Page 95 of Never Dare a Duke
“She risked it—and experienced it. I really don’t wish to say any more. And she doesn’t love me.”
She only arched a brow at him.
“Her betrayal is far worse than what Madeleine did in theTimes.”
“Really?” the duchess said with interest. “And that would be because you love her?”
He couldn’t love her. There was no use loving her, no future in it. His mother had suffered being an outsider in Society. Abigail certainly wouldn’t accept that lightly.
And she didn’t love him. If she did, she would have accepted his position and not gone to London.
But she wasn’t the kind of woman he was used to—the kind he’d thought he’d wanted. She would never obey him mindlessly; she would always have her opinions, and she wouldn’t care what others thought.
He cared too much. When he was young, he hadn’t been that way. Where had that young man gone?
He’d been buried beneath guilt and duty and responsibility, and he’d let that guilt make him into a man too afraid to step over the line of respectability.
He felt confused—he felt like a fool.
“Madre,I can’t love her,” he said softly. “It would hurt her too much.”
Abigail returned home in time to prepare for dinner with her parents. It was strange to be herself again, she thought as she changed out of her traveling clothes. She felt humbled by what she’d originally meant to do to Christopher and his family, grateful that she’d stopped in time.
And still partly angry that he didn’t trust her to make things right.
And so sad, because her life seemed dark and drab without him. There would come a day when her carriage would pass his. Would he smile at her? Or even nod? Or they could encounter each other on Bond Street. Perhaps he would even pretend they were acquaintances, and that might be worse.
Someday she’d read his engagement announcement in the paper.
Before the tears could start, she descended to the dining room and gladly kissed both her parents.
Her father cleared his throat. “I wish you had let us know in advance of your return, my dear. I could have asked Mr. Wadsworth to attend this homecoming dinner.”
Abigail shot a glance at her mother, who gave her a painful smile. If Abigail could stand up to a duke, she could stand up to her father.
“Papa, you know how much I love you, but I am uninterested in marrying Mr. Wadsworth just because he is a gentleman. I would rather be a spinster.”
He inhaled as his face mottled. “It might come to that if you keep up this foolishness.”
Softly, kindly, she said, “When you first started parading all these men before me, insisting I was going to marry, I thought you were trying to force your will on me for no better reason than that you could.”
Shocked, he opened his mouth.
She wouldn’t let him protest. “I don’t think that anymore. I know you just wanted my security—and Mama’s security, too, with my good marriage. I know all about the problems at the newspaper.”
Her parents exchanged a glance of recognition, and Abigail was relieved that her mother already knew the truth.
“There are no problems,” he said stiffly. “We had a slow quarter, but—”
“I know about the problems, because I’ve been writing for theJournalfor the last year.”
Her father gaped at her, and for once, he seemed to have nothing to say.
“I started as the literary critic, then moved on to plays. I wanted to prove myself as a writer, and your managing editor allowed it since I could write anonymously. Do not blame him, for I worked my will upon him.”
“I’m sure you did, dear,” said her mother.
Abigail couldn’t miss the woman’s pride, and she gave her a brief smile. “But then he had to tell me I could no longer be paid. He confessed the problems. I wanted to help. I knew scandal sold newspapers—”
