Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous by Christi Caldwell Read Free Book Online

sting. Only, since her flight from America, it seemed to have faded.
    Beatrice eyed her expectantly.
    Abigail folded her hands upon her lap and studied the interlocked digits. “His name was…is,” she amended. “Alexander. He was my brother Nathaniel’s closest friend. They went to school together. He would visit my family.” A wistful smile played about her lips. “He would tease me when I was younger.” He’d continued to tease her about her fascinated interest with the stars when she’d grown into a woman. Alexander had seemed perplexed by her unconventional knowledge.
    “Oh,” Beatrice said, with so much pity and so much sadness in that one, tiny little utterance, Abigail’s smiled died. “What happened? You really needn’t feel like you must answer. Truly, I—”
    “I fell in love with him,” Abigail cut into her cousin’s words, feeling freed by the admission.
    Something wistful stole across Beatrice’s face. “How very fortunate you were.”
    Abigail balled her hands into fists, and clenched them so tight she suspected she raised blood on the sensitive skin of her palm. Abigail had been all manner of things where Alexander Powers’ was concerned; foolish, impulsive, illogical. Fortunate had never been one of them.
    She’d once carried a dream in her heart for more than the formal, rigid arrangements worked out by families.
    And yet…she’d never taken Beatrice for a romantic. Something in the wistful, faraway look of Beatrice’s eyes gave her pause. Had she ever been as blessedly innocent as Beatrice?
    “Has a particular gentleman captured your attention, Beatrice?”
    Color flooded Beatrice’s cheeks, and she looked around as if to ascertain they were alone. “There is…a gentleman,” she said, with far more seriousness than Abigail had come to expect from her.
    Abigail’s heart hitched. Lord Redbrooke and Beatrice had performed those intricate steps of the quadrille so elegantly. “Lord Redbrooke seems a kind,” gallant , “good man.”
    Beatrice wrinkled her brow. “Lord Redbrooke? Surely you jest? He is a very serious, unpleasant kind of fellow.”
    Surely they spoke of two different gentlemen? Lord Redbrooke, though solemn and stringently proper, had exhibited both a strength and honor Abigail had never before encountered in a gentleman. “The gentleman you speak of, the one who had captured your attention is not, Lord Redbrooke, then?” The question emerged halting.
    An inelegant snort escaped Beatrice. “Hardly.” Why should her cousin’s words rouse this relief within her breast? “I do not believe Lord Redbrooke capable of any grand passion.”
    Abigail opened her mouth to protest, and then promptly closed it. She’d not reveal the identity of her rescuer. She rather suspected Lord Redbrooke to be a private gentleman who’d not welcome or appreciate any fanfare.
    Seeming unaware of Abigail’s sudden quiet, Beatrice continued, “I’m certain Lord Redbrooke will enter into a union that is based on nothing more than wealth and who will make him the most advantageous match.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I suspect Father would like very much for me to encourage the viscount’s suit.”
    The Duke of Somerset’s daughter presented an ideal match for the Viscount Redbrooke. Until just then, however, Abigail had never considered that her cousin would aspire to anything beyond a strategic match in which mutual attraction was secondary.
    “He would make you an excellent husband,” Abigail said softly, hating the truth of her utterance.
    Beatrice snorted. “I assure you, I’d never settle for the Viscount Redbrooke. With his stern looks and constant frown, he could hardly inspire any deep affection in a lady.”
    Oh, you are so very wrong, cousin. A man such as Lord Redbrooke could never be one a lady settled for, but rather a gentleman who ladies tossed their kerchiefs at.
    “Do you desire a love match, Beatrice?”
    Another inelegant snort escaped