Now that her eyes had adjusted to the meager light, she s
aw Imogen seated near the window, peering out into the street. Abigail crossed the room. “How funny. We were both spying on our neighbors again.”
“Well, I had nothing else to do with my evening. I finished my book a little while before Mr. Hawke strutted up the street.”
Abigail sank into a chair opposite her friend. “Mr. Hawke does not strut and you know it. Why are you suddenly so against him? Last year you thought him nice enough and entrusted your inheritance into his keeping.”
“Given recent events I’m reconsidering my decision. Friends should overlook debts if they want to keep people as friends. I’ve a mind to withdraw my funds and find another banker.”
“Don’t be foolish. Mr. Hawke is an honest man.” Abigail sighed and drew out the letter she’d stolen. “It’s a lot of money, Imogen. More than Peter could hope to win in a year. Mr. Hawke has been very good, he’s given us a month before we are evicted, but what can I do? I don’t want to leave Cavendish Place.”
Imogen patted her hand but didn’t take the offered letter. “You are pretty enough to have the option of marrying anyone you choose to avoid the unpleasantness of eviction. If no one else catches your fancy, my brother would take you on without a word of protest. He has funds enough to save even your brother.”
Abigail laughed. Marrying pudgy Walter George was out of the question. It would be like marrying a brother. She felt nothing for him except a limp friendship. No, Walter George wasn’t the man for her.
Imogen shrugged and glanced out the window as someone passed by on their way toward the sea shore. “I know he may not seem much to look at but he would be kind to you.”
Abigail, feeling guilty for her laughter, covered her friend’s hand. “Walter is a nice man, a very good man, too, but I simply couldn’t put us both through that horror. I wouldn’t make him happy. I want to marry someone who loves me. Desperately, if possible.”
“I know.” Imogen glanced at her lap and pleated her gown with her fingers. “I feel the same about loveless marriages as you. I just don’t want you to leave Cavendish Place. If you married Walter we could be sisters and never be parted.”
Abigail’s eyes widened as a solution occurred to her. “Sisters! That’s it. Imogen, have I ever told you that you are a true genius?” She threw her arms about her friend in gratitude and hugged her. “I need to find my brother a wife. An heiress, in fact, and I know the perfect one.”
A frown crossed Imogen’s face as Abigail released her. “The only heiress you know is Miss Melanie Merton. Would you really want to live under the same roof as that woman?”
Imogen did have a point about Melanie. The reigning beauty of their circle possessed the largest dowry and could be very demanding of those around her. Peter had never shown any interest in Melanie, but he might if given enough encouragement. Wasn’t having him marry a harridan better than him losing everything?
She smoothed her hands over her gown. “There is no one else unless another comes to Brighton.”
Imogen’s expression grew skeptical. “The last man who called at Merton House to propose practically ran away afterward. Have you come to dislike your brother?”
Abigail sat up straighter. “I love my brother. I’m doing this for his own good. Starting tomorrow I shall somehow engineer meetings between them. Who knows, maybe Peter will come around with her dowry to sweeten the deal.”
“You’ve become very mercenary about this business, Abigail. Almost as bad as Miss Radley.” Imogen squeezed her hands. “I’m not sure I like your sudden turn of practicality. Where has your romantic heart disappeared to?”
“I can be romantic after I save my brother from ruin,” Abigail said. “And this is nothing at all like Julia Radley’s wild schemes, thank you very much.”
“I hear she’s set her cap on Hawke this year. I wonder if she’ll succeed.”
Abigail was not unduly alarmed by the news. For the past three years, she had been regaled with wild plots of how one or the other of her friends thought to snare David Hawke for their own when they came of age. He had a presence that drew the eye, even if he never used it to his advantage. He was a wealthy man, too, which made his bachelor status so much more interesting to her friends. So far none of them had succeeded in catching him and Abigail couldn’t imagine Julia’s brash outgoing personality would suit him at all.
“Well, whatever happens, I hope someone does choose Julia and soon. I love her dearly, but she’ll have no reputation left, or anyone to marry, the way she challenges the boys at every turn.” Abigail jumped to her feet as another tall shape sauntered past the window. “I think the game has ended. Mr. Radley is headed for home. I’d better return before Peter discovers I’ve slipped out of the house without a word to anyone.”
She kissed her friend’s cheek and groped her way through the dark house for the rear entrance. Why Imogen liked the dark so much escaped her. Abigail could never manage without a candle. When she reached the rear steps, she drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Peter would marry an heiress and be saved. She just had to ensure he and Melanie Merton could be thrown together as much as possible.
She hurried down the garden path and let herself out the rear gate. As she latched it, the sound of a boot scraping over hard earth to her right, between her and her own garden gate, reached her ears. She jumped as a large dark shape detached from the wall and moved toward her.
Panicked, Abigail fumbled with Imogen’s gate, but she couldn’t open it again. When she turned to face the stranger as he came into view, her heart pounded in fear.
CHAPTER FOUR
David Hawke appeared out of the black shadows. Abigail’s heart restarted. She collapsed against the gate and sucked in the air she desperately needed. There was no danger. It was just David out for a midnight stroll.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Miss Watson.” David’s voice was a soft, dangerous growl.
Abigail backed up a step in shock. “Really? Why?”
He moved closer. “When you were a little girl I turned a blind eye when the fruit on our trees mysteriously disappeared overnight, only to appear again from your kitchen. My mother was very put out, but I held my tongue because I didn’t want to stir up trouble between our families. In this instance; however, I cannot be so forgiving.”