Baron of Blasphemy (Lords of Scandal 12)

She sighed to herself. Married life was proving quite lovely after all.

Chad had assured her he’d have more time in the very near future but his inattention during the day had resulted in a great deal of attention at night, which Abigail was enjoying immensely.

And they’d begun to share. Really share with each other. With each passing day, she grew less afraid that they wouldn’t form a bond and that he’d return to his old life.

And she also grew less concerned with her petty worries about her sisters. It mattered less if Eliza told her what to do.

She was just here, living life, as Chad’s wife—and she loved it.

In fact, she was fairly certain that she loved him.

Her heart sped up in her chest. Every night, she tried to show him that love. She touched him, talked with him, held him.

She’d like to ask her sisters how they had known they loved their husbands and how they’d gained their affection in return. But she didn’t even know where her sisters were.

Her chest twisted again. She missed them.

And she worried. Her father had gone on a routine trip and never returned. What if that happened with her sisters too? She couldn’t bear to lose one of them.

But her own thoughts were interrupted by the sniffling from the doorway of a nearby church.

Abigail stopped, turning toward the sound.

Her heart tugged. Perhaps it was the thoughts of her sisters but she couldn’t just continue on and so she started up the steps.

“Abby?” Vanity called behind her. “What are you doing?”

She ignored him. “Hello?” she called instead.

The crying immediately stopped.

Abigail stepped into the shadows, moving slowly so as not to scare the woman or perhaps to protect herself.

But what she found was a woman about her age, sitting on the hard stone, her knees drawn up and her head on her folded arms.

“Hello,” she said again. “Are you all right?”

The woman lifted her head. Perhaps it was the shadow playing on her hair but in this light the tresses looked black as night. Her face was the most flawlessly beautiful Abigail had ever seen. Large dark eyes, a tiny straight nose, and cheekbones rounded out by full lips.

“I’m…I’m fine,” the woman said, a gasping breath breaking up the sentence.

Abigail moved closer, bending down. “Forgive me for arguing but you don’t sound fine.”

She gave her head a shake. “Thank you for your concern. But my problems are so common as to almost be boring.”

Abigail furrowed her brow. “What’s your name?”

“Miss Gabriella Winston.” She shuddered, squeezing her arms tighter about her. “Though that will change soon enough.”

Abigail heard Vanity reach the top of the stairs. She gave him a quick look, but his eyes were fixed on Gabriella. “Why will it change?”

“Because,” she whispered. “I’m a charge of the parish. In an act of mercy, the priest is auctioning me off to the highest-bidding man today. He’s right. It’s better than a workhouse. But what he actually means is that I’ll make the parish far more money at auction.”

Abigail gasped. She’d heard Eliza mention workhouses and auctions with the sort of dread that made Abigail’s skin tingle. If Eliza was frightened of these events then Gabriella was surely in a desperate situation. “There must be something we can do.”

Gabriella’s brow furrowed but Vanity cleared his throat. “Forgive me, my lady but…”

Gabriella pushed up to standing. She was tall for a woman. She reached for Abigail. “You’re a lady?”