Page 2 of Revisit the Past (Society of Swans #3)

M iss Abbott. The name tasted strange on Caleb’s tongue. He could not remember the last time he had used it. Even in his memories, she had always been Isabel…his Isabel. He needed to cleanse his palate, to chase away that terrible feeling that she would always be Miss Abbott to him now—at least until she took another man’s name.

“May I have the next dance?”

His blurted words came as a shock to them both. Taking a step back, Miss Abbott’s striking, green eyes widened in what Caleb could only describe as complete loathing. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. Why had his first instinct been to ask for a dance? Was he mad?

Of course he was. But somehow, Wrighthall had done an excellent job of convincing Caleb that the time had come to return to the world of the living, as any good friend must do after suffering through nearly four years of Caleb’s grief-stricken running.

Yet even the glares he received from Miss Abbott’s own companions failed to stop the rush of happiness that had enveloped Caleb’s heart in a warmth he had not felt since that fateful day. It seemed time had not done much to lessen that sensation, no matter how far Caleb had gone to escape it—to escape all of it.

The lady’s lips pursed. The shallow dimple in her chin almost disappeared from view.

“You may not,” she announced without a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

Guilt followed quickly on the heels of Caleb’s disappointment. He should not have been surprised.

How many times had he told Wrighthall that he would have been a fool to hope that Miss Abbott would accept so much as a smile from him? After what Caleb had done, he did not deserve even this much of her time.

“I understand. I pray you will forgive the impertinence,” Caleb said in a rush, bowing quickly.

It was his turn to step back. This had indeed been a terrible mistake. He should never have attempted to return to Society, to Miss Abbott’s life, as if he could possibly claim any place in either of them now. His weakness had forced him to give them up, and would send him all across the United Kingdom yet again.

“Isabel,” whispered one of her loyal friends in a tone of caution.

Miss Mercy, Caleb guessed, given what he recalled of the identical Reeve twins’ markedly different demeanors. From what he’d observed thus far, the other seemed not to have taken part in the night’s festivities. The sixth young lady, Miss Dailey, was absent as well, or perhaps they were both occupied with full dance cards.

“If you refuse one gentleman, you must refuse all others,” Miss Mercy continued, lowering her voice still further. “It would be a waste of the first ball of the Season…given your renewed interests.”

“Of course, if you truly do not wish to dance with him , we would all understand,” added Miss Clara Gardiner, grasping one of Miss Abbott’s gloved hands in hers. Miss Gardiner merely peered at the commotion from behind her younger sister.

All the while, Miss Abbott’s hard stare remained fixed on Caleb’s burning face. Standing completely still in her breathtaking beauty, she did not look inclined to alter her decision. Caleb lowered his head once again, spurred more by shame than by politeness.

“I should be going,” he mumbled.

“Good. I would rather not dance at all than dance with you.”

Caleb flinched as her words came down like blows from a hammer. Painful as they were, he knew he deserved them.

“My apologies,” he repeated, turning in defeat.

Caleb had only managed a few steps, forcing his broad shoulders to squeeze between two happy couples prancing toward the dance floor, when he halted in his tracks. A gloved hand had snatched his wrist. A hand he would have recognized anywhere merely by its weight.

Heart in his throat, traitorous hope flickering, Caleb faced her. Miss Abbott dropped his hand as if he’d burned her. Her eyes fell from Caleb’s to the floor.

“I was so dreadfully sorry to hear the news of your brother…”

“Thank you, that is very kind,” Caleb replied quickly.

His jaw tightened as the line reverberated in his mind. It had been in frequent use since his unexpected reemergence in London. The ton had not had an opportunity to offer their condolences at the time of his older brother’s death, nearing on four years past.

Almost no one had seen or heard from the new Earl of Murfield since. He could hardly bear to be seen or heard now. Not when his heart still felt so tied to his loss.

A moment of awkward silence stretched between them, drowned out by the simple pleasures of a dazzling evening. Guests filtered past them, eager to dance and converse and feast while they remained still, frozen in time.

Caleb’s stomach twisted. Would it ever be any other way between them now? Would they ever enjoy such a night together again, even just as something resembling friends?

“I heard,” Miss Abbott began under her breath before pausing. Her gaze darted about at the sideboard, the overflowing flowers, the delicate, swirling pattern of golden moulding along the walls—everywhere but him.

“Yes?” Caleb leaned forward instinctively.

“I heard through the gossip mill that you have been enjoying extensive travels throughout the country, and even to parts of the Continent and the Americas. Many were under the impression that you had no desire to return to life amongst the ton .”

She paused again. This time, her eyes found his. Caleb almost recoiled at all that remained unsaid in them.

“It seems I am in need of a change in scenery for the time being. Indeed, I had quite forgotten the merits of such lively Society.” Caleb glanced out at the ballroom, fit to burst with the ton ’s finest.

After another, shorter pause, Miss Abbott gave a curt nod, black curls catching the blazing candlelight. “I am at least pleased to see that you are alive and well.”

“Miss Abbott, I truly cannot begin to say how sorry—”

“Please.” She held up a hand and Caleb gladly fell silent. He looked down at his polished shoes. His words had sounded inane and futile even as he’d spoken them.

“I do appreciate your apology, but I have managed just fine thus far without it. I wish you the best, my lord.”

Caleb winced at the sting in her voice. There was a goodbye if he’d ever heard one. Miss Abbott spun around and stormed back to her friends, who encircled her in their protective arms and ushered her to a distant corner.

As he watched her go, that flicker of hope that had teased the back of his mind since he’d decided to resume his life turned to ash.

“That was not a success, I take it?”

Frowning, Caleb refused to look at the gentleman who had appeared at his side. “What could have possibly given such an impression? I should not have allowed you to influence me into this.”

Wrighthall’s hand settled on Caleb’s shoulder and began steering him back toward the doors. “I am sorry, my friend, truly. I hoped there might be a chance.”

As footmen closed the ballroom doors behind the two gentlemen, Caleb rounded on the baron and threw his hands up. “Why should there have been?”

His friend shook his head, his perfectly sculpted brown hair remaining quite firm, and mirrored Caleb’s frown. They fell into step together down the dark hallway.

“Well, as you recall, the Season after your abrupt disappearance, I heard that Miss Abbott had made clear her intentions to seek a match of material comfort rather than love.”

“I do recall, yes. Is that not still the case?” Caleb inquired, grimacing into the flickering shadows cast by the sconces lining the walls.

Wrighthall sighed and let one foot land heavily on the first step down to the foyer. “That is just the thing. Though I have not said as much…”

He paused and threw a glance at Caleb from the corner of his eye. Caleb’s grimace deepened, this time at himself.

It had been four years since he’d been forced to leave Miss Abbott behind—since he’d made the greatest mistake of his life.

He’d handled it all like a complete blockhead, though perhaps some of that might have been excused by the surrounding circumstances if Caleb had had the gentlemanly courage to be more forthcoming much sooner. Because he seemed incapable of releasing the pain of losing both Miss Abbott and his brother, Caleb had inadvertently forced Wrighthall to continue treading carefully around either subject.

“Speak freely, please. If this reunion—if it can be called as much—is any indication, I hardly imagine whatever information you impart will increase my disappointment by any great degree,” he said with a sigh, listlessly waving one hand.

His friend paused in the foyer and looked about. “Miss Abbott, being highly accomplished, pretty, and agreeable, and from a well-connected and respectably rich family, has not been without her share of interest from the ton ’s bachelors.”

Feigning a sudden fascination in a speck of dust soiling his otherwise-pristine lapel, Caleb turned away and made thorough work of dislodging it. He had been wrong. Wrighthall’s words, and the flashes of images they conjured in his mind’s eye, did pierce his heart.

“Is that so?” He managed to force through gritted teeth, pretending not to hear yet another long-suffering sigh from his closest and oldest friend, at least since Daniel…

“Yes,” Wrighthall continued patiently. “But, as far as I am aware, she has never accepted any of them as proper suitors—no matter their qualifications.”

Caleb’s heart, so used to limping along, battered and exhausted, went still. “Is that so?”

“Your carriage, my lord,” announced a footman who seemed to have appeared from thin air mere feet from Caleb’s face.

“Thank you. Please give my apologies to Lord and Lady Lemmonbury that I have been called away so soon.”

To Caleb’s great relief, Wrighthall did not leave him in suspense. The moment the carriage door closed behind them, throwing them into the darkness of its velvet interior, the baron resumed.

“For whatever reason, Miss Abbott ultimately seems to find some excuse to dismiss every man who signals his interest. She has done this for the past three Seasons. You pride yourself in your intellect, yes, Murfield? Does that not strike you as odd behavior? Perhaps it is time for something to be done about it.”

The carriage lurched forward. Caleb allowed himself to sway with the rhythm of the horses’ movements, his gaze drifting out the window, the world beyond shrouded in mystery. He could not bring himself to hope again, not so soon after being soundly put in his rightful place.

“Perhaps they were all beasts. Or vapid. She would not marry a vapid man for all the wealth in the world,” he mused under his breath.

Wrighthall chuckled and leaned back into the plush seat. “I would say the latter is far more likely. But think of it. Surely, not each and every one has been quite that tedious.”

“And what of the beasts?”

“You know I keep watch over her, per your request. No beasts have set upon her. Besides, I have every reason to believe that Miss Abbott’s good sense would make quick work of removing her from such company.”

“Then…what is the point at which you have been attempting to arrive?”

“Am I not permitted to hope for a dear friend’s much-needed happiness?” the baron teased in a grumble.

Caleb huffed a short laugh without looking at Wrighthall. “Not if it is false hope. Given the evidence I have collected with my own eyes and ears from the lady herself—which clearly supersedes your speculation, I am afraid to say—any hope in that direction can be nothing but a falsehood.”

“What if it is not false, after all? Why else would she refuse every gentleman when she might have been very comfortably settled by now?”

Wrighthall’s rebuttal hung in the air for the remainder of the ride back to Caleb’s townhouse. While he turned those questions and the events of the ball over in his mind, Caleb silently appreciated his friend’s choice to tilt his head back against the upholstery, close his eyes, and doze.

The earl leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The shifting shapes reflected in it somehow seemed to configure themselves into Miss Abbott’s features, still lovely despite the hatred etched in her soft lines.

No, there was only one conclusion that remained. If Wrighthall had seen her expression more closely, his hopes would no doubt be as dashed as Caleb’s.