London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  “Should we begin packing?” she said.

  Dianna’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Indeed. I will dash off a quick letter to Charlotte and send word round to Father’s driver that we will require his services on the morrow. Is seven in the morning too early a start, do you think?”

  Abigail barely contained her wince. “No dear, that should be fine.”

  With a grin, Dianna started to dash from the room in search of paper and a quill, but she stopped short in the doorway. “Do not worry, Aunt Abigail,” she said cheerfully over her shoulder. “Everything will work out with your duke. You’ll see. I have a sixth sense about these things, you know.”

  “Oh really? And why do you think that?”

  “Who do you think got Charlotte and Gavin together?” With a wink, Dianna picked up her skirts and sauntered out of the room.

  Chapter Six

  Inundated with sheep farms and patchwork fields of green, Sussex was bordered by the ocean on one side and the better known counties of Hampshire, Surrey, and Kent on the other. The Graystone’s estate rested just outside of Brighton, a rapidly growing village populated by farmers and fishermen alike.

  Modestly sized at three hundred acres, Charlotte and Gavin’s country residence was a lovely mix of rolling hills and shaded forest divided by a wide stream that wound straight down the middle of the property, the water so clear one could see straight down to the pebble covered bottom in even the deepest of places.

  Sitting far off the road at the end of a long drive lined with towering oak trees, the estate boasted a four story rectangular mansion with a pitched gable roof the color of brick and walls comprised of white sandstone. Having suffered through many different owners over the years, each one of whom attempted to leave their own individual mark, the mansion was an eclectic mismatch of styles both inside and out.

  Charlotte Graystone, her fiery red curls pinned up in a demure twist and her growing belly disguised by a violet muslin gown, was waiting to greet Abigail and Dianna at the bottom of the front steps, her face wreathed in a beaming smile and her amber eyes sparkling with delight.

  “It is wonderful to see you again so soon!” she called out while Abigail was still disembarking from the carriage. “I have both of your rooms ready and Ernie will have all of the trunks brought up. How was your journey?”

  “Splendid,” Dianna said.

  “Long,” Abigail replied succinctly once she had both feet firmly on the ground.

  The trip from London to Sussex had taken three days. In their haste to reach the country, she and Dianna had forgone inns and traveled through the night, stopping only to exchange horses. As a result Abigail was stiff, sore, and very much feeling her age.

  “Aunt Abigail is not accustomed to traveling this far from town,” Dianna explained. Looking much more refreshed in a traveling habit of soft blue, she slipped her arm through Abigail’s and together they followed Charlotte into the house and down the main hallway to a bright, sun drenched parlor with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the side lawn.

  Sinking gratefully into a high backed drawing chair, Abigail drew off her hat and unbuttoned her high necked pelisse. Wriggling out of the traveling cloak with no small degree of effort, she gave it to a waiting maid who whisked it promptly away and returned with cool, refreshing lemonade.

  “You have such a lovely home,” Abigail said after casting a quick, appraising eye around the room.

  So many country residences were decorated in the style of city townhouses: that was to say, they were over decorated with heavy fabrics, somber paintings, and dark walls. The Graystone’s home, on the other hand, was comfortable and cheerful with a bright mix of furnishings and adornments.

  It was so very different from the only other grand estate she had ever visited–Ashburn House–that she could not help but draw comparisons. Surprisingly, it was Reginald’s family home she found lacking. While it was certainly bigger and grander, it emitted none of the warmth this one did, and Abigail recalled that even on the hottest of days she had always requested tea, for the moment she stepped inside the forbidding doors a chill settled upon her that had refused to leave until she exited again.

  “You are very kind to say so,” Charlotte said with a smile. “It is still in a bit of a shamble, but it is coming along slowly. The poor thing was an awful mess when Gavin purchased her. Why, I nearly fell through the floorboards in the music room three weeks ago. I am doing the entire outside landscaping myself. Or rather, I was.” She cast a significant look at Dianna who rolled her eyes.

  “Is there anything your husband will let you do?” Dianna asked.

  Charlotte’s smooth brow wrinkled in thought. “Read,” she concluded after a pause. “And paint, although heaven knows I am terrible at it. He did suggest I take up embroidery.” Her mouth flattened. “That particular conversation did not end well.”

  “How long will he be in Scotland?” Abigail queried.

  “A fortnight, at the very least. I miss him terribly and he has only been gone for two days,” she confessed. “I am so very glad both of you were able to come and stay with me.”

  “Is Tabitha here?” Dianna asked, referring to Charlotte’s personal maid.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, she went to London to visit her sister. She did not want to leave, but I insisted. Why is it that once a woman becomes pregnant she is thought to be completely useless? I can take care of myself,” she groused, her amber eyes flashing. “I am having a baby, not dying. You would think by the way Gavin is carrying on I have been diagnosed with some deadly disease. Why, before he left he told one of the footmen to follow me around the house to open every door!”

  Abigail bit back a smile. “Let him pamper you all he likes,” she advised, “and carry on with your regular routine when his back is turned. It is how women have been managing overprotective husbands for centuries.”

  “An excellent idea,” Charlotte declared. “And how are you feeling, Miss Abigail?”

  “Quite splendid, especially now that I am out of that carriage.” And not likely to get in again any time soon, she added silently. It was a good thing they were planning on visiting for eight days. She would need that length of time just to recover from being jostled about like a sack of potatoes.

  “Aunt Abigail has an admirer,” Dianna said, her smile impish.

  “An admirer?” Pushing the pitcher of lemonade to the side, Charlotte leaned forward and clasped her hands together on her knees, her eyes lighting with anticipation. “This is wonderful news! What is his name? Where did you meet him?”

  “They’ve known each other since they were children,” Dianna said before Abigail could so much as utter a word. “They were even engaged once! You remember, don’t you, Charlotte? She told us all about it that one morning outside Twinings. ”

  “Oh, the duke!” Charlotte snapped her fingers. “The Duke of…of…”

  “Ashburn,” Abigail supplied after giving her niece a narrow eyed glare that told her precisely what she thought of this sudden turn in the conversation. After all, the very reason she had left London was to clear her mind of Reginald, yet what did Dianna do? Bring him up at the first opportunity.

  “Busybody,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that, Aunt Abigail?” Dianna asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “You heard me.”

  Dianna simply grinned.

  “I fear I am quite removed from all the gossip, so forgive me for not knowing the answer, but isn’t the Duke of Ashburn married?” Charlotte asked uncertainly.

  “He was,” Dianna confirmed, “but his wife passed away and he’s returned to England and he wants Aunt Abigail, who he has always loved, but she turned him away, even though she loves him too!”

  “Dianna,” Abigail snapped.

  “What?” Dianna blinked innocently at her aunt. “What did I say?”

  “Only everything you should not have.” Anger beat inside Abigail’s chest like drum, although whether it was
directed at Dianna, Reginald, or herself, she could not be certain. Feeling overwhelmed and tired and as cranky as a three year old who had skipped its nap, she stood up abruptly. “I fear I need to rest for a while. The journey was very tiring. Could you have a maid direct me to my room?”

  “Certainly,” Charlotte murmured. The concerned glance she exchanged with Dianna was discreet, but Abigail caught it nevertheless.

  “I will be fine,” she said, although even to her own ears her voice sounded strained. “A long nap, a hearty meal, and I will feel right as rain.”

  Her pretty brow creased with genuine concern, Dianna leapt to her feet. “Aunt Abigail, I never meant to—”

  “Please.” Abigail held up her hand. “I just need to rest.”

  Somewhere between leaving London and walking through the front door of the Graystone’s beautiful mansion, a weight had settled on her heart. It constricted her from the inside out, pressing and squeezing until she felt quite literally out of breath. The sensation was something she’d felt only once before: the day Reginald broke her heart.

  His unexpected visit, their passionate kiss, the long trip to Sussex, the memories invoked by stepping inside a grand estate and sitting in a parlor not unlike the one she’d sat in forty years ago…it was all too much, too fast. After living a life of calm predictability Abigail felt as though she’d suddenly been tossed out to sea in a life boat, left to churn and spin amidst the waves.

  A maid appeared and Abigail followed her gratefully up the sweeping staircase and into a beautifully decorated bedroom suite with cheerful yellow walls, a matching set of cherrywood furniture, and a four poster bed with a sky blue canopy.

  Her trunks were already unpacked, but she did not bother changing out of her traveling clothes. Pausing only to unlace her boots, she kicked off one and then the other before throwing herself on top of the mattress, closing her eyes, and falling instantly asleep.

  In the parlor, their voices hushed and their expressions worried, Dianna and Charlotte discussed Abigail’s unusual behavior.

  “She has been acting odd for days,” Dianna confided. Biting her lip, she set aside her untouched glass of lemonade and began to pace the middle of the room, her shoes sinking silently into the thick Persian carpet. “I never should have told her the Duke of Ashburn was returning to England.”

  “And let her receive the shock of her life when he turned up on her doorstep?” Charlotte arched one russet brow. “I would think not. You did the right thing. Now we have to decide what to do next.”

  Needing to do something with her hands, Dianna plucked a crystal swan off a side table and absently stroked its long feathered back. “I do not know if we should interfere.”

  Charlotte snorted. “So says the woman who dragged me to an illicit masquerade ball so I could woo a stranger into marrying me.”

  “It worked, did it not?”

  A warm smile captured the corners of Charlotte’s mouth, curving her lips upwards even as she rested a hand over her growing belly. “It certainly did. You know your aunt far better than I, but I would imagine there is a reason she never married even after all these years, and it is not because she is unattractive or ill suited. Why, Abigail has to be one of the most lovely and intelligent women I know.”

  “She is absolutely wonderful,” Dianna agreed without hesitation, “and most deserving of her own happily-ever-after. I just wish I knew if Ashburn is the one meant to give it to her.”

  Charlotte was quiet for a moment before she said, “I, of all people, know how it feels to be pressured in marrying someone you do not love. I can imagine that pressure is tenfold when you are destined to inherit a dukedom. I am sure Ashburn did what he thought was right at the time, even knowing it would cost him the woman he loved. And he could have come back and tried to make her his mistress, but he stayed away all of these years.”

  “Do you really think Aunt Abigail is the reason he lived in France?”

  “Why else? His family and his holdings were all in England. True, his wife was from France, but it is customary for the woman to follow the husband, not the other way around.”

  Dianna sat heavily on the edge of an ivory chaise lounge. “I never thought of it that way. It makes sense, however. Forty years without a word. You would think he forgot all about her, wouldn’t you? But then his wife passes and he is on the first ship back to England.”

  “Highly suspicious,” Charlotte agreed.

  “And romantic, if you forget he broke her heart. Poor Aunt Abigail. She loves him still. I know she does.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “Yes, but what? She does not want to see him. I think she is afraid.”

  “Afraid? Afraid of what?”

  “Of going through it all again. What if he breaks her heart a second time? I do not think I would be able to do it.” For the briefest of moments Dianna allowed herself to think of the one man she had allowed close enough to touch her own heart. She’d given it to him willingly, and he’d held it with such care until the day he had crushed it beneath the heel of his boot and never looked back. If he ever returned, would she be willing to risk her heart again?

  “You are choking my swan.”

  “What?” Dianna asked, startled.

  “The crystal swan. It is already dead. You needn’t kill it again.”

  Glancing down at her lap, Dianna saw that she did, in fact, have her hands wrapped around the swan’s dainty neck. “Oh my,” she exclaimed before hastily returning the swan to its place of honor in the middle of the table. “I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.”

  Charlotte was not fooled for a second. “You were thinking about him, weren’t you?” She sighed. “How could you not? The similarities are uncanny.”

  “I do not want to talk about him,” Dianna said sharply.

  “No, you never do. It is all right,” she said, holding up a hand. Dianna promptly closed her mouth, swallowing back the words she had been ready to spit out. “Cad that he is, he does not deserve another second of your time. Let us focus on your aunt, and save Miles Radnor for another day.”

  Even hearing the name of her estranged fiancée gave Dianna cause to wince, but she lifted her chin and forcefully shoved any thought of him from her mind. He no longer concerned her. He very well could have been dead for all she knew, although there was no sense of satisfaction in wishing for his untimely demise. She had loved him once, after all. Or at least she had loved the boy he used to be. A severe case of the pox would suit her lust for revenge just fine. Heavens knew he could stand to lose a bit of his handsomeness. Dark hair, piercing green eyes, and a face that belonged to an angel. Was it any wonder she’d lost her heart to him?

  “I have been thinking of ways to get Aunt Abigail and Ashburn together,” she admitted, lowering her voice to a whisper on the off chance anyone was listening, “and I believe I have the perfect idea…”

  Chapter Seven

  The damn woman had disappeared.

  Thinking to give Abby time to acquaint herself with the idea that he was not going away, Reginald had attended to some affairs of a personal nature. He owned two properties in London and one on the outskirts, a brick mansion that had been abandoned and closed up long before he was born. It was a graceful old lady set far back from the street and protected by a line of towering oaks, their leaves already turning yellow and red in preparation for the long winter ahead.

  Of all the estates he owned the brick was by far his favorite. It possessed fine bones beneath the layers of neglect and had been built with an eye for the nature that existed beyond its walls. Gardens, overgrown and running wild with weeds, surrounded the house. Climbing ivy covered the entire east wing. Inside everything was covered with dust and drop cloths, but natural light abounded, streaming in through the oversized windows.

  He imagined Abby sitting in the parlor reading one of her beloved books, her face bathed in sunlight and the faintest of smiles curving her mouth. Her hair would be loose around her sho
ulders and he would walk up behind her and tangle his fingers in the soft, silky ends before gently drawing her head back for a kiss.

  Their tongues would entwine, their hearts racing in tandem. His hands would cup her breasts, his thumbs circling leisurely around her hard nipples. When she clung to his shoulders and sighed against his neck he would carry her upstairs to their room and they would slowly undress each other, taking pleasure in exposing their bodies a bit at a time. The sun would dapple across her ivory skin as he laid her down on the bed, creating dancing prisms of light he chased with his mouth.

  She would moan his name as he pleasured her, and when they finally came together he would close his eyes with the certainty that this was what heaven felt like.

  It was a perfect image and one Reginald would have turned into reality in a heartbeat… if he knew where Abigail was.

  He’d arrived at her townhouse with flowers in hand and a perfect speech in mind, ready and willing to lay his heart at her feet. When a maid answered the door and informed him Miss Abigail was out of town he felt as though someone had landed a sucker punch to the side of his face, so unexpected was the news of her departure.

  “She’s gone? Are you quite certain?” he asked the maid, a plump young woman with rosy cheeks and brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Yes,” she said shortly before she began to close the door. Reginald stopped it with his boot and the maid crossed her arms. “Miss Abigail did not say she was expectin’ any visitors before she left. Who are ye and what do ye want?”

  Reginald tugged at the side of his cravat. “I am… an old acquaintance.” It was, he supposed, the best way to sum up their relationship as any. At present they were neither lovers nor, he feared, even friends. When last they met Abigail had been openly hostile, not that he could blame her, and he had certainly not won himself any favors by stumbling over his own tongue and breaking her table. “I paid her a visit just last week. Do you know when she left?”