fortune. Instead, she looked pale and frozen. And still she bussed her weeping maid on the cheek, quietly gave instructions to her cook, and climbed into the berlin without a word of protest.
He wanted to growl and tell her that she needn’t listen to Isabell if she didn’t want to go to London. But Miss Merry’s unusual timidity wasn’t any of his business.
He had approximately a day and a half to figure out how to hire a solicitor without money, and dodge bailiffs and Newgate until he could sell his stud, while taking care of a six-year-old diva.
When all was said and done, being dead held a certain peaceful appeal.
Late the following day, the berlin rumbled down London’s Oxford Street and turned into an older section just outside of Mayfair where once elegant townhomes now appeared to lean tiredly against one another. A sedan chair carrying an old woman wearing the powdered wig of another era plodded slowly in front of the weary horses.
All the way through town, Abigail had gawked at the tall buildings they passed. They’d traversed streets packed with carriages, wagons, scurrying servants, and idle gentlemen. She’d seen monumental edifices she was certain would have encompassed all of Chalkwick Abbey. Holding Penelope in her lap, she pressed her face to the window just like the child. Penny clung to her doll, and a book she’d taken from the nursery, but she’d not once looked at either.
The lumbering coach maneuvered down a street no wider than an alley, and Abby covered Penny’s ears as a street urchin shook his fist and cursed a leaking fish wagon. When the carriage halted in front of a narrow brick house with blank, dark windows, she glanced over at Mr. Wyckerly— Lord Danecroft . He looked exceedingly elegant in his cutaway coat, pantaloons, Hessians, and tall city hat. She should have known he was an earl just from his attire. But the earl wasn’t looking very happy to be home.
No housekeepers had hung lanterns out the windows in this dark neighborhood. No mourning wreath adorned the house’s faded front door, and no knocker indicated the family was at home. A precariously leaning rail scarcely protected passersby from falling down the stairway to the kitchen. Leaves and other debris littered the filthy stairs up to the main floor. Penelope still looked fascinated.
“No bailiffs on the doorstep,” the marchioness said gaily. “Talk to Lord Quentin first, Fitz. He was bemoaning your demise and castigating himself for not aiding you sooner.”
The new earl appeared surprised to hear that, but he nodded silently, all his gallant charm submerged in this crash with reality.
Abigail wanted to catch his sleeve and urge him to go home with them, to a place filled with light and servants and warmth, but he was an impoverished earl who needed to marry great wealth, and she was a nobody. She knew better than to plant her hopes for the future on him, but she hated the idea of never seeing him again.
“Have someone bring Penny to see me sometime, please?” she whispered as the driver opened the door.
Lord Danecroft donned a cheerful smile and lifted his daughter from her lap. “We are most grateful for your generous hospitality, Miss Merriweather. I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”
“Want Miss Abby!” Penelope said threateningly when it became apparent that Abigail didn’t intend to leave the carriage with them. The child hugged the book to her thin chest as if someone might take it from her.
“I think you get to pick your own bedroom, Miss Penny,” Abby called to her as Lord Danecroft leaped out. “Find a pretty one, then look to see if there’s a good place in the kitchen for a kitten!”
“Don’t wanna!” Penny cried as the berlin began to roll away.
Abigail dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and waved out the window for as long as she could see them. It appeared the earl had no servants to open the door for him. Her last glimpse was of his tall, wide-shouldered figure
He wanted to growl and tell her that she needn’t listen to Isabell if she didn’t want to go to London. But Miss Merry’s unusual timidity wasn’t any of his business.
He had approximately a day and a half to figure out how to hire a solicitor without money, and dodge bailiffs and Newgate until he could sell his stud, while taking care of a six-year-old diva.
When all was said and done, being dead held a certain peaceful appeal.
Late the following day, the berlin rumbled down London’s Oxford Street and turned into an older section just outside of Mayfair where once elegant townhomes now appeared to lean tiredly against one another. A sedan chair carrying an old woman wearing the powdered wig of another era plodded slowly in front of the weary horses.
All the way through town, Abigail had gawked at the tall buildings they passed. They’d traversed streets packed with carriages, wagons, scurrying servants, and idle gentlemen. She’d seen monumental edifices she was certain would have encompassed all of Chalkwick Abbey. Holding Penelope in her lap, she pressed her face to the window just like the child. Penny clung to her doll, and a book she’d taken from the nursery, but she’d not once looked at either.
The lumbering coach maneuvered down a street no wider than an alley, and Abby covered Penny’s ears as a street urchin shook his fist and cursed a leaking fish wagon. When the carriage halted in front of a narrow brick house with blank, dark windows, she glanced over at Mr. Wyckerly— Lord Danecroft . He looked exceedingly elegant in his cutaway coat, pantaloons, Hessians, and tall city hat. She should have known he was an earl just from his attire. But the earl wasn’t looking very happy to be home.
No housekeepers had hung lanterns out the windows in this dark neighborhood. No mourning wreath adorned the house’s faded front door, and no knocker indicated the family was at home. A precariously leaning rail scarcely protected passersby from falling down the stairway to the kitchen. Leaves and other debris littered the filthy stairs up to the main floor. Penelope still looked fascinated.
“No bailiffs on the doorstep,” the marchioness said gaily. “Talk to Lord Quentin first, Fitz. He was bemoaning your demise and castigating himself for not aiding you sooner.”
The new earl appeared surprised to hear that, but he nodded silently, all his gallant charm submerged in this crash with reality.
Abigail wanted to catch his sleeve and urge him to go home with them, to a place filled with light and servants and warmth, but he was an impoverished earl who needed to marry great wealth, and she was a nobody. She knew better than to plant her hopes for the future on him, but she hated the idea of never seeing him again.
“Have someone bring Penny to see me sometime, please?” she whispered as the driver opened the door.
Lord Danecroft donned a cheerful smile and lifted his daughter from her lap. “We are most grateful for your generous hospitality, Miss Merriweather. I’m sure we’ll see you soon.”
“Want Miss Abby!” Penelope said threateningly when it became apparent that Abigail didn’t intend to leave the carriage with them. The child hugged the book to her thin chest as if someone might take it from her.
“I think you get to pick your own bedroom, Miss Penny,” Abby called to her as Lord Danecroft leaped out. “Find a pretty one, then look to see if there’s a good place in the kitchen for a kitten!”
“Don’t wanna!” Penny cried as the berlin began to roll away.
Abigail dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and waved out the window for as long as she could see them. It appeared the earl had no servants to open the door for him. Her last glimpse was of his tall, wide-shouldered figure
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