And yet, when he was with Rhys, she saw fleeting glimpses of another side to the man. One she was locked out of because of their cantankerous relationship. Gilmore smiled at Rhys, he laughed at his jokes, he sat and moved with more ease. He looked like a man, not the machine she sometimes believed he must be, hard and cold. No, right now he was warm. Still hard, though. Good God, but the man was well heeled.
It was very unfair.
“Will you re-enter the marriage mart, Mrs. Montgomery?”
Abigail jolted out of her thoughts about her enemy and forced her attention to the woman across from her. The one who had just asked her an incredibly loaded question. She glanced toward Pippa, who had now focused all her attention on her plate.
The questioner was the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Smith. She was older than Abigail and had a kind enough face, though it was certainly curious. She sensed that anyone within earshot was leaning a bit closer, desperate to hear her answer. Desperate to take this glimpse into her scandal back out into Society.
“I do not know,” she said slowly, carefully modulating her tone so that no emotion crept in. At least she could take that cue from Gilmore.
“I suppose it would be difficult after—” Mrs. Smith cut herself off and her eyes dropped.
Abigail shifted in her chair slightly and wished that her cheeks didn’t heat so. “Well, I hope that my friends do not judge me by the actions of another person. That we have not fallen that far yet as a society.”
There were some murmurs in the affirmative, but no one would look at her. Or at Pippa, or at Celeste down the table.
Abigail suppressed a sigh. She had spoken big words, meant to shame anyone who would reject her or her friends. But the truth was, Abigail knew that society was built on exactly the kind of shunning she had described. That it was her late husband who had been wicked or cruel or foolhardy didn’t really matter, she was judged for what he’d done as if she were party to it. And she was also judged for not being clever enough to spot his deception.
In that arena, at least, she also judged herself. Not knowing what Erasmus was the moment she saw his face all those years ago…she wondered what it did mean about her character.
The others around her had changed the subject and were now blessedly talking about something else. Pippa leaned closer and, beneath the table, gave Abigail’s knee a squeeze.
“These are the worst days,” she whispered. “It will get better, I believe that.”
Abigail smiled at her friend. “You have Rhys and he adores you. What is Society’s acceptance when compared to that?”
“On that score, I agree with you.” Pippa stared off down the table toward her husband. “And I could be well-pleased with only that man and our family for the rest of my days. But it is important to him to rebuild what his brother destroyed. So I will do everything in my power to create that future for him.”
Abigail nodded. “Well, that is true love if ever I heard it.”
Pippa smiled and nudged Abigail before she whispered conspiratorially, “Look, Lady Blain has fallen asleep!”
Abigail jerked her gaze down the table and found that Lady Blain’s head was lolled to the side against her shoulder, her feather flitting into the face of Reverend Smith. He tried to quietly blow air at the feather and divert it out of his eyes, to no avail.
Abigail and Pippa giggled together before Abigail murmured, “And that’s how you win, Gilmore.”
“What was that?” Pippa asked.
“Nothing,” Abigail said with a smile as she stared down the table at the duke. He must have felt her eyes on him, for he turned toward her and their gazes met. She couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile as she nudged her head slightly toward Lady Blain.
He followed her stare and saw Lady Blain’s dozing. His mouth dropped open and there was no hiding or mistaking the shock that flowed over his handsome features. Nor the annoyance that followed that he had lost their little bet.
His eyes slowly returned to Abigail and he tilted his head to the side in acknowledgment of her win. The swell of pride she felt in that moment had hardly ever been equaled in her life. As if she had singlehandedly slain a dragon.
A really beautiful dragon.
“Are you and Gilmore making eyes at each other?” Pippa whispered, her face lined with shock.
Before Abigail could deny that ridiculous charge, another of the women on their side of the table, Mrs. Quigley, the wife of an industrialist who was working on expanding the rail, leaned forward. “Did I hear someone say Gilmore’s name?”
“You did, Mrs. Quigley,” Pippa said. “The duke is an old friend of my husband’s. Are you and Mr. Quigley acquainted with him?”
Mrs. Quigley waved her hand at her husband down the table. “I’m sure he’s pestered the duke for investment money, but no. I am curious because he is a fine catch, isn’t he? I know many mamas are interesting in landing him. Including me, truth be told.”
“Isn’t your daughter just sixteen?” Abigail asked with a shake of her head.
“Our Belinda won’t be out for a couple of years, no,” Mrs. Quigley said. “But why not plan ahead?”
Abigail pressed her lips together tightly at this ridiculous topic. The very idea that Gilmore would make his match with an eighteen-year-old child was outrageous. What in the world would he have in common with some blinking ingénue who would have no opinions of her own yet? Who had never seen or experienced anything of the world? He would bore of her in twenty seconds. No, he would be much happier with someone who would challenge him. He needed a challenge, pompous prick that he was.
“He is most eligible,” Lady Blain said, jolting from her supper nap and right in the mix of things again. “I can think of twenty ladies who would cut off their big toe to be his.”
“Money, power and looks,” Mrs. Quigley sighed. “How could one not aspire to make the connection?”
Abigail somehow kept herself from rolling her eyes and forced herself to stop staring at the duke. Let the debutantes and their mamas have him if they wanted him so badly. She felt nothing about it except pity for the poor lady who would land him, only to find he was a cold fish, indeed.
A short time later, the supper concluded. Rhys had announced that the ladies would join Pippa in the sitting room and the men would go to the billiard room for port. One by one, the couples paired off, strolling together down the hallway to their respective destinations. Abigail looked for a gentleman who could take her, but was surprised, as the last couple made their way out of the room, that Gilmore was standing by, waiting for her.
She pursed her lips as she approached him and took the elbow he offered. “Shouldn’t you be first in line? Your rank should make you the leader behind Rhys.”
He arched a brow at her. “I am only being a good loser, Abigail. I had to believe you would want to gloat about the wager.”
She glanced at him briefly and couldn’t smother her smile. “I suppose you must hate that I bested you.”
“No, actually,” he said with a slight chuckle that made her stomach do the strangest flutter. “I am impressed, despite myself.”
She blinked. He sounded…sincere. But that couldn’t be true. Gilmore disliked her as much as she disliked him. She knew him to be utterly disagreeable when it came to her. So how could she have truly impressed him? And why did that make her chest swell a little? As if she was proud of that questionable feat!