Read Online Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine by T. Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. Davis Bunn
Tags: Romance, Historical, Acadians—Fiction, Scandals—Fiction, Americans—England—Fiction, London (England)—Fiction
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visitors and guests and the quiet murmur of discreet conversations. Today, however, the drapes were partly drawn upon a rain-swept garden. The entire house seemed swathed in a muted light. Abigail forced herself to regain control and used her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Occasionally people passed before the doors leading to the rear offices and the rest of the house. A few cast glances her way, swift looks that did not linger.
The previous few days had been the most wretched of Abigail’s entire life. Her nights were riven by fearful dreams. Her days were filled with silent condemnation. When her mother had asked for details about her forays into Soho, Abigail had responded with the resignation of one who was beyond all desire to hide. Her mother had said very little more, not even asking how Abigail had come to lie to her parents. Which of course was precisely what Abigail had done. One falsehood piled upon another. The worst were the ones she had told herself. How she was doing this for a higher purpose. How she was behaving this way for God.
Her mother’s silence was more profound than anything she could have said.
Everything else would wait until her father returned from Brussels. The thought of this had added a feverish edge to her nightmares and filled her every morning with dread.
Then the broadsheets with the awful headlines had appeared, and there was no way they could wait any longer for her father.
She knew why Wilberforce’s household was avoiding her. For two days now, the newspapers loyal to the Crown had spouted the most scurrilous lies. Articles claimed a leading Dissenter had been captured in a raid on a notorious bawdy theatre. “One Aldridge,” the newspapers said. The articles made no mention that she had been the visitor. In fact, one implied that it had been her father who had actually been a member of the audience. They claimed this Aldridge had been captured in a general sweep, one carried out by the Crown at the public’s demand for decency and reform. They suggested this Aldridge had actually been on the verge of entering the stage itself. A stage where most of the performers were without clothes.
Abigail buried her face in her hands. The shame was just too much to bear. Her father was due back in three days. She did not know which meeting she dreaded the most, that with her father or with Mr. Wilberforce.
Notice had come this morning, a written request from Wilberforce himself. When Abigail had read the note, she had resisted a sudden urge to break into hysterical laughter. No matter how awful the situation was, it insisted upon becoming worse still.
“Miss Aldridge? Mr. Wilberforce will see you now.”
Abigail was once more filled with a desperate desire to flee the dark house and these hushed people. But where was she to go? She forced herself to rise and follow the young gentleman she scarcely saw. They entered the front hall and passed through the main gallery. She noticed people to either side, but no one spoke. People moved in funereal solemnity. And perhaps this was appropriate. She walked toward her own public humiliation.
The young gentleman opened one of the sliding doors leading to the formal library, the chamber Wilberforce used as his personal office. “Miss Aldridge, sir.”
“Ah, Abigail. What a delight it is to see you again.” The voice came from within a room darker than the rest of the house. “Forgive me for not rising. Do please come in. Will you take tea?”
“N-no thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Herbert. That will be all.”
“Very good, sir.”
When the door closed, the room’s only light came from a tight slit in the window drapes. Abigail remained where she was, allowing her eyes to become adjusted.
“A wretched state of affairs, I do agree. Can you see where to put your feet? Perhaps I should have Herbert bring you a candle.”
“No, sir. Thank you.” She saw him now, a small figure reclining upon a daybed in the far corner. He wore his
The previous few days had been the most wretched of Abigail’s entire life. Her nights were riven by fearful dreams. Her days were filled with silent condemnation. When her mother had asked for details about her forays into Soho, Abigail had responded with the resignation of one who was beyond all desire to hide. Her mother had said very little more, not even asking how Abigail had come to lie to her parents. Which of course was precisely what Abigail had done. One falsehood piled upon another. The worst were the ones she had told herself. How she was doing this for a higher purpose. How she was behaving this way for God.
Her mother’s silence was more profound than anything she could have said.
Everything else would wait until her father returned from Brussels. The thought of this had added a feverish edge to her nightmares and filled her every morning with dread.
Then the broadsheets with the awful headlines had appeared, and there was no way they could wait any longer for her father.
She knew why Wilberforce’s household was avoiding her. For two days now, the newspapers loyal to the Crown had spouted the most scurrilous lies. Articles claimed a leading Dissenter had been captured in a raid on a notorious bawdy theatre. “One Aldridge,” the newspapers said. The articles made no mention that she had been the visitor. In fact, one implied that it had been her father who had actually been a member of the audience. They claimed this Aldridge had been captured in a general sweep, one carried out by the Crown at the public’s demand for decency and reform. They suggested this Aldridge had actually been on the verge of entering the stage itself. A stage where most of the performers were without clothes.
Abigail buried her face in her hands. The shame was just too much to bear. Her father was due back in three days. She did not know which meeting she dreaded the most, that with her father or with Mr. Wilberforce.
Notice had come this morning, a written request from Wilberforce himself. When Abigail had read the note, she had resisted a sudden urge to break into hysterical laughter. No matter how awful the situation was, it insisted upon becoming worse still.
“Miss Aldridge? Mr. Wilberforce will see you now.”
Abigail was once more filled with a desperate desire to flee the dark house and these hushed people. But where was she to go? She forced herself to rise and follow the young gentleman she scarcely saw. They entered the front hall and passed through the main gallery. She noticed people to either side, but no one spoke. People moved in funereal solemnity. And perhaps this was appropriate. She walked toward her own public humiliation.
The young gentleman opened one of the sliding doors leading to the formal library, the chamber Wilberforce used as his personal office. “Miss Aldridge, sir.”
“Ah, Abigail. What a delight it is to see you again.” The voice came from within a room darker than the rest of the house. “Forgive me for not rising. Do please come in. Will you take tea?”
“N-no thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Herbert. That will be all.”
“Very good, sir.”
When the door closed, the room’s only light came from a tight slit in the window drapes. Abigail remained where she was, allowing her eyes to become adjusted.
“A wretched state of affairs, I do agree. Can you see where to put your feet? Perhaps I should have Herbert bring you a candle.”
“No, sir. Thank you.” She saw him now, a small figure reclining upon a daybed in the far corner. He wore his
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