Page 21 of Scandal with a Sinful Scot

Megan lowered her head. “I am sorry, Mama. The thought of never seeing him again upset me so.”

Abbie shook her head. “How dramatic. No one threatened you with never seeing Jonas.”

Frowning, Megan pointed to the front of the brougham, where Garrett sat outside on the bench seat. “He will. You did not see his face when he broke the door down at the gatehouse. Mama, he is scary.”

Abbie bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. “Anyone would have been shocked at your brazen behavior. He does have a temper, but I’ve found his anger often vanishes as quickly as it appears. I imagine that he’s the same as I remember.” She paused. Megan should know what kind of man her father is. “Allow me to tell you about Garrett. He is praiseworthy and generous. Do you know he’s been coordinating the renovations at Alberta and Jonas’s home? Even donated building supplies and labor. From what Alberta tells me, he has done it for many of the Wollstonecraft neighbors and tenants if they fell on hardships because of failed crops and the like.” She took her daughter’s hand. “He is a good man. Give him a chance. Give the family a chance.”

Megan sniffled. “All right, Mama. I will try.”

Perhaps she should heed her own words.

Moments later they arrived at the hall. As the sprawling residence came into view, Megan gasped. “What a magnificent house!”

It never failed to impress Abbie. Such a stark difference in style, but for some reason the eclectic divergence worked. Much like the men in the family. Heavens, butterflies formed in her stomach. She was eighteen all over again, coming to the hall for the first time.

The brougham came to a stop and a number of tall, handsome footmen rushed forward to help them from the carriage and take charge of their small cases. Martin, the butler, stood by the entrance and bowed. “Welcome to Wollstonecraft Hall, Mrs. Hughes, Miss Hughes.”

“Thank you,” Abbie replied.

Garrett came up behind her and laid his hand gently on her back. A roll of heat moved up and down her spine at his touch. “Father and Julian are in the Georgian parlor; it’s the wing that you will be staying in. We’ve set up a small tea as a welcome: sugar biscuits, frosted cakes, and assorted treats. Are you hungry, Megan?”

She whirled about to face Garrett, as she’d been completely caught up in inspecting the ornate Tudor hall. “I adore frosted cakes,” she replied politely.

Good girl. Abbie smiled. Make an effort.

Garrett escorted them to the parlor. When they entered the two men stood, and Abbie was struck by how little both had changed in fourteen years. Garrett’s father, the earl, still stood straight, a fine figure of a man who must be well into his sixties. More white hair than she remembered, a few more lines, but it only enhanced his classic handsomeness. His gaze softened as it landed on Megan. “Moira,” he whispered. His large blue eyes shimmered with emotion. The sadness in his eyes touched Abbie’s heart. He stepped forward. “Forgive me. Miss Hughes reminds me of my late wife, Garrett’s mother.”

“Megan, this is my father, the Earl of Carnstone,” Garrett said.

Megan gave a perfect curtsey. “My lord.” Well, the school turned out to be good for something, Abbie mused.

“Ah. Lovely.” The earl nodded his approval. He stepped toward Abbie and clasped her hand. “I do remember when you were here for the dinner all those years ago. I never would have guessed that there was anything between you and Garrett. You both hid it well.” He winked, and Abbie flushed in response. He bent over her hand, then released it.

“This is my older brother, Julian Wollstonecraft, Viscount Tensbridge,” Garrett said.

Besides threads of gray at his temples and those attractive little lines fanning out from his eyes, he hardly looked to be a man in his forties. He was certainly as self-contained as she remembered. The viscount bowed. “Mrs. Hughes, Miss Hughes.”

Abbie reached into her reticule and pulled out the note, then held it toward Garrett’s brother. “Alberta asked me to deliver this to you, my lord.”

He took it, and warmth flared in his eyes. Oh, my. No cool standoffishness there at all. Alberta had placed her name on the outside of the note, and he reacted at seeing it. Alberta was indeed correct in surmising that there was something between them. What a development. He met her gaze. “Thank you.” Tensbridge opened the note and scanned it with them still standing there. A small smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he folded the note and tucked it in his jacket pocket.

They entered the parlor, and Abbie was struck by its coziness. A fire blazed in the large stone fireplace; the furniture was modern, as were the colors. Instead of the usual burgundy or dark green, this room was done in creams and different shades of blue, from the walls to the large rug. A blue floral settee sat at the front of the room, a marble-top table in front of it. Surrounding the table was a circle of plush, blue bergère chairs, ideal for conversing. On the table sat a huge silver serving tray, complete with a three-tier stand loaded with all manner of sweets. Also on the tray were a silver teapot, china cups and saucers, small plates, and linen napkins. The butler and a young footman stepped forward to take the ladies’ coats, hats, and gloves.

“Would you do us the honor of pouring, Mrs. Hughes?” the earl asked.

“Of course,” she murmured, not used to being in such august company. Hopefully her hand would not shake. Once seated, she commenced pouring while the men loaded their plates with various treats.

“Go ahead, Megan. Take what you want. May I call you Megan?” the earl asked.

She nodded, then tentatively reached for a plate and laid four small frosted cakes on it. “My lord, are you related to the authoress of Frankenstein, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley?”

Abbie was shocked that Megan had started the conversation. She took a quick glance at Garrett, and he met her gaze and held it, heat simmering in his eyes. Then he slid his gaze to his daughter and he smiled, pride clearly reflecting in his handsome face.

“As a matter of fact we are, albeit distantly,” the earl replied. “She is my fourth cousin; her mother, Mary Wollstonecraft, was my third. Alas, the branches of the family are not close. However, she did send me signed copies when it was first published. Have you read it?”

Megan smiled and nodded. “At school, my lord. I liked it.”

“What did you like about it?” Tensbridge asked.