She’d been shocked and appalled that first time. What great offense had she committed that warranted such treatment? But no answer had become apparent.
So she’d learned…
Better to make sympathetic noises, say as little as possible. Give him the appearance of attendance while letting her mind drift far away.
The problem was not in her method, it was sound. The issue now was how often she was forced to keep up this façade: almost daily.
And how many more times she’d need to in the future.
Clarence was her distant cousin and heir to her father’s title. When her father had passed five months prior, Clarence had been on a tour of France and it had taken some time to bring him back.
But now that he was here, he was inescapable. In her present…but in her future as well.
Clarence had decided that he and Abigail should marry. The new Baron Westphal wanted her as his baroness. And she was in no position to deny him. It was impossible.
This was going to be her life.
Her shoulders, held rigidly straight, began to curve forward at the thought as she attempted to hide the grief that always overwhelmed her at the idea of marrying her cousin.
“He said I was sniveling drivel and that he’d had more masculine rags with which to clean his boots.”
The words filtered into her thoughts. She tended to agree with whomever Clarence’s unnamed aggressor had been. But instead, she just made some outraged noise deep in her throat, tiredness pulling her shoulders even further down.
She knew better than to allow her exhaustion to show. Her shoulders should be set in indignation. He turned toward her and stopped, his gaze narrowing.
“Abigail.” His word cut through her, the sharp dark tone of them, making her shoulders snap straight again.
“Yes, my lord?” she asked, fear sliding down her spine as she swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.
He might be short and thin but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a wiry strength that outmatched her in every regard.
She’d been subject to a sharp hit from him on more than one occasion and she knew enough to do everything in her power to avoid being hit again.
“Why do you look like that?” His lip curled in distaste. “Do I bore you?”
She shook her head, thinking quickly. “I am frustrated on your behalf, my lord. That is all.”
He gave a slow nod and then he reached out and lightly patted her shoulder. “Of course, my dear. That does make sense.”
Abby swallowed again. She might not respect Clarence Westphal, a spoiled, lazy man who thought the world owed him every advantage, but she respected his backhand. Her father had never hit her; he hadn’t been the most affectionate or loving man, but he’d not openly abused her. She could say that.
But Clarence had no such qualms. She twisted her gloved fingers together as she drew in a shuddering breath. There was nothing to do but allow him to rail out all his malice. “What else happened?”
Clarence returned to pacing. “Let me see. He…” His lip curled again. “Was some dark-haired, hulking, untamed beast of a man who clearly grew up without a shred of refinement. He must have inherited his position, because he surely wasn’t born into it.”
Her brows rose. Clarence was tossing that barb? Not that she agreed with him. A man’s worth was in his actions, not his birth, but why Clarence would think the other man less for not having been born the son of a lord was a complete mystery to her. But she kept her mouth closed, lips pressed tightly together.
“And he just oozed this rough masculinity like sap from a tree. He had his feet on the chair across from him. Can you believe that? At White’s.”
She had no idea how men behaved in their clubs away from the eyes of women, but Clarence clearly wasn’t thinking that particular detail through as he tossed out the insult.
And she doubted many of the lords she knew ever did something so crass as put their shoes on nice furniture. Not even at a gentlemen’s club. “I can’t.”
“And he had this grin. Like he saw right through me.” Clarence stabbed at the air, his bony fingers jerking with his movements. A man who was only a few years older than her, he appeared much older than the two and twenty she knew him to be. “But I see through him. He’s an uncouth animal.”
She nipped at her lip. Had he said who…who this man was? The one who had so clearly gotten under Clarence’s skin?
She wished she knew. She’d like to send him a basket filled with fruit or pastries. Not that she’d ever be allowed to do such a thing. But perhaps at some point she could give her thanks. Show her regard to the man who’d said all the words she could not. He had effortlessly hurled all the words at Clarence that sat bitter on her tongue daily.