Free His Christmas Pleasure by Cathy Maxwell Page B

Gilbertson opened her arms. “I had to run over here as soon as I heard.
    How horrible for you, Lady Catherine.” She used Abby’s mother’s title, as many did. “How unfortunate! How extremely trying! How will you find a husband for your daughter? Oh, Miss Abigail. I didn’t see you sitting there.”
    “Bulls balls,” Jonesy replied, and Abby almost dropped the teapot she’d picked up to pour.

    “Tea, Lady Gilbertson?” she managed to ask, choking back laughter.
    “Of course,” her ladyship answered without any sign of remorse or consternation over Jonesy’s comment. “How are you, Lady Barnes?” she asked, perching herself on the edge of a chair and motioning her daughters to sit in the chairs next to hers, which they obediently did in the same perching manner.
    “Do you care?” Jonesy wondered.
    Lady Gilbertson trilled her laughter. “Original! Always so original!”
    “Yes, I am, yes, I am,” Jonesy mocked. She leaned toward Abby to confide,
    “She probably brought her daughters here for a look at you so they know what not to do in the future.”
    Abby knew Jonesy was being waggish, but the comment hit home because there was a good deal of truth in it. Jonesy didn’t notice the impact of her words. She rarely did. She flung them out into the world and ignored how they were received.
    More guests were flowing in the door, but Jonesy was too enlivened by so much entertainment to give a care to anyone other than herself.
    But her mother had noticed.
    From across the room, Abby could feel her mother’s gaze, saw her sympathetic smile, and Abby knew her mother hurt when Abby hurt.
    Forcing a smile on her face, Abby continued as hostess. More tea and biscuits were sent for. Amongst the next guests were friends of Abby’s whom she hadn’t seen since they’d married—Lady Edgars and Lady Mortimer. They came with tales of their husbands and their children and how they wished they’d been at Banfield’s ball the night before because they’d heard the most remarkable things.
    Polite society dictated that a call was no longer than fifteen minutes, but these women weren’t here to be polite. They were on a mission. They wanted gossip and were using their tenuous connections with Abby to learn information. They’d probably dine on the tales they heard here for a week.

    “Everything you heard is true,” Jonesy assured them. “My niece had this Spaniard eating out of her hand and Lady Dobbins whirling like a jealous dervish.”
    “What a relief that someone managed to subdue Lady Dobbins long enough for Lady Corinne to announce her betrothal,” Lady Edgars commented.
    “Who’d she fix herself to?” Jonesy asked, surprised.
    Abby’s mother answered, “You know about this other but haven’t heard the news of the night? Lady Corinne is now betrothed to Lord Freddie Sherwin.”
    Jonesy pulled a face over the name. “Don’t know him. No doubt he is boring and wealthy. I can’t imagine Banfield wanting anything less for his daughter.”
    “Lord Sherwin is very good looking,” Lady Gilbertson said.
    “Well, that is something,” Jonesy said, holding her wineglass out to Abby to be refilled.
    As Abby poured wine, she realized a part of her had been hoping the betrothal had not been announced. She shouldn’t have been expecting anything … and yet, she had been.
    It was done. Freddie would marry her cousin.
    And she would … what? Become stepmother to thirteen children? The task seemed overwhelming no matter how much a marriage to such a powerful man would please her father and elevate her in society.Lady Villier. It had a European flavor, but the name felt to her old, crusty, stifling….
    “Miss Abigail, you appear so sad,” Lady Gilbertson observed. “Is your sadness because of the scene last night? I must tell you I think it admirable that you put such a rakehell as this Spaniard in his place. It’s a credit to you, Lady Catherine, that you have raised a young woman with high