It Takes a Scandal by Caroline Linden Page A

together, to judge any attachment, and then she decided she didn’t actually want to see that.
    She was so deep in her thoughts, she almost missed Lady Samantha. The earl’s daughter stood on the very edge of the terrace, her back to the river. Above the roof of Hart House, over the trees, Montrose Hill House was clearly visible in the distance. In the warm sunlight, the faded brick was a soft pink, the regular rows of windows gleaming like silver among the vines that climbed one side. From here it looked gracious and comfortable, the quintessential English house.
    Almost as soon as Abigail spied her, Lady Samantha abandoned her study and resumed walking toward the picnic. She caught sight of Abigail and stopped, a faintly rueful smile on her face. “Miss Weston. I didn’t realize Montrose Hill was so near to Hart House.”
    “It’s not, really. My father paid a call and said it must be nearly two miles. The hill makes it look closer.”
    “Ah. I’m glad your father called on Mr. Vane.” Lady Samantha bit her lip. “You must have noticed that Lucy’s chatter was . . .”
    “A bit gleeful in its scandalousness?”
    “Yes.” The other girl’s eyes darkened. “I wish she wouldn’t repeat every shocking little thing she hears.”
    “It smacks of unfairness,” Abigail agreed. “Whatever Mr. Vane’s family troubles, it’s horrible to whisper of murder about him.”
    “He used to be a very eligible young man. He still would be, most likely, if only  . . .” Lady Samantha stopped and forced a smile. “If only idle neighbors like us would stop talking about him! I’m no better than Lucy, am I?”
    “You are far kinder to Mr. Vane,” said Abigail quietly. “And since you were acquainted with him at one time, I credit your words much more than Miss Walgrave’s.”
    Lady Samantha hesitated. “I knew Mr. Vane a very long time ago,” she said at last. “Even I wouldn’t suppose I know what sort of man he is today, and I shouldn’t talk of him as if I do. Perhaps you’ll form an entirely different opinion.”
    “Perhaps,” Abigail agreed.
    She certainly intended to try.
     
     
    Chapter 8
     
    O n the next fine day, Abigail went to the kitchen and asked for a luncheon packed in a basket. She wore her favorite walking dress, the one that made her eyes look a little blue, and a plain straw bonnet. She carried the book she’d bought the other day in town. When her mother stopped her on the terrace and asked where she was going, Abigail replied, innocently, “I’m going for a walk, and if I find a convenient spot to read, I have a new novel.”
    Her mother wasn’t suspicious. “Very well. Don’t go too far, dear, and be back in time for supper.”
    “Yes, Mama.” Abigail smiled and headed for the woods.
    Unfortunately, she didn’t make it far. “Where are you going?” Penelope asked, passing her in the garden.
    “For a walk.”
    “Oh, I fancy a walk,” said her sister.
    “It’s going to be long and quiet.”
    “There’s nothing else to do,” replied Penelope. “Let me get my pelisse.”
    “I plan to walk until I find a cozy spot to read.” Abigail pulled the book out of the basket and held it up. “You’ll be bored.”
    Penelope flipped one hand. “I’m already bored. You can read anytime. Don’t be so dull, Abby! I’ll just be a moment.” She hurried into the house.
    Abigail huffed. She glanced around. All was quiet and peaceful at Hart House, with a gentle breeze from the river and a sunny sky overhead. Penelope was probably bored out of her mind, but her company was the last thing Abigail wanted right now. She intended to walk through the woods in search of the grotto, and if she happened across Mr. Vane’s path, she wouldn’t be disappointed. She was wildly curious to know if he truly meant to avoid her, or if he felt the same inexplicable pull she did. Even though she told herself there was only a slim chance he would happen to be walking in the woods at the same time