Second Draft

London, Regency England

The heat from the swarm of bodies was overwhelming, and Abagail was desperate for fresh air. The Pemberton's ball was quite a success, and finding someone to accompany her outside was impossible in this veritable crush. Yet, there was one person who was not in attendance: Lord Richard Freeman, the Marquess of Winchester.

I must stop thinking about the insufferable man. He's out of my reach, even though I thought we had formed a bond. Abagail admonished her silly, far-fetched musings.

Yet, the first time she had stepped out of her comfort zone and done something beyond the pale he was with her. Not that I gave him a choice; Abagail giggled at the fond memory of sneaking into Lord Freeman's carriage and his dumbfounded look when he discovered he was not alone. It was a moment she would forever cherish.

Abagail Fulton was always the picture of propriety and a very sensible young lady. Her gratitude and love for her adoptive family were why she remained reserved and accommodating. The thought of ever letting them down or doing anything untoward was more than she could bear.

However, six months ago, an evil fortune hunter kidnapped her sister, Jade. The notorious Alexander Winferd, aided by Jade's wicked cousin Miriam, held her captive, and the men in the family searched, frantic to find her.

Abagail grew weary of pacing the floors, wondering if Jade was alive and well. It wasn't enough, and she decided, for once in her life, to do something bold. The idea of doing nothing was tiresome, and she was determined to be a part of the ongoing search. Abagail mustered up enough courage to step out of character and throw propriety from the window. Her sister was in the clutches of a madman, and it was time for Abagail to intervene.

The sisters had very different personalities, but they adored one another. While Abagail was quiet, reserved, and sensible, Jade was outspoken, brave, and daring. Right now, Abagail needed her sister's backbone and asked herself, what would Jade do? She knew she wouldn't stay inside pacing the room if Abagail went missing.

With her mind made up, she searched out Suzanna and they made a plan. Although outlandish, Abagail swallowed her fear. In the dead of night, she snuck out of the house with Riley, a discreet groom. He helped Abagail make her way across town without incident. Riley watched as she entered Lord Freeman's carriage and wished her luck. She was determined to be present when they found Jade.

Abagail remembered the confused look on Lord Freeman's face, and she chuckled again. God, help me! Why am I besotted with him? He's a marquess, and I've nothing but my fortune to recommend me and he's a wealthy duke. He doesn't need my dowry. Abagail's thoughts caused her to become more restless in the crowded ballroom.

While fanning her overheated face, Abagail looked around again and spotted her sister, Jade, in the arms of her betrothed, Lord William Anson, The Earl of Lichfield. While the happy couple twirled in sync with the music, she sighed with longing.

They look so lovely together; she mused, watching the couple during a waltz. This ball would be the last social event Abagail would attend before Jade's marriage, and then she would be all alone. While she was happy for Jade, Abagail feared the change it would bring. It was a significant transition moving from New York, but she liked England now—It felt like home.

She was no longer homesick for Manhattan, yet now she must adjust to another notable shift in her life! Now is not the time for a pity party. Jade and William deserve happiness after everything they conquered to be together, Abagail scolded herself.

With Jade's abduction fresh in Abagail's mind and her abductor still roaming free, a fresh wave of terror struck a chord within her. It's not wise to go traipsing off alone, especially since word of my adoption and subsequent wealth has spread among the ton. I must have a care, so I don't end up compromised or leg shackled to a fortune-hunter; Abagail reminded herself as she searched through the multitude of bodies for her Aunt Mattie and Uncle George.

She didn't see Lord and Lady Lennox anywhere, unfortunately. They were gracious enough to be sponsoring Abagail next Season. However, the little Season was upon them, and London was bursting at the seams again. Jade and William's upcoming wedding had most of the Haute Ton clamoring back from their country estates. Everyone wanted to witness or gossip about the notorious rogue and the gauche American who tamed him.

With no one appropriate in sight, Abagail gave up and went alone for fresh air. Knowing it was not proper or safe to go outside unchaperoned, she would make her way to the large terrace at the front of the ballroom. It would be a precarious feat to get through the crush, but Abagail forged ahead. She had danced every set, saving the dinner waltz for a specific gentleman: Lord Freeman, who, from what she could tell, was not even in attendance tonight.

Foolish, foolish girl!

She searched for his handsome face in the crowd all evening to no avail, but it was time to stop this fanciful madness. Abagail would go outside, cool off, and stop wondering about a certain golden-haired, green-eyed marquess.

Promising that she would only step outside to the edge of the terrace for five minutes, Abagail fought through the crowd. Once outside, she relished in the cool breeze and breathed a lung full of fresh air while checking her surroundings. People gathered on the terrace, and she moved to the ledge overlooking the grand gardens.

They were lovely, and the simple grandeur of the terrace impressed Abagail. Situated under what she presumed was a large balcony, lanterns hung along the perimeter, giving off a warm, comfortable glow, casting the perfect amount of light. She breathed in the clean air, enjoying the ambiance of the unassuming yet beautiful area.

Abagail rubbed her arms, realizing it was chilly outside, and admired the simple but lovely white flowers that appeared throughout the vast greenery. Feeling more comfortable, she made her way farther to inspect the blooms. Making a mental note to ask Lady Pemberton about the exquisite flowers, Abagail laid her white-gloved arms along the edge of the railing and inhaled their delicious scent.

When someone cleared their throat, she spun around in surprise and felt heat claim her cheeks. The man before her was not only handsome and imposing; he was also familiar. Oh, Lord. I can't remember his name or title. Abagail despaired at the thought.

She dipped into a deep curtsey while scrambling to remember his title. "Your Grace..." She wanted to pat herself on the back for addressing a duke correctly. A charming and beautiful duke, she mused. Abagail was hopeless with names, and he was no exception. Being thrust into this new world of the beau monde, they expected her to remember names and titles. Lord and lady, this, my lord, or your grace, that! They are a sensitive and fickle lot, she thought with a mental roll of her eyes.

"Miss... Fulton," he said in a deep, inviting voice as he bowed before her.

Blast! He remembers my name, and I've got nothing. "You are correct," Abagail announced in mortification and looked down at her gloved hands. Seized by embarrassment, she looked up and smiled.

"How do you do this evening, Your Grace?"

"Please, call me Lord Gillingham." The duke stepped closer with a cheeky, lopsided grin. "You forgot my name. Did you not?" He positioned himself beside Abagail, his shoulder touching hers.

Dear God, why is this cheeky devil standing so close to me? He smells heavenly, she thought, while wishing she could disappear. Clearing her throat, which now felt dry, Abagail felt the heat scorching her cheeks. "Begging your pardon, but—"

"There's nothing to pardon, Miss Fulton," he interrupted, crossing his arms, intimidating her further. He must have sensed her unease and dropped them to his sides before turning to her with a charming smile. "I do not intend to hold it against you, nor make you feel bad. Yes, we've met, yet it was some months ago."

"Yes!" Abagail remembered and relaxed. "My apologies, but I did not forget you!" She looked him in the eyes. "I only forgot your name." She chuckled to hide her lingering embarrassment.

Not only did I dance with him, but Lord Gillingham sent flowers and called on Jade and myself the following day after the ball; Abagail mused and felt wretched for not remembering his name. She had no trouble remembering his face. No, his face was worth remembering, since he was handsome as sin.

Laughing in return, he said, "We danced the quadrille and a waltz, so I'm glad to be remembered."

"I remember you, the dancing, and the beautiful flowers; it's just your name I was struggling with, and for that, I'm sorry." She fiddled with her long, white satin gloves. He was standing too close, his scent intoxicating, and Abagail thought she might swoon. Her palms were sweating, also, making her even more uncomfortable.

"Splendid! Now that we cleared that up, mayhap you'd allow me to escort you to dinner?"

"It would be my pleasure, Your Grace."

"Lord Gillingham will suffice." He winked and held out his arm, leaving Abagail at ease, yet still somewhat disappointed that Lord Freeman was not here offering his escort.

With all thoughts of the missing marquess from her mind, Abagail noted that being on the arm of a handsome duke—a mysterious and eligible one to boot—should be exciting, but her mind was still at odds with her heart.

The treacherous organ!

While being escorted and dining with Lord Gillingham would help Abagail's standing in society, it also gave her a flicker of something, although she could not say what. It felt like a thrilling mixture of pleasure and anxiety. Abagail shuddered at the thought, yet she couldn't deny the truth of it, not to herself.

The truth was hard for her to accept, and even though she was ashamed, Abagail couldn't help hoping that the gossip mongers would notice her with the duke. At some point, Lord Freeman would hear or read in the gossip rags that Lord Gillingham showed her favor at the Pemberton's ball, and God help her; she hoped it stung!

Everyone knew the Duke of Norfolk's reputation regarding status, wealth, and his reclusive ways. However, the ton was most interested in his private life. Abagail winced, thinking of the rumors surrounding him. She'd heard he kept several mistresses, had an aversion to marriage, and was sometimes cruel.

It's mere gossip, Abagail reminded herself and smiled at Lord Gillingham. She'd also heard he respected innocent maidens, leaving the debauchery for widows and courtesans. She sighed in relief, hoping the gorgeous rogue had some morals.

"Well, look what we have here. Good evening Miss Fulton, Lord Gillingham." The distinctive smooth voice startled Abagail, and she tightened her grip on Lord Gillingham's arm. Once steady, she closed her gaping mouth and somehow managed a curtsey as Lord Freeman bowed.

Of course, the insufferable man shows up now! 

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Poor Abby is seriously crushing on Lord Freeman, the Marquess of Winchester, yet something about the mysterious duke, Lord Gillingham, has her all aflutter. Please vote and comment if you enjoyed the chapter and Happy New Year!

Updated: Feb 12, 2023 rewrites and edits

Lady Lisa 💜