It Takes a Scandal

Chapter 17

Sebastian returned to Richmond in some mental disquiet.

On the one hand, he had cause for optimism. According to the Bristol solicitor, Uncle Henry had left nearly four thousand pounds. While not as much as Sebastian had wished for, it was still a good sum. It would take some time for all the money to be extracted from Henry’s investments, but Sebastian didn’t want to waste a moment. From Bristol he’d gone directly to London and visited his own solicitor, to begin making plans to pay off his most onerous debts. He would still be a far sight from prosperous, but it was a step in the right direction.

But his optimism was tempered by the knowledge that it was only a modest step. Four thousand pounds wouldn’t cover half the debt his father had left him, and as soon as one creditor was paid, the others might catch wind of it and begin clamoring for their own repayment, with interest. They’d mostly given up asking, since he’d been unable to pay for so long. Still, he wanted them dealt with before any hint of him marrying an heiress got out and brought them all to his door in pursuit of Abigail’s dowry. It struck him that he could stretch his windfall, if he was canny about it, so he’d told his solicitor to make overtures to every creditor and try to bargain on the amount owed by intimating that this was likely the creditor’s only chance to see any of his funds returned.

He was well aware that it might not work, but he’d worry about that when the time came. For now, he wanted to see Abigail. He’d been away from her for sixteen days, every one of them long and lonely. Pride be damned; he wanted her, and if she would have him, he was a fool to wait until he was respectable and well-off—especially since that might never happen. The morning after he arrived home, on the last coach from London, he put on his best coat and hat, tucked his gift for her into his pocket, and set out for Hart House, barely noticing the pronounced limp he’d acquired after so many long journeys in public coaches.

He was quickly disappointed, however. “Miss Weston is not at home,” the butler told him.

“I see. Is she expected back today?”

Thomson just looked at him in the stony-faced way butlers so often had.

Sebastian amended his question. “I meant to inquire if the family is still in residence, and hasn’t returned to London.”

“No, sir,” said the butler at once. “They are still in residence.”

That was a relief, tempering the disappointment. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you.” He turned and started toward Montrose Hill.

“Sir.” Thomson cleared his throat. “I believe they have only gone to town for the afternoon. If you would care to leave your card . . .”

He didn’t have cards anymore, but Sebastian’s heart jumped. “No need,” he replied. “Thank you.” He touched his hat and walked away, this time toward Richmond village.

It was less than a mile, but by the time he reached the village his knee ached. He’d got out of the habit of nightly rambles while he was away, and felt it. Still, it would be worth it to see her again, and his eyes seemed unable to fix on any point as he searched for her. Without thinking he headed for the bookshop, wondering if she’d read the book he sent her . . . or if she’d read the pamphlets again.

He was a little distracted by that last thought, and failed to keep his attention on the people around him. It was the sound of his name that brought his head up, halting his steps. “Mr. Vane,” cried the voice again as he scanned the crowd. It took him a moment to realize it was Penelope Weston’s voice, and that she was hurrying across the street toward him, and that Abigail was behind her, as beautiful as ever with her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise, and that holding her in his arm, gazing down at her in tender concern . . . was Benedict Lennox.

“Mr. Vane!” Beaming, Penelope Weston bobbed a quick curtsy in front of him. “How brilliant to meet you here again!”

With a jerk, he tore his eyes off Abigail and Benedict. “Is it?”

“Yes! We’d been wondering when you would return—my sister and I were just discussing it, in fact—and here you are! Rather like fate, don’t you think?”

It did feel like fate—his fate, anyway, which was apparently to lose everything that meant anything to him. He could feel his face hardening as Abigail tipped up her face to Benedict and said something. Ben raised his head and looked right at Sebastian without a trace of expression before dropping his gaze back to Abigail and replying to her. Sebastian’s fingers shook, they gripped his cane so hard. He was dimly aware that Penelope was still waiting for a response, but he couldn’t make one. When had Benedict come home? When the devil had he become so cozy with Abigail? He was practically embracing her on a public street. And the way she was looking at him . . .


“I beg your pardon, Miss Weston,” he said, groping for his wits. “What did you say?”

“I said welcome home,” she said, her voice gone soft. “I hope your trip was pleasant.”

“Yes.” From the corner of his eye he could see Abigail crossing the street, Benedict close behind her. “I hope all was well with you?”

Penelope Weston made a face. She glanced over her shoulder at her sister and her companion, drawing nearer. “It could have been better, if you ask me.”

Somehow he guessed she meant Benedict. The thought that at least one Weston sister preferred him was comforting, even if it wasn’t the Weston sister he preferred. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured, and then Abigail reached them.

“Mr. Vane,” she said, her voice a little out of breath. And for a moment Sebastian was lost again, caught in her shining gray gaze. “How lovely to see you again.”

He bowed. “And you, Miss Weston.”

“Well, well,” said Benedict in a hearty tone. “Vane! It’s been years.”

Sebastian straightened to his full height and stared his former friend in the face. He’d always been a couple of inches taller, and even with the cane he still had a slight advantage. “Indeed.”

“Are you already acquainted?” asked Penelope, who seemed to be the only one of them who retained full possession of her powers of speech. “Oh, but of course—you’ve known each other for years.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw for a second. “We’ve not seen each other much of late, Miss Weston.”

“No,” agreed Benedict at once, his smile growing harder and more fixed. “How surprising you know Mr. Vane, Miss Penelope.”

“We’re neighbors.” Sebastian held tight to his temper. He wished Abigail would say something, but then, he couldn’t think of anything that would soothe the shock of seeing her on Benedict’s arm—no, not politely holding his arm, but clutching his jacket and letting him put his arm around her waist. Sebastian’s own arm flexed and tightened, remembering how it felt to hold Abigail. And remembering how and why he had held her only a few weeks ago. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten how near Montrose Hill and Hart House are to each other.”

Benedict’s eyes narrowed. “Happily I’ve had the chance to rediscover it.” He glanced down at Abigail. “Miss Weston was kind enough to walk with me through the woods, indulging me as I revisited childhood haunts.”

He looked at Abigail, whose cheeks were a dull scarlet. “That was very kind of her.”

“Half those woods are Mr. Vane’s, you know,” put in Penelope. “I hope you weren’t trespassing, Lord Atherton.”

Sebastian was mean enough to take some enjoyment from the irked look Benedict shot Penelope, who merely gave him a sunny smile. But Benedict’s words ruined his pleasure immediately. “Oh, not half, Miss Weston. A good portion of it actually belongs to my father.” He turned to Sebastian, brows raised. “All the riverfront acreage, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Sebastian had to force the word past his lips. All that land did belong to Benedict’s father, the Earl of Stratford, because Michael Vane had sold it to him for fifty pounds. And when Sebastian had tried to speak to the earl about it, Stratford laughed in his face—which was almost as bad as Benedict’s reaction. Benedict had been indifferent and dismissive and said it was just as well, for his father would manage the land far better than a madman could.

That had been his last lengthy conversation with Benedict, come to think of it. And it wasn’t one Sebastian wished to renew, now or ever.

He bowed slightly. “I don’t want to keep you from your shopping. Good day, Miss Weston, Miss Penelope.” He looked right at Benedict. “My lord.”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Abigail, putting out her hand.

He stopped at once. She had let go of Benedict’s arm to reach toward him, and part of him yearned to take that hand and pull her to his side. He wrapped his fingers more firmly around the cane’s head and waited. Everyone waited, in fact, all watching her.

Her cheeks flushed darker and she cleared her throat. “You’re not interrupting, Mr. Vane. We—my sister and I”—she paused, then went on without looking at Benedict—“are very glad you’ve come home. I’m sure Boris was beside himself!” She smiled, but no one else did, and so it withered on her lips. “I hope your trip was as rewarding as you’d hoped,” she added, a little uncertainly.

Sebastian looked at her. She was as beautiful as he’d remembered; even the slightly flustered air and pink cheeks reminded him of their last meeting, when he’d brought her to climax in his arms. The memory made him excruciatingly aware of the box in his pocket, tried up with a bit of red ribbon. His uncle had left him a cameo pendant that had once belonged to his great-grandmother, a small but delicate piece. Sebastian had bought a new chain for it and imagined fastening it around Abigail’s neck, the cameo nestled between her lovely breasts. He’d imagined bestowing a kiss on the spot where it would rest.

But it seemed he might have lost more than he gained in the fortnight he’d been away. “Thank you,” he said in reply to her remark. “It was unremarkable.”

Penelope clapped her hands together. “Well! The four of us can’t just stand here all day; we’re blocking half the street. Do visit Hart House soon, Mr. Vane. I’ve never been to Bristol and look forward to being regaled with exciting stories.”

“I doubt it could live up to your expectations,” he told her. “If Richmond bores you, Bristol would numb you.”

“Bored in Richmond!” Benedict laughed. “Ah yes, I remember your lament, Miss Penelope. Surely it’s grown on you since we visited Kew and Hampton Court?”

“My opinion of those places improved,” she replied. “Although you promised to show us a ghost at Hampton Court and I didn’t see even a floating veil. And then we came back to dull little Richmond.”

“I can’t have you think that of my home.” Benedict gave her a teasing smile. “How about a dinner party, to breathe some life into the place? My mother would be delighted to have one; she’s been talking of it since I returned home. What say you, Miss Penelope?”

The Weston girls exchanged a glance Sebastian couldn’t quite interpret. Surprise, but also something else. So they hadn’t been invited to Stratford Court yet. “That’s very kind, sir,” said Abigail with a forced smile. “I’m sure it would be delightful.”

“Excellent. We’ll send out cards at once.” This time when he faced Sebastian, there was a definite challenge in Benedict’s eye. “How about it, Vane? Will you join us as well?”

He burned to say no. He never wanted to see Lord Stratford again, let alone dine at his table. But on the other hand . . . He glanced at Abigail. It was hard to blame her for wanting a man with two good legs and a respectable fortune. It was, unfortunately, harder to see her choose Benedict Lennox, of all people. She had stepped away from Benedict now, though, closer to her sister, and that alone made him take a deep breath and say, “Of course.”

Benedict’s smile faded a little. “Excellent.” He turned back toward the Weston ladies. “Shall we continue in search of your brother? I believe you said he was waiting for you at the coffee shop.”


“No, he isn’t!” Penelope sounded almost gleeful. She raised one arm. “James!”

Mr. Weston nodded in greeting as he joined them. “Atherton, Vane; how do you do?” He surveyed his sisters. “I see I’m just in time to rescue you.”

“That’s a fine apology for being late meeting us,” Penelope accused him.

James Weston gave her an amused look. “You seem to be in good hands, but I know my duty. Gentlemen, thank you for entertaining my sisters. I shall return them to the safety of Hart House now.”

“Not a duty, but a pleasure.” Benedict laid one hand on his heart as he bowed. “Thank you again for your invaluable assistance, Miss Weston.”

“You’re very welcome, sir,” murmured Abigail.

“Good day, my lord!” chirped Penelope. “I do hope Lady Samantha appreciates the immense effort you expended on her behalf!”

With one last sharp glance at Sebastian, Benedict touched the brim of his hat and strode away, swinging his walking stick at his side. One might even think he did it to excess, as if to demonstrate how his cane was merely for show, and that he was very agile without it.

“I left the carriage down the street.” Mr. Weston looked at Penelope. “I hope you didn’t stir up trouble with Atherton.”

She made a face. “Why do you always suspect me of something dreadful?”

Her brother snorted. “Experience! Tell me what you did, he looked a bit out of humor . . .” They began walking.

Abigail, though, lingered. “Have you been home long?”

“Since last night, on the late coach from London.”

“Welcome home,” she said softly.

He bowed his head. “Thank you.” The image of her in Benedict’s arms had scoured away all the things he meant to say to her.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I see you’ve met Lord Atherton,” he said. He had to know. “He seems quite taken with you.” All he wanted was one word, one indication that she didn’t return Benedict’s obvious attraction to her. He could excuse Benedict’s interest in her—that was perfectly understandable—but did she welcome it?

She shifted the package in her arm uncomfortably, as if it was too heavy. “We met him only recently. He was in town, seeking a gift for his sister, and asked me—and Penelope,” she hastily added, “to advise him.”

That was no reply at all to his remark that Benedict was taken with her. It had been as clear as day to Sebastian, but if she didn’t even pretend not to have noticed . . . He told himself he couldn’t blame her, but at the same time he could already feel the armor re-forming around his heart. He tilted his head in the direction her siblings had gone. “I don’t want to keep you. Shall we?”

Abigail nodded, too disconcerted to say anything. This was not the reunion   she had imagined. He didn’t seem at all pleased to see her, with not one word of delight at running into them. Sebastian fell in step beside her, without offering his arm. Now the weight of Ivanhoe felt like a small boulder in her arm. Even if he had no idea what it was, she did—but from the hard set of his shoulders and his remote expression, she imagined he suspected.

“I’m glad your trip was a success,” she said to break the oppressive silence. Penelope seemed to be inciting James to a race, for they had already made much quicker progress.

Sebastian glanced fleetingly at her. “I suppose.”

“Wasn’t it?”

His mouth was a firm line and his eyes were fixed straight ahead. “I’m not certain.”

She began to be annoyed. He was acting as if she had offended him when all she had done was be cordial to a neighbor. She hiked Ivanhoe a little higher into the crook of her elbow. If Sebastian Vane felt such an interest in her actions, he could have done something about it—as Lord Atherton had done. He could have declared himself that day he kissed her so scandalously. He could have written to her while he was away. He could have asked her if she had formed an attachment to Lord Atherton instead of being tight-lipped and taciturn. “Lord Atherton has been very kind,” she said to provoke him.

“And attentive, I see.”

Again she felt the weight of Ivanhoe, but she merely smiled. “Yes, indeed! It would have been very quiet around Hart House otherwise.”

This time his glance lingered. “He’s been to call often, then.”

She flipped one hand. “Often? A few times.”

“And you walked through the woods with him.”

“Once,” she agreed.

“And met him in town today.”

“By chance,” she said in the same light, pleasant tone, to contrast with his flat one. “Just as we met you.” She waited a few more steps before adding, “What is Bristol like? I’ve never seen a port city.”

“Crowded,” he said. “Dirty.”

She nodded. “It sounds very different than Richmond. My brother went to Portsmouth once, and wrote the most amusing descriptions of the people there.”

Her companion said nothing for a long moment. They had almost reached the carriage, where Penelope and James were already seated. The groom stood at the step waiting to help her in. “There was nothing of interest in Bristol to write about.”

“Perhaps not, but a letter would have showed you thought of me.” She raised her brows. “But perhaps you didn’t. I shouldn’t presume.”

He caught her hand and pulled, yanking her around to face him when she would have turned toward the carriage. “I thought of you,” he said in a low, taut voice. “Every day.”

“And I thought of you,” she replied quietly. “The only trouble was, I didn’t know what to think.”

His grip tightened around her wrist. “After the way we parted—”

“What?” she pressed when he stopped. “Nothing was promised between us.”

“No,” he said grimly. “Clearly not.”

Abigail flushed painfully red. He had undone her dress and kissed her all over, making love to her skin with his mouth. He had put his hands beneath her skirt and made her feel like the wickedest, most wanton woman alive. And not only had she let him, she’d reveled in it. She had wanted more.

But now all her hopes of what might happen on his return seemed foolish and na?ve. He appeared to have no memory of any desire to speak to her father now; today he looked cold and withdrawn again. “Well,” she said before she could stop herself, “perhaps that’s my fault. You asked a great deal, and I gave it without exacting any promise.”

He released her hand as if it scalded him.

“But before you charge me with—with anything,” she went on in a growing fury, “ask what right you had to expect devotion. You know what I want, sir; I have never been coy about it. And if you cannot or will not give it, why shouldn’t I look elsewhere? You told me to do so!”

“Abigail,” he said softly.

She slashed one hand through the air. “I’m tired of being deemed a heartless flirt. I am willing to follow my heart, yes, but not to certain disappointment. If that’s all you have to offer, then perhaps I should encourage another gentleman to pay attention to me.” She raised her chin. “If you’ve decided you feel differently, you know where to call on me.” And she turned her back on him and marched to the carriage, flinging herself up the step without help from the groom and into the seat next to her sister. “I’m ready to go home,” she announced.


James’s eyebrows shot up, but he signaled the driver.

Penelope leaned in close. “Abby, did you just have an argument with Mr. Vane?” she whispered incredulously. “In the middle of Richmond?”

“I did not.” She kept her gaze fixed ahead and refused to look at Sebastian as the carriage started forward.

Penelope craned her neck. “He looks thunderstruck! What did you say to him?”

“Nothing I didn’t fully believe.” She glared at her brother, who promptly turned to gaze in apparent fascination at the passing scenery.

Penelope finally settled back in her seat, eyes wide with approval. “Then I’m sure he needed to hear it.”

Abigail said nothing. Her heart beat so hard, her hands still trembled as she clutched the gift from Lord Atherton. Sebastian Vane did need to hear it, just as much as she needed to say it. If he wanted her, it was time for him to prove it.