by Olivia Drake
Until that moment, her family had been taking advantage of her good nature, begging her to discipline their children, dispatching her to the kitchen to fetch wineglasses, ordering her to soothe the baby. As if it were her duty to serve their demands. She had done it all with admirable serenity, while he had bitten his tongue to keep from rebuking the lot of them in no uncertain terms.
The birthday reminder had been a civil way to accomplish his purpose.
The wrought-iron gate squeaked as he opened it. He let her pass through ahead of him, and as he stepped out beside her, Max offered his arm. She hesitated, glancing up at him rather irritably, her eyes big and blue.
“I realize you’re angry with me,” he said, “but I hope not so much that you’ll refuse even a simple courtesy.”
Abby slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. As they began strolling down the street, she said, “I’m irked, yes. You ought not to have embarrassed my family like that.”
“They deserve to be ashamed. They were fawning over me, while chiding you like a child and expecting you to attend to their every need. You’re not their servant, Abby.”
“Of course I’m not! I was helping out as I always do. Perhaps you can’t understand it, but I enjoy taking care of my nieces and nephews. We’re family, and that is what family members do for one another.”
“I saw no one doing anything for you, though, not even on your birthday. They didn’t even remember the date. You should have been visiting with the rest of us instead of shouldering someone else’s responsibilities.”
She bristled. “Daphne was at her wit’s end. Would you have me refuse to lend assistance?”
“Not necessarily. However, Rosalind or Lucille might have offered their services, too. Especially as you have been separated from your family this past fortnight and would have enjoyed the opportunity to talk with everyone.”
“That’s precisely why I didn’t mind. I haven’t had the chance to hold Freddie in weeks!”
Seeking to smooth her ruffled feathers, he placed his hand firmly over hers. “Assure me, then, that you’ve never felt misused. That they’ve never assumed you to be at their beck and call.” When her gaze faltered, he took a stab in the dark. “Isn’t that the real reason why you left home to become a governess? Because you felt ill-treated and unappreciated?”
Within the frame of her straw bonnet, her eyes glinted with strong emotion. Her lips parted as if to hurl an invective at him. Then she huffed out a breath and glanced away for a moment. “If you must know, then yes. The last straw was at Freddie’s christening…”
They had reached the village green. Max stopped beneath the shade of an oak tree and turned her to face him. He wanted badly to caress her cheek, pull her into his arms, and kiss away her troubles, but he didn’t dare do so out in the open where anyone might see them.
He held her hand instead, contenting himself with rubbing his thumb over her palm. “Will you tell me about it?”
Gazing at him, she nodded. “On that day, they were disagreeing about where I should live now that Mama and Papa were gone. Clifford wanted me to remain at Linton House as a companion for Lucille and to be close enough to help James and Daphne. Rosalind requested that I accompany her back to Kent to prepare for Valerie’s debut, and Mary—my oldest sister—wished to claim my services in Suffolk, to watch her twin grandsons while their parents traveled abroad.”
“I would venture to guess they didn’t ask your opinion on where you preferred to live.”
She rewarded him with a wry smile. “No, and I had a strong aversion to becoming the old maiden aunt, shuttled from household to household. I’d heard that Miss Herrington had left unexpectedly, so I told them that I intended to apply for the post of governess. They tried to talk me out of it, but I was determined to make a life of my own choosing.”
His chest tightened with the fierce desire for her to choose him. “Abby, I won’t apologize for having made that toast today. I wanted to right a wrong. To see you celebrated as you richly deserve.”
“Yes, I realize now that you meant well.” Her eyes were soft with a luminosity that lit up her whole face and made it difficult for him to breathe. Yet the radiance faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “Nevertheless, you must understand, Max, that it really isn’t your place to look after me.”
Her words gutted him. They were a galling reminder that Abby had refused his offer of marriage. She would sooner be her family’s unpaid servant than take her place at his side as his duchess. How could he blame her? He was the one with the hedonistic past, the one who hadn’t known in an instant whether or not he could remain faithful to wedding vows.
Now that it was too late, Max knew he’d renounce every vice if only she would love him. He’d never look at another woman for as long as he lived. Yet he could see no way, short of joining a monastery, to convince her of that.
What was he to do now?
It chilled him to imagine ending up a broken man like his father, weeping over a woman who had crushed his soul. God Almighty! No wonder he’d avoided entanglements for so many years.
All love accomplished was to tie a man into knots.
Chapter 22
By design, Abby was nearly tardy for dinner that evening. She reached the drawing room just as Finchley arrived to summon everyone to the table. Max subjected her to a brooding glance, but there was no time for conversation. He already had Lady Desmond on his arm as they led the way, followed by Lord Pettibone and Mrs. Chalmers. Lord Ambrose gave Abby a rueful grin as he escorted Valerie on one arm and Lady Gwen on the other.
Since Lady Hester also hurried in late, Abby joined Max’s aunt. She was perfectly content to take up the rear. It was part of her plan to survive the next few days with her heart intact.
At dinner, she played the role of the modest governess and kept her attention on the courses of braised chicken pie, roasted pheasant, and raspberry cream cake. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Max look in her direction a number of times, but she pretended not to notice. To have unburdened herself to him about her family had felt good, yet it could not alter the fact that it was a dangerous folly to love a man to whom fidelity was a foreign concept.
Despite his claim that he had no interest in Lady Desmond, he spent ample time in her company. She sat in the honored spot to his right and monopolized his attention. And if he appeared to be somewhat grim of feature tonight, well, Abby refused to speculate on the source of his ill humor.
The conversation centered around the prizefight scheduled for midday on the morrow. The London party had a lively discussion about the strengths of Goliath in comparison to those they’d heard about his celebrated opponent from the wilderness of America, Wolfman. The ladies appeared to anticipate the brutal spectacle as avidly as the men.
The girls listened with wide-eyed interest. Seated side by side, they whispered to each other. Then Valerie said on a sigh, “How exciting it all sounds! Perhaps Gwen and I might attend if we watch from the rear and Lord Ambrose agrees to protect us.”
Lord Ambrose chuckled. “Oho, don’t pull me into your scheme, minx.”
His face stern, Max set down his wine goblet. “I’ve already made it clear that such a mill is no place for young ladies. There will be a throng of unsavory ruffians and rowdy gentlemen, none of whom are suitable company for a pair of sheltered girls.”
“What if we promise to be very discreet?” Lady Gwen said earnestly.
“No. It’s out of the question. You and Miss Perkins shall remain here with Miss Linton, and that is final.”
The girls lapsed into crestfallen silence, though it didn’t seem to dampen their spirits overall. Once dinner was over, and the men remained to drink their port while the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, Valerie and Lady Gwen retreated to a private corner to giggle and murmur together.
Abby tried to keep her mind on the chatter between the other two women. Lady Desmond engaged Mrs. Chalmers with a stream of titillating gossip about people in society that
Abby didn’t know. She felt like a bumpkin, and judging by the sly looks from Lady Desmond, that appeared to be the intent. It was a blatant reminder that Abby was not one of the haute ton.
Nevertheless, she prevailed with a resolute smile that didn’t falter even when Max returned with the other gentlemen. The intimate joy they’d shared that morning seemed now like only a lovely dream. As he veered toward Abby, Lady Desmond intervened, tugging him into the group of his London friends.
It was all for the best, Abby told herself. Nothing could be more foolish than to pine for him. Holding firm to her resolve, she informed the girls it was time for the three of them to retire for the evening.
As they left the drawing room, her wayward gaze sought out Max, only to find him watching her. The burning intensity in his eyes seemed to touch her very soul. And her imprudent heart fell in love with him all over again.
* * *
The following morning, Abby and her two charges trooped down to the stable yard to watch the party set out for the prizefight. Garbed in elegant finery, Lady Desmond and Mrs. Chalmers rode in an open curricle, with Lord Ambrose and Lord Pettibone beside them on horseback. Max, Goliath, and the trainer climbed into the black ducal coach, presumably to talk strategy during the twelve-mile drive to the site of the match.
It was a blessing that Max would be gone for most of the day, Abby reflected. She could not so much as look at him without hungering to feel his arms around her and his lips on hers. His mere presence was enough to weaken her decision to put an end to their illicit romance.
Valerie and Lady Gwen waved a wistful good-bye, heaving dramatic sighs as the party disappeared from sight. “I’m sorry you weren’t allowed to accompany them,” Abby said. “I know it must be a disappointment.”
“We shall be fine, Auntie,” Valerie said nobly. “You are not to worry about us. We’ll recover by going for a very long ride.”
“The longer, the better,” Lady Gwen added, “for it will distract our minds from our anguish.”
The girls didn’t look particularly anguished, however, as they exchanged a bright-eyed glance before dashing into the stables to fetch their mounts. They were soon on their way with a groom following close behind.
Left to her own company, Abby strolled down a wooded path, as she’d fallen into the habit of doing each morning. She would never have admitted it aloud, but she felt as cheated as the girls at being denied the chance to participate in the exciting event. What an adventure it might have been, to view such a contest! Well, to be honest with herself, perhaps it was not so much the bare-knuckle boxing that lured her as it was the chance to have a glimpse into Max’s world. She had a great curiosity to see him in his element, and it was frustrating to be forced to miss the opportunity.
When she returned from her walk over an hour later, the stables had a deserted air. No shouts or cheers came from the area behind the buildings where Goliath had been training for the past week. No one was exercising horses in the paddock, either, for Max had required most of the grooms to accompany his party to the fight.
Seeing that Valerie’s gray kitten was stalking a butterfly, Abby picked up the ball of fluff for a quick cuddle before releasing him again. Scamp darted off into the grasses to chase Caramel, and the two kittens engaged in a friendly tussle.
Abby rested her arms on the paddock fence and gazed out over the expanse of green lawn toward the lake. She usually relished having time to herself, for idleness had been a rare commodity in her life. But today nothing could settle her restless mind. She felt caught in a thorny tangle of doubts.
Had she made the right choice in refusing Max? Should she have accepted his offer, despite the reluctance with which it had been issued, and been grateful for whatever crumbs of affection he threw her way? He might never truly love her, but it was clear that he was fond of her at least. He would not have followed her to the parsonage otherwise. Nor would he have shown an interest in her family—or made that toast in honor of her birthday.
Yet when they’d rejoined the others in the village yesterday, he had gravitated toward Lady Desmond. The woman had been miffed by his abandonment, and Abby wanted to believe he’d only been trying to avert a scene. But why fool herself? She had given him a set-down, telling him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t his duty to look after her. She mustn’t regret it, either. There could never be a future for them. He had a weakness for seducing women, and that was the one foible she could not abide.
Her gaze strayed to the splendor of Rothwell Court with its honey-stone walls and tall windows, the slate roof and many chimneys gleaming in the sunlight. It struck Abby that she might have been mistress of this magnificent house. Yet she would trade it all for a thatch-roofed cottage if only Max could love her—and her alone.
Just then, she spied a man leading a horse over a low rise beyond the gardens. She recognized his bandy-legged gait. It was Dawkins, the groom who had ridden out with Lady Gwen and Valerie.
He was alone now.
Struck by alarm, Abby clutched her skirts and hastened toward him. Something had to be wrong. Upon drawing closer, she noticed that the big bay was limping.
“What’s happened? Where are the young ladies?”
Pulling off his cap, Dawkins bobbed his balding head, his lined face drawn with shame. He could barely meet her eyes. “Gone, miss. I tried t’ chase after ’em, but me horse went lame.”
“Gone? What do you mean?”
“Miss Perkins said they was havin’ a race, an’ I mustn’t try t’ follow ’em. As if I’d disobey the duke’s order t’ watch her ladyship! But when I galloped in pursuit, Sultan threw a shoe. I hollered fer ’em t’ stop, but they mustn’t have heard me.” Dawkins added gloomily, “His Grace’ll have me head fer this.”
“In which direction were they going?”
Dawkins jerked his thumb behind him. “East, miss. Near the Haslemere road.”
Her thoughts in a whirl, Abby walked alongside him as he led Sultan toward the stables. A race, indeed! Valerie would earn herself a severe scolding for such an act of recklessness! Or was it perhaps more than just an irresponsible prank?
She didn’t want to even consider the shocking notion that sprang into her mind. But the moment it entered her head, she feared with a sinking certainty that it was true.
The best riding paths on the estate went around the lake and through the woods to the west, where her family’s lands lay. There could be no reason for Valerie and Lady Gwen to head toward the east.
Unless they intended to sneak into the prizefight.
In escalating dismay, Abby pieced together the scraps of memory. Their keen interest at dinner the previous evening in attending the match. Their whispered conversations in the drawing room, and again this morning, when they’d stopped talking the moment she’d stepped into Lady Gwendolyn’s bedchamber. The animated glances they’d exchanged while bidding farewell to the London party.
It all seemed so obvious now. Valerie had even had the audacity to warn Abby that they were going on a very long ride and she was not to worry.
A sick sensation squeezed her stomach. Dear God, her niece must have dreamed up this foolhardy scheme. Lady Gwen was too well behaved to disobey Max of her own accord. And the real fault, Abby knew, lay with herself. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her romantic troubles, she might have noticed their conspiratorial air.
Max would be furious that Valerie had led his sister astray. He would be entirely justified in his wrath, too. If Lady Gwen came to harm, Abby would never forgive herself. Even if they didn’t fall into the clutches of some ruffian, an innocent young lady could taint her reputation simply by being seen at such a raucous event.
Her mind in a flurry, she watched as Dawkins led the bay into the paddock. Was there any chance that she could catch up to the girls before Max found out? She had to try at least. But the only feasible way to do so was on horseback.
A chill prickled her spine, but she didn’t give herself time to think. “W
ill you be so kind as to saddle the fastest horse for me? I intend to go after Lady Gwen and Miss Perkins.”
“Ain’t none left, miss, what w’ the Londoners, the young ladies gone, and now Sultan turnin’ lame. I might’ve harnessed the gig fer ye, but the duke sent it t’ Mr. Beech this mornin’.” Shaking his head, Dawkins heaved a mournful sigh. “Back in the old duke’s day, every stall here was filled. A fine stable he kept, never less than a dozen o’ the best hunters! As well, there was the prettiest set of dapple-gray steppers fer the duchess’s carriage—”
“You can’t mean to say there isn’t a single horse left in the entire stable!”
“Well, now, there’s Brimstone. But he’s a big un and only the master rides him.”
Her legs quivered. Her palms turned icy. But the consequences of doing nothing were so dire that Abby swallowed hard and said, “Pray saddle him for me at once.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, miss, but I’ll do no such thing! He’s too spry fer a lady. Ye’ll break yer neck. An’ then the duke’ll break mine!”
She lifted her chin. “You may set your mind at ease on the matter. I’ve ridden Brimstone before. I did so with Rothwell’s permission, too. So you will do as I say, or upon the duke’s return he will be most displeased to learn that you stopped me from finding his sister!”
Dawkins goggled at her for a moment; then he hastened to the tack room to fetch the saddle. She breathed a prayer of thanks that the groom had swallowed that outrageous half-truth. He needn’t know that Max had hauled her up onto the great black horse entirely against her will. Or that she’d needed the duke’s close proximity to ward off her fears.
In short order, Dawkins had the saddle on Brimstone. Abby had been pacing, and as he led the restive beast to the mounting block, it took all of her fortitude just to walk the few steps to the horse. When she stroked the animal’s silken mane, he tossed his head in displeasure.