by Regina Scott
As Abigail took the chair Mr. Inchley’s younger son held out for her, she spotted her mother, Ethan, and Linus taking places farther down. Doctor Owens and some of the other spa guests settled around them. Jess had decided against precedence and allowed her other guests to sit where they preferred.
“Miss Archer.” She turned to find Quillan St. Claire bowing beside her. Raven-haired, broad-shouldered, and well-favored, he looked particularly dashing today in his naval uniform. She’d only met him a few times but always with great delight. Mrs. Tully might praise a fellow in a red coat, but there was something commanding about a naval officer. Rosemary Denby must have agreed, for she raised her lorgnette off the front of her azure gown and studied him through it.
“Captain St. Claire,” Abigail acknowledged. “A pleasure to see you.”
“And you,” he assured her, gaze traveling down her frame and lighting with appreciation that brought a blush to her cheek. “I wonder, would you save me a dance later?”
Rosemary’s lorgnette tumbled from her fingers.
Abigail was nearly as stunned. Once she would have leaped to accept his offer. Now she could only smile her regrets. “I fear I must decline. My arm isn’t up to such challenges yet. It took the utmost persuasion to convince Doctor Bennett to allow me to attend the wedding.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, eyeing the shawl. “Your gift from the Grace-by-the-Sea militia. I’d forgotten. Another time, then.”
“Assuredly,” Abigail promised.
“I’m certain other ladies will be glad to take her place,” Rosemary went so far as to suggest.
He bowed. “You honor me, Miss Denby. But I dance rarely. Bum knee, you know.”
She frowned as he made his way down the table.
Odd. It was as if he’d singled her out. Abigail had been hoping he’d ask her to dance the last few times he’d attended the weekly assembly. Now, she didn’t feel the least disappointed to refuse him. Instead, her gaze sought out Linus, and lingered.
~~~
“I had no idea the village held so many people,” Doctor Owens was saying beside Linus as the first course was served, a white soup smelling of savory onions and herbs.
“Miss Chance is highly respected,” Mrs. Archer, on his other side, put in before nodding to Ethan to try the soup.
At least she was encouraging something more than sweets at the moment. Linus had a feeling his son would be stuffed with sugar by the end of the meal. He would have to have a discussion with the lady about a healthful diet for growing children.
“I recognize a few acquaintances,” Owens said, glancing around. “Lord Featherstone there with Mrs. Rand. Crabapple with Mrs. Harding. Donner. George. But what of that fellow speaking with Miss Archer?”
Linus glanced up the table. He hadn’t met the man either, but he couldn’t like the way his arm rested on the back of Abigail’s chair as if he intended to embrace her. He leaned too close, his smile too smug, as if he was assured she would be swayed by anything he requested. He obviously didn’t know the lady well.
“Mrs. Archer?” Linus asked, keeping an eye on the fellow. “Who is that?”
She must have glanced up the table too, for she answered readily enough. “Captain St. Claire. Abigail finds him rather dashing, but I have other hopes for her.”
So did Linus.
Immediately he schooled his face and his thoughts. He had no claim on Abigail. She had every right to speak to whomever she chose. But he couldn’t help a smile as she sent the fellow packing, his face hinting of disappointment.
“Surely that’s a naval uniform,” Doctor Owens said, spooning up his soup. “If there is a marine unit nearby, I’m surprised they aren’t training the militia.”
“He is here alone, on half-pay, I believe,” Mrs. Archer supplied. “He was injured at the Battle of the Nile and has been recuperating at Dove Cottage ever since. It’s at the top of the hill beyond the assembly rooms. Everyone accords him a fine gentleman.”
“If he is injured, perhaps we should call on him,” Doctor Owens mused. “Or has he other medical care?”
“Doctor Chance, our previous physician, attended him,” Mrs. Archer said. “Here, now, Ethan, let me help you with that roll. They can be tricky things to butter.”
“I would feel remiss if I did not attempt to make his acquaintance,” Doctor Owens told Linus. “I introduced myself to Mr. Denby earlier this week, offering my congratulations. I would have spoken to your magistrate as well, but he appears to be out of town.”
“In London,” Linus clarified. “I expect him back shortly.”
Owens tsked. “Both your magistrate and your Riding Surveyor away at the same time. I certainly hope your militia is up to the task of protecting the area should the French strike. That drill last week did not reassure me of their ability to handle weapons.”
The way Abigail had been wounded came too easily to mind. He glanced up the table again.
She was watching them. Meeting his gaze, she smiled, and his heart rate accelerated. Ridiculous organ. He gave her a nod before turning purposefully toward Owens again.
But he could not seem to manage his thoughts or his gaze. Always they drifted to Abigail. When she rose to toast the happy couple and the candlelight set her hair to flaming. When her laughter over something Mrs. Tully had said drifted down the table to tickle his ear. When the dancing started, and she bravely sat alone to watch the couples on the floor, her gaze longing.
How fine it would be to take her hands, twirl her down the line.
What was he thinking? Her arm would not bear the strain. He should commend her for remembering that, when she clearly wished to dance.
Leaving Ethan with Mrs. Archer, he ventured to Abigail’s side in time to hear her refuse an invitation from Lord Featherstone, who bowed himself off.
“Your abstinence now will reap dividends in the future,” Linus promised her, taking the baron’s place at her side.
She stuck out her tongue at him.
Linus started laughing, and she gave in and joined him.
“It is more difficult to refuse than I expected,” she admitted. “I love to dance.”
Another thing she had in common with his late wife. But dancing hadn’t been exciting enough for Cat. Every chance she’d taken had been riskier than the last. Could he trust that Abigail had a different disposition?
“You must persevere,” he told her.
She cast him a glance. “I am well aware of that, Doctor. But thank you for making sure my memory was more sound than my arm.”
He inclined his head and went to collect Ethan before Mrs. Archer could ply his son with another sweet roll.
It was worse the next day at the spa. No matter what he did, which way he turned, Abigail was there.
She and Mrs. Howland came in shortly after he unlocked the door, Abigail in her slashed-sleeve gown and Mrs. Howland in lavender. He hadn’t expected many visitors that day. Most had attended the wedding, and the festivities had continued until after the sun had set at ten. He’d heard some industrious souls singing their way through the village at about that time. Surely their guests would sleep late.
Abigail and Mrs. Howland apparently had higher expectations, for they set about counting glasses and setting out pamphlets.
He had just ventured toward the fountain to start the impeller when Abigail approached him with the appointment book Miss Chance—no, Mrs. Denby—had started, balancing the open book on one gloved hand.
“You have no one scheduled for this morning and two in the afternoon,” she explained, “Mrs. Rand at one and Mr. Crabapple at half past three.” She glanced up to meet his gaze with a smile that made the room brighter. “If others request an appointment, do you have a preference for timing?”
“Fill up the afternoon first,” he said, trying to ignore the scent of her. Why did he smell peaches? Was he simply reminded of them by her coloring?
“Very good,” she said. “Do you need help starting the fountain?”
She nodded. “You’ll do well. Eva and I are merely here to help.” She turned for the welcome desk.
And the light seemed to dim. He shook his head. Nothing had changed because Abigail moved away from him—about the room, about his life, about his future. He must remember that.
But as the day wore on, he was very glad for her company. Mrs. Harding had elected to remain abed to recover from her exertions, and Mr. Crabapple moped so much it required the combined attentions of Lord Featherstone and the Admiral to wring a smile from him. Mrs. Rand felt the lack of attention from the baron and had no less than three attacks before her appointment that afternoon. Doctor Owens had not made an appearance, so Linus could not even appeal to him to speak to the lady. And Mrs. Rand did not want to listen to him.
“My physician in Berkshire tells me I am delicate,” she said after the third attack. “I would not expect a lesser fellow to understand.”
He had never been one to brag of his accomplishments, but Abigail had no such trouble.
“I would feel the same way,” she told the lady as she helped her to sit up from where she’d collapsed, strategically near Lord Featherstone and the chessboard. “That’s why I’m so grateful for a physician of Doctor Bennett’s skills. Few spas can claim their medical staff are both Edinburgh-trained and have attended some of the finest families in London.”
Mrs. Rand peered at him more closely, as if his pedigree must be written on his forehead. “Indeed. Impressive.”
He wasn’t sure if it was Abigail’s praise or the lady’s change of heart, but every appointment for the remainder of the afternoon was filled, and he had six more scheduled for the next day.
“How does Jesslyn manage it?” Mrs. Howland, who had insisted he call her Eva, asked as Abigail saw the last guest out that afternoon. “I could sleep for a week!”
“I had a splendid time,” Abigail told her, returning to their sides by the welcome desk. “Perhaps tomorrow, you could ask Mrs. Tully to come play. The music should be soothing.”
“She plays the harpsichord?” Linus asked, glancing at the lacquered instrument in the corner, which had remained silent since he’d arrived.
“Very well,” Eva assured him. “And I will request that she not play a dirge.”
Linus raised his brows.
Abigail glanced around. “Is there anything else we should do before closing?”
“No,” Linus said. “I’ll collect a few case notes to review tonight, then lock up. You two go. And know that you take my thanks with you. You have my everlasting gratitude for your help.”
Eva smiled, but Abigail’s look would stay with him a while.
“I’ll let Ethan know you’re on your way,” she said. “See you shortly.”
He could hardly wait.
Why did he keep fighting the notion? Something about her invigorated him. She was a talented artist, inspiring others with her work. By the way she cared for and encouraged Ethan and had come to rescue the spa while Mrs. Denby was gone, she had a kind heart. She knew how to champion what she believed in, regardless of the arguments arrayed against her. None of that meant he had to enter a courtship. He could enjoy her company, her engaging conversations, yes, even their spirited disagreements, without falling in love.
Still, he moved swiftly through his remaining tasks. He shut off the fountain, made sure the water drained from the basin. It wouldn’t do for guests to arrive in the morning to a cloudy pool or specks of sediment. He hadn’t had to light any lamps, but he made sure they were all out nonetheless. Finally, he gathered the case files for the morning patients, added fresh supplies to his medical bag, and went to shut and lock the door, juggling both bag and files in the process.
His solitary walk home with Ethan beckoned. Perhaps he could pay for dinner for Abigail and her mother instead. He could imagine him and Abigail sitting around the dining table, laughing over the day’s events, talking to Ethan and Mrs. Archer about their activities. His son always seemed more relaxed around Abigail and her mother. He could see why. They both exuded a warmth and energy that beckoned people closer.
He was turning from the door when someone grabbed him from behind and shoved a sack over his head.
Chapter Ten
“How did it go?” her mother asked when Abigail walked in the door that evening. Book open on his lap as he sat beside her mother on the sofa, Ethan looked up with a smile.
“Very well,” Abigail told them both. “I am in even more awe of Jesslyn’s skills, though. It took Eva and me both to replace her, and I’m certain we still missed a few things.”
“I’m sure Doctor Bennett is grateful for your help,” her mother said.
“He was very nice about it.” Abigail turned to Ethan. “And he’ll be right behind me, so you should probably gather your things.”
“Yes, Miss Archer.” He slid off the sofa and began to collect his books and drawings.
Abigail watched him a moment, then beckoned to her mother, who rose and joined her closer to the door. “I don’t suppose you used those swords recently?”
“No,” her mother admitted. “We’ve kept mainly indoors before the wedding and today. But I’m so enjoying having someone around the house again.”
“I’m sure you are,” Abigail allowed. “But Ethan deserves to have something more to do than study with the vicar and draw.”
She was glad to see her mother nod. “The youngest Lawrence boy is taking lessons with him. I imagine they might be friends. I’ll speak to Sadie about the two spending time together outside of lessons.”
“The Greers’ youngest daughter should be about their age,” Abigail murmured. “Perhaps we could include her too.”
Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Girls and boys have little in common at this age.”
“You forget,” Abigail said. “Jess and I joined with several of the young lads our age to romp about the village. At nine, we were learning to sail and whacking each other with Gideon’s swords whenever we could sneak them out of his keeping.”
She shuddered. “I remember the bruises. Your father wasn’t pleased.”
“Father was never pleased,” Abigail told her. “With any of us.”
Her mother put a hand on her arm. “Hush, now. Ethan might hear you.”
Abigail pulled away, feeling as if the touch had stung as much as her mother’s words. “We don’t have to be silent anymore, Mother. There’s no need to protect Father’s reputation. He’s been dead for ten years.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “I never asked you to be quiet for his sake. I did it for you and your brother and me. It was bad enough we lost the church pew. I didn’t want to lose the lease on the house as well.”
Ethan had stopped working to watch them, face puckered in obvious concern.
“It’s all right,” Abigail assured him. “The lease on the shop and flat is paid for the next ten years. No one will force us out.” She looked to her mother, who pressed her lips together.
Why did her mother persist in protecting her husband’s legacy? Habit? Pride? Fear? Abigail’s father had certainly made an impact on their lives. He’d been a stern man on the best of days; his word had ruled his house. Gideon had kept his head down, like Ethan, and Abigail had hidden behind her older brother. But when their father had been drinking, he became something else entirely.
“I think he’s one of your aunt’s trolls,” Abigail had confided in Jess once as they had scoured the shore for shells to add to their collections. “All he wants to do is smash things.”
Dishes, furnishings, her mother’s embroidery—all had fallen foul of her father’s rages. She’d never known what might set him off, an unkind word from the mill in Upper Grace that employed him to cart their wares around the area, an overcooked meal, a disagreement with the vicar. What had started at home had gradually trickled out into the village. He’d been destroying
the public room at the Mermaid on a memorable night when its owner, Mr. Hornswag, had called the constable for help. The constable had enlisted the aid of the previous vicar. They’d both gone down under her father’s fists. That’s when the vicar had removed the family name from the church pew.
Her mother had never wanted to talk about any of it—to Abigail and Gideon, to acquaintances in the village, to the vicar who had made it clear she and her children were still welcome to attend services. She’d insisted Abigail and Gideon tell no one about the anger inside their home either.
“It’s our shame to bear,” she’d said.
Only Jesslyn and her parents had known the full of it, Jesslyn and her mother because Abigail had to have someone to whom she could pour out her heart, and Jesslyn’s father because he’d had to deal with the injuries of the men her father had harmed that night. Abigail had tried apologizing to him once, and his answer had been an offer to teach her to fend for herself. She was still practicing the lessons he’d taught her. One had been to be kind to her mother. It was the hardest lesson of all.
She made herself smile for Ethan’s sake. “So, what’s for dinner tonight?” she asked.
Her mother brightened too. “Mr. Hornswag said he would wait for my order. I was hoping Doctor Bennett and Ethan could join us.”
Ethan looked at her eagerly. “More salmon?”
“It is a rather nice fish, isn’t it?” Abigail agreed. “An excellent suggestion, Mother. Let’s see what Doctor Bennett says.”
But Linus didn’t arrive. A quarter hour passed, then a half. He should have left moments after she and Eva had gone through the door. Could someone have come seeking his aid? Or had he merely lost track of time?
After three quarters of an hour, Abigail rose from where Ethan had been showing her his book on sea life. “I’ll pop up to the spa and fetch your father. It’s probably just an overzealous visitor detaining him.”