Abigail darted a quick look at her brother. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “They’re pretty,” she said.
His brow creased as he came forward. “There’s no note so it seems you have a secret admirer. Any ideas who might have sent them?”
“No,” Abigail lied. Her hands trembled as she took them. “Thank you.”
Peter cleared his throat. “I’m going out for some air first, but Imogen insists I meet with Hawke today and end the disagreement between us. I wouldn’t bother but he’s to draw up the marriage contract—Imogen insists—before he returns to London and then we can put him from our minds for another year. I’ll see you later, possibly not until dinner.”
Abigail nodded and glanced down at the bouquet in her hands, her heart aching with sadness. Last night David had said he worried about her. That he couldn’t seem to stop. Had he sent the flowers to show her he was thinking of her now, or was this his way of saying goodbye?
Although his concern had been sincere, he had not made her any promises beyond last night. He had claimed she’d seduced him and had reminded her he was leaving. At the time, she had not wanted to dwell on how she would feel later. But now the remembrance of his words caused her eyes to fill with tears and she blinked them back swiftly. He would leave in a few days and then she would have to wait a whole year to be in his arms again. Although new to love, Abigail wasn’t sure how she would stand the separation.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
David had penned a long letter to his business partner in London and sent it off well before the appointed time to meet with Walter and Imogen George. Truth be told, he’d been awake for hours. He’d bolted out of bed the minute he’d realized Abigail had left his side. Despite rushing downstairs in a state of shocking undress, Abigail had already vanished into the Brighton early morning.
He was surprised but not alarmed by her departure. With each encounter, they ran the risk she could be seen and face social ruin for their antics. Marriage to him, and a swift one, would be best in this situation.
He grinned, pleased with the way his life was headed. It was ridiculous how happy he felt, but he could not help himself. He’d requested his mother’s old bedchamber aired and cleaned, fresh sheets placed on the bed, not that he had any intention of letting Abigail sleep alone. When he’d spied the flower seller on his way back from an early morning swim with Valentine, he’d doubled back and paid the old woman handsomely to deliver a bunch to Abigail. It was a pity he couldn’t have penned a note to go with them. For now he would have to be patient, at least until he’d secured Peter’s agreement to let them marry.
A knock sounded on the door and he bounded down the hall to let the George’s in with an eager wave of his hand. “Good morning, George.”
“Hawke,” Walter George tumbled across his threshold without meeting his gaze.
David frowned, glancing at Imogen following behind, only then noticing her hand secured firmly around Peter Watson’s arm. “Miss George. Good morning. Mr. Watson. What a pleasant surprise.”
They passed him with a cool nod and he closed the door behind them. Although puzzled by the silent trio, he quickly turned his mind to the task at hand. “I was unaware Mr. Watson would be joining us. Do make yourselves at home in the study while I gather up another chair.”
“Thank you,” Miss George murmured.
David hurried down the hall, spoke to his housekeeper to request an extra setting to the tea tray, and then returned to the front of the house with a chair for Peter Watson. He sat behind his desk and looked at those before him.
Walter leaned forward. “Me first this time, and then I’ll leave you three to discuss matters.”
David extracted the carefully prepared report on Walter’s investments and account and handed it over. Walter gave the page the briefest of glances and then folded it. “Even better results than last year. Thank you.” He stood, held out his hand to David. “Swimming tomorrow?”
David shook it. “Absolutely.”
“I’ll see myself out.” When Walter shuffled past Imogen and Peter, his expression changed. He frowned at his sister and Peter Watson, shook his head, and then shrugged away whatever concerned him.
The front door closed with a hollow thud just as the mantle clock chimed eleven. “I. Ah. Wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mr. Watson. I trust everything is well at home?”
Watson nodded, his gaze sliding to Imogen.
She held herself rigidly. “Mr. Hawke, I have always been very impressed with your discretion concerning my business affairs. I am in need of your services once again.”
“Oh, in what way may I help you?” He reached for paper and ink, ready to jot notes down should the need arise.
“I should like a marriage contract drawn up.”
David sucked in a sharp breath and looked up again. “Marriage? Yours? To whom?”
She cut her gaze to Peter.
David stole a glance at Peter Watson. The poor man had his hands clenched on his thighs in a very agitated fashion. David stilled. Imogen had been on Peter Watson’s arm. What had the desperate man done last night to bring this surprise announcement about? He put the pen down and pushed up his sleeves. “Would you care to share with me the events of last night?” He rolled his shoulders and stood.
“Oh, goodness, look at you.” Imogen laughed, brittle and higher pitched than her usual tone. “Sit down, Mr. Hawke. This situation is entirely of my own making and there is absolutely no need for you to be concerned.”
“I wondered why Walter appeared in a hurry to leave us this morning. He usually stays a good bit longer. I take it he doesn’t approve of this decision,” David said, casting an accusing glance at Peter Watson.