably. “Your mother would box my ears if I didn’t listen to your preference in choosing a husband, but she’d also be horror-struck if you threw yourself away on a scoundrel. I’m willing to reserve judgment of Vane where rumor and gossip are concerned, but you know as well as I that there’s no smoke without some fire. If I come to believe he’s capable of anything remotely like what people say—”

“They say his dog is a witch’s familiar, Papa.” She raised her brows. “I’ve met that dog, and it’s as much a witch’s pet as Milo is.”

His lips twitched. “He did teach that damned rat a useful trick.”

“Mr. Vane’s reputation is not, I believe, based on his character or his actions,” she said softly. “I hope you trust me more than to think I would discount that.”

“And what, precisely, have his actions been toward you?” He folded his arms and cocked his head.

Abigail swallowed. “Measured, Papa. Polite but wary. He wouldn’t tell me his name the night he saved Milo, and he warned me himself about his reputation. If he’s a fortune hunter, he’s doing a very poor job of it, at least with regard to me. Lady Samantha told me he was once an eligible young man in Richmond, before he came home wounded from the war to find his father gone mad. I saw Mrs. Driscoll treat him with near-contempt and impatience, and he endured it without a flicker of anger. I think he’s accustomed to being treated with apprehension and disapproval, and has simply withdrawn to avoid it. Wouldn’t you, if people said such awful things about you? I—I think he is a decent gentleman acting to preserve his dignity.”

“Perhaps so.” Papa shook his head. “I hope so. I admit he doesn’t seem like a villain. But Abigail—” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I said I would reserve judgment, not acquit him entirely. Take care your feelings and wishes don’t blind you to his faults.”


“I won’t,” she promised. No man was without fault. She was sensible enough to remember that.

She just couldn’t believe Sebastian’s faults included murder and robbery.