But the evening was not one he greatly looked forward to, despite his eagerness to show Abigail off to the ton.
He turned his head to watch her as they descended the stairs and Watson opened the front door. Yes, he thought as she smiled at the butler and thanked him, she was very different indeed from the demure, sensible, rather dull young lady he had taken her for just four days before. He had married her for all the qualities she appeared not to have.
He supposed he should be sorry, to say the least. Perhaps he would be, in time. He had not wanted a prattler or a manager of a woman who would force her way into the very forefront of his life. Abigail appeared to be all three.
And yet he was not sorry. Not yet, at least.
He even thought he was beginning to be a little in love with his wife.
ABIGAIL HAD NOT LIED about boneless knees and a stomach that stood on its head. What she had not realized until they had entered Lady Trevor’s hallway and climbed the stairs and passed the receiving line and were standing inside the ballroom was that her hands would also be cold and vibrating and her head swimming and her heart thumping.
And though she had known that everyone would be curious to see the bride of such an illustrious personage as the Earl of Severn, she had not expected to be quite such a focus of attention. It seemed—and she was sure she did not imagine it—that every eye and quizzing glass and lorgnette in the room was directed their way and that the buzz of conversation was buzzing more energetically after they had stepped inside the doors.
It did not seem right when a young lady was making her come-out that evening and had a right to expect to be the center of attention. Of course, the young lady in question was still in the receiving line. Perhaps the situation would change when she arrived in the ballroom to lead the opening set.
The young lady was the Honorable Miss Frances Meighan, she thought with another lurching of the stomach. An extremely beautiful young lady, who was wearing a white lace and satin gown that was far more becoming to her blond and fragile beauty than was Abigail’s own. Miles had taken her hand in both of his and raised it to his lips. Miss Meighan had looked at her as if she were a worm that had dared to wriggle into the house.
She would not think of it. Miles had married her quite freely. And of course men did not marry women out of pity. Not when they could far more easily give a letter of recommendation.
“Don’t remove your arm for at least another five minutes, please, Miles,” she begged, her jaw feeling stiff from the effort it was taking her to stop her teeth from clacking together. “If you do, I shall collapse in a heap on the floor.” His arm felt reassuringly solid and steady beneath her hand.
He smiled at her, showing his very white teeth and his dimple, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and she could almost feel all those eyes and quizzing glasses and lorgnettes swiveling from her face to his.#p#分页标题#e#
“And yet you seemed so very much at your ease as you talked your way along the receiving line,” he said. “Here come Gerald and Pepperidge. You will feel better once you have someone other than just me to talk with.”
She did. She chattered happily with Mr. Pepperidge after Sir Gerald had reserved the second set with her—he would dance once, he said, before taking himself off to the card room for the rest of the evening. He definitely needed Laura’s touch, Abigail decided, and stored the thought for future planning. And Lord and Lady Beauchamp came to exchange pleasantries and brought with them Lady Beauchamp’s young sister and brother-in-law, the Earl and Countess of Chartleigh. The countess appeared as eager to converse as Abigail herself.
Abigail was surprised to find after a very few minutes that her arm was no longer resting on her husband’s but that she was still on her feet nevertheless. He was standing a few feet away from her, talking with Sir Gerald and another young man.
“Sorenson has brought Mrs. Harper with him, I see,” Sir Gerald was saying, looking across the ballroom, his quizzing glass to his eye. “Lady Trevor must have turned purple when she saw her. Not quite good ton to bring her to a gathering like this, is it?”
“Then Lady Trevor ought not to have invited Sorenson,” the unknown young man said. “He takes her everywhere these days.”
The earl caught his wife’s eye and winked at her.
Abigail followed the direction of Sir Gerald’s look, but the ballroom was already crowded and several couples were promenading about the room. For a moment she had that same strange sensation of having spotted someone familiar that she had had that afternoon, but her attention was diverted to Lady Beauchamp, who was flushing and looking uncomfortable.