Free The Waltzing Widow by Gayle Buck Page A

indeed the journey was a sore trial to me. But there is no sacrifice too great that I would not willingly endure for my granddaughter's sake,” Viscountess Catlin said.
    The viscount ignored his wife's comment. He smiled, a bare showing of his teeth. “You underestimate us, Mary. We are not quite yet in our graves, no matter what your secret wishes may be on the matter."
    Color rose to Lady Mary's face. She felt the familiar stirring of anger that her father had always been able to provoke in her. The coolness of her voice was a perfect match for the acid tone that he had used. “I have never wished that, my lord, as you must assuredly be aware."
    "No? I confess to a twinge of disappointment, my dear. I had thought you a rare hater, but I was mistaken. The commoner rubbed off too well on you,” Viscount Catlin said.
    As Lady Mary drew in a sharp breath, the viscountess at last chose to become cognizant of the hostility between her husband and their daughter. “Victor, pray do not tease Mary so. Of course she is not common. What an absurd thing to say! As though any daughter of ours could be,” she said. She did not understand when the viscount gave a snort of laughter, and so she turned to her daughter, seeking safety in performing the correct protocol. “We shall call upon you and dear Abigail tomorrow, Mary. But do not look for us too early, as I shall sleep in, for I mean to stay until the rooster crows in the dawn. It is all so very exciting, isn't it? Why, I have already counted a score of exquisitely eligible gentlemen that I must immediately begin to cultivate on Abigail's behalf. We shall marry her off in fine style, I promise you! Besides, I have seen so many of our old friends this evening. I do not know why we stayed so long in dreary London when all the world has come here. Really, I do not."
    The viscount sketched a bow to his daughter and escorted away his still-exclaiming wife, who had espied someone else that she wished to talk to. Lady Mary looked after them, shaken. She could still hardly believe that her parents were actually in Brussels. But Viscount Catlin's peculiar brand of mockery was not easily forgotten, nor her mother's gushing eagerness to present Abigail to the most eligible partis that she possibly could.
    Lady Mary knew that Abigail would be delighted by her grandparents’ presence, but as for herself, she could not now reflect upon the upcoming Season without also being keenly aware of the difficulties that the viscountess's notions of proper social advancement would create.
    Abigail had already encountered much admiration in the few days that they had gone about in society. Lady Mary thought that it would take very little more to turn her daughter's head, particularly if admiration were to be coupled with the viscountess's unshakable opinion of Abigail's absolute perfection. Abigail had come back from her last two visits to London behaving with a spoiled and self-centered air that Lady Mary had particularly abhorred. Lady Mary shuddered to think how much greater the effect of Viscountess Catlin's constant strictures on the proper position for a young lady to attain would be against the glittering backdrop that was Brussels.
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Chapter 8
    As Lady Mary had expected, Abigail anticipated her grandparents’ visit the following day with unconcealed excitement. While Lady Mary calmly embroidered, her daughter kept dashing to the window to discover whose carriage was stopping at the curb. Abigail had her hopes dashed several times when the callers who were ushered into the drawing room proved not to be those whom she awaited with such impatience.
    Miss Steepleton observed her former pupil's migration from settee to window and back again with disapproving shakes of her head and a clucking tongue. When it became obvious that these subtle hints would not suffice to curb the girl's behavior, she said to Lady Mary with an anxious air, “I do not know where Abigail could