Her heart raced as she turned back to Abel, fear and hope in her eyes. Only he could take charge of the situation, to clear both their names and salvage their reputations.
But to her dismay, he stood frozen, his shock evident on his face as he kept silent.
The realization he was now caught in a scandal bore down on Abel, threatening to crush him under its suffocating grip. His mind flew in all directions, searching for a way to rectify the situation, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess. The accusing stares of the women pierced through him, amplifying his feelings of guilt and shame.
Coupled with Bridget’s hopeful stare, his voice caught in his throat, his words trapped by the weight of his emotions. He knew that his next words would shape their fate.
His heart pounded in his chest as he stared back at her, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Shock, regret, and a sense of duty battled within him, threatening to shatter his composure.
He had always prided himself on being a proper gentleman, adhering to the strict rules of Society. And yet, in this single moment of weakness, he had jeopardized Bridget’s reputation and his own principles.
Bridget’s eyes pleaded with him, silently begging for him to rectify the situation, to declare his intention to marry her and salvage what remained of their honor.
But he could not. He would not.
The weight of his decision bore down on him, his shoulders slumping under the burden. He knew that by denying her the assurance and deliverance she sought, he risked losing her forever.
“Your Grace?” Bridget implored, her voice trembling with a combination of worry and growing frustration. “Please, say something. Declare your love for me once more in front of them. Please.”
Abel knew there would be no going back from this. Still, his mind refused to succumb. His voice wavered slightly as he whispered, at last, his eyes unable to meet hers.
“I cannot marry you, Lady Bridget.”
The weight of the situation hung heavily in the air as the judgmental gazes of the women remained fixed on them.
Bridget’s heart stopped, and for a second, she felt she could not breathe. Finally, she found her breath, and her shock quickly transformed into a heavy rage.
Abel remained silent, his silence a painful confirmation of his statement. The realization hit her like a sharp blow, causing her heart to tremble with disappointment and resentment.
From the look on his face, she knew that, truly, he would not repeat that he loved her, even despite the situation—his resolve was firm.
Bridget’s anger surged within her uncontrollably. With one last defiant glare at the judgmental onlookers, she turned away from Abel sharply, her steps purposeful and resolute.
Ignoring the whispers that followed in her wake, she stormed past them all without looking back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The following day dawned with a sense of purpose and anticipation for Abel Wareham. He stepped into his carriage, the polished wood gleaming in the morning light, as he embarked on the frightening journey before him.
He planned to ask for Bridget’s hand in marriage.
As the carriage rolled through the bustling streets, his thoughts swirled with conflicting emotions. He repeated to himself that this was merely a duty, a practical and expected decision.
However, deep down, a flicker of excitement danced within him. In a few hours, she would be his fiancée. The prospect of claiming her as his own made his heart soar.
The carriage pressed on, traversing the winding path towards Borthwell Estate. Abel’s anticipation grew with every passing minute, his mind conjuring images of what their shared future would be like.
Finally, the carriage came to a halt before the grand entrance of the Fadden home. Abel took a deep breath, steadying himself for the momentous path ahead. With a surge of determination, he stepped out onto the cobblestone pathway, his footsteps echoing with purpose.
This time, there was no welcome party waiting to receive him. After the servants went off to announce his arrival to the household, he made his way to the opulent drawing room.
The servants whispered amongst themselves as they bowed in his direction and passed by, their curious gazes causing him to lower his head to avoid their scrutiny. Finally, amidst the hushed murmurs, a voice cut through the air.
“Your Grace.”
Startled, Abel lifted his head to find Lady Borthwell standing before him, curiosity evident on her face.
A smile slowly graced the Countess’s face, and Abel, ever the gentleman, swiftly rose to his feet, extending the customary greeting. “Lady Borthwell, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
