by Olivia Drake
“No, she would not,” he said in a milder tone. “Though perhaps I should be pleased that she misbehaved for once in her life.”
“She has been sheltered here,” Abby ventured. “Despite what happened yesterday, it’s been greatly beneficial for her to have the company of more than just a governess and an aunt who spends most of her time gardening.”
“I intend to rectify that henceforth.”
He had expressed a desire to spend more time here at his ducal seat, and now he watched her keenly as if awaiting her reaction. Yet she didn’t dare let it raise her hopes. “Max, why did you not come back until now? What has kept you away from the Court all these years?”
“Shall I say it was you, Abby?”
Nettled by uncertainty, she said hotly, “No! Rather, I’ve long suspected it had something to do with your family upbringing. But I don’t know the truth because you always dissemble whenever I ask you about it. So what is it? Do you leave Gwen here because you blame her for your mother’s death?”
He had begun pacing while she spoke, but gave a start of surprise at that last remark. “Gwen? Certainly not, why would I?”
“Your mother died of childbed fever soon after your sister was born. I thought perhaps Gwen reminded you of that unhappy time. It would explain why you’ve stayed away.”
“You’re speaking of things you know nothing about!”
“Then enlighten me. Or I shall go on thinking the worst.”
“It’s far from the worst. The worst is that—” He bit off his words and ran his fingers through his hair, turning the neatly combed strands into an attractive tousle. When he glanced in her direction, it was as if he were seeing not her, but some long-ago horror. “The worst is that childbed fever was just a falsehood my father put about to cover up the truth. The truth is that … my mother took her own life.”
Abby gazed at him in stark disbelief. “Oh, Max, no. How? Why?”
“Mama was a capricious woman who could be merry and whimsical for weeks on end, the most adorable companion any child could ever hope to have. But she was also prone to long bouts of melancholy and fits of hysteria. She would snap at my father, slam doors, smash things.” He resumed his pacing. “One of those episodes occurred after Gwen was born. It was more dire than the others, and I remember my mother weeping in bed for days on end. She hid the laudanum prescribed by the doctor until she had accumulated enough for her purpose. Then she swallowed all of it down at once.”
Abby was horrified by the revelation of the shock and anguish he must have suffered. And it had happened during the time when they’d known each other! She had not seen him until after the funeral, when he had refused to talk about his grief, desiring only to make love to Abby, which had led to their quarrel. Now she could see that it had been her well-meaning attempt to coax him to speak of his mother that had caused him to storm off in anger.
Watching him pace now, she wanted nothing more than to comfort him. But the grimness of his mood felt like a veil of ice between them. Quietly she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me any of this back then?”
“My father swore me to a strict vow of secrecy. He would not have her name besmirched. Not even Gwen knows.” He laughed rather harshly. “Now you see how good I am at keeping promises, for I have just broken one.”
“Silence was a terrible burden for him to have set upon you,” she said, indignant not at Max but at the old duke. “But I imagine he was gripped by pain. He loved your mother very much, did he not? You said so once before.”
“He worshipped the ground she walked upon. You would have, too, had you known her in her happier times, when she was all charm and liveliness.”
Grim-faced, he frowned into the distance. What a volatile childhood he’d had in comparison to her own. If only he had told her about it before now! She couldn’t help but think that sharing the burden might have eased his torment.
“So that’s why your father took you and Gwen away right after the funeral. He could no longer bear to live here at the Court, where there were so many memories. Nor could you.”
He looked at her, his lips twisted into a strange half-smile. “Perhaps it’s time to chase away the ghosts. Would you not agree, Miss Linton?”
His formality stung, and she hid the hurt by answering in kind. “I would say that it is none of my concern, Your Grace. I shall be departing here as soon as I am recovered.”
“So you will leave my sister.”
“It’s inevitable,” she said, showing him a tranquil expression. “You told me from the start that I must go when you do. Besides, I cannot imagine you would wish for a ruined woman to continue in the role of governess.”
He stared at her for a moment, his granite-gray eyes concealing his thoughts. Then he came forward and pressed a warm kiss to her hand, his fingers tight around hers. “I trust you’ll stay at least until I can hire a suitable replacement in London. Will you promise me that?”
She prayed he couldn’t tell how swiftly her heart was beating. Or how much she wished he could love her as she loved him. “Of course.”
He gripped her hand for a moment longer. She held her breath in reckless hope for some word of affection from him. But it never came. Releasing her, he strode from the bedchamber without a backward glance.
Mrs. Jeffries came bustling back into the room. She was armed with a pewter mug. “This posset is straight from the kitchen. I’ve added a dollop of Dr. Woodhull’s tonic to it.”
Abby dutifully drank the warm milky brew without even tasting it, then persuaded the housekeeper to withdraw on the excuse that her patient was in sore need of a nap.
As soon as the door closed, however, Abby pushed back the covers and arose from the bed. She felt a trifle wobbly on her feet, and the mere act of standing made her head throb. Nevertheless, she managed to walk to the windows that overlooked the front drive.
Twitching back the draperies, she peered outside. The sunlight hurt her eyes, but she was driven by the acute desire to have one last glimpse of Max. Heaven alone knew if he would fulfill his stated intention to return, and even if he did, she would not be here at Rothwell Court to welcome him.
His black traveling coach was parked below by the covered portico. The coachman sat atop the high seat and a footman stood at rigid attention, holding open the door of the vehicle. Lord Pettibone handed Mrs. Chalmers into the conveyance before entering it himself.
As Max’s tall form came into view, Abby caught her breath. Sunlight gleamed on his dark hair, still mussed from when he’d run his fingers through it. She wanted to fling open the window and call out to him, just so that he would look up at her.
In the next instant, she realized that Lady Desmond had a proprietary hold on his arm as they walked to the coach. From above, the dainty widow looked like a vision in rose-pink with an egret plume stylishly decorating her silk bonnet.
Abby released the curtain and stepped back. She oughtn’t feel such a stab in her heart. She had seen those two together many times before, and of course they would be traveling to London together. They moved in the same select circles, after all.
Yet it was a harsh reminder that Max was returning to his old life. He might speak offhandedly about coming back here, but it was far more likely that the pleasures of the city would beguile him too much. How foolish she’d been to dream he might mend his wicked ways for her sake!
Tears overflowing her eyes, she sank back onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. It was best to face the truth. Maxwell Bryce, the Duke of Rothwell, did not love her. Nor would he ever.
He would always be an incorrigible rake.
Chapter 26
A fortnight passed before Mrs. Jeffries deemed Abby to be in the pink of health. Lady Gwendolyn immediately proposed an excursion to the village. She and Abby had been cooped up for too long, she declared, and it would do them both wonders to venture out of the house.
Abby required no persuading. Ever since that bout of weeping on the day of Max’s departure, she
had drifted in a gray, lethargic state. She obediently drank the restoratives prepared by Mrs. Jeffries. She thanked Lady Hester for the vases of flowers. She strove to listen when Lady Gwen read books aloud to her and to smile when the kittens were brought for a visit.
Inside, though, she felt empty and colorless. But she knew that Gwen wanted to cheer her up, so she made the effort. The girl needed a friend now that Valerie had returned to Kent with Rosalind.
Abby had promised her sister she’d go to London in the spring for her niece’s debut. Surely by then her spirits would be mended sufficiently that she might enjoy her first sojourn to the city. Perhaps she might even meet a gentleman who would court a lady of her advanced years. And if she encountered Max at a society party, well, she’d smile serenely as she always did.
As they strolled down the high street, the chill wind brought a nip of autumn. Lady Gwen wished to see if there were any new goods in stock at the draper’s, so they headed there first. A young woman was coming out of the shop, and she stopped short. A smile bloomed on her pretty features within the emerald-green bonnet with its crimson ribbons and the cluster of cherries.
Lady Gwen hastened to wrap her in an exuberant embrace. “Miss Herrington! You’re back!”
“I’m Mrs. Babcock now and living at Meadowcroft Farm. Oh, it’s so good to see you again, Lady Gwen. And you, too, Miss Linton. I understand you’re the new governess.”
“Only for a short time,” Abby said. “My family needs me back home. I’ll be leaving when the new governess comes from London.”
Miss Thackery was due to arrive on the morrow, according to a letter Lady Gwen had received from the duke. Dawkins was to drive Abby back to Linton House then. She assured herself that her spirits would perk up once she was back in the bosom of her beloved family.
“I’ve told His Grace how very grateful I am for his assistance,” Mrs. Babcock was saying. “He’s helped me twice in my time of need. I don’t know what I’d have done without his kind support.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” Lady Gwendolyn enthused. “A nicer and more considerate gentleman is nowhere to be found!”
Ever since getting his note two days ago, hand-delivered by a messenger from London, the girl had been singing her brother’s praises at every turn, and it had driven Abby deeper into the blue devils. What a shock it would be to Lady Gwen if ever she learned of his dissolute ways. Even if he couldn’t reform for Abby, he might do so for his sister’s sake!
As Mrs. Babcock took her leave and they entered the small shop, Abby cast a desultory eye over the displays of cloth and rolls of ribbons. She exchanged cordial greetings with the shopkeeper, who was the father of her sister-in-law, Daphne. She helped Lady Gwen pick out a length of Honiton lace to trim one of her gowns.
But all the while, she could think only of how glowingly Mrs. Babcock had spoken of Max. The former Miss Herrington was the sister of his school friend who had died in battle and left her destitute. Max had provided her a position in his household. Later, when Mr. Babcock’s parents had opposed the marriage, Max had obtained a special license for the happy couple to wed in secret. He had reluctantly revealed that story to Abby only when she had accused him of having nefarious designs on the former governess.
Abby would rather not have been reminded that Max had any shred of decency. Certainly, he had helped her to overcome a fear of horses. He had doctored the splinter in her finger. He had snatched her out of the boxing ring and carried her to safety. But in the end, the Duke of Rothwell had gone back to his debauched life in London.
By the time they finished their shopping and were being driven home in the carriage, Abby had worked up a certain antipathy toward him. At least resentment felt better than sinking deeper into that awful morass. No doubt, at this very moment, he was lying in Lady Desmond’s scented embrace, for he was no longer required to resist the woman’s charms now that he had gone away from his sister’s company.
“… after what Lady Desmond did,” Lady Gwen said.
Nonplussed, Abby stared at the girl. “Pardon?”
“I was talking about what an eventful month this has been,” Lady Gwen said. “I enjoyed meeting Max’s friends, except for that dreadful woman. I’ll never forgive her for pushing you!”
“Pushing me?”
“Yes, at the prizefight. Valerie saw her shove you into the ring. Surely you felt her ladyship’s hand at your back!”
Searching her memory, Abby had a vague recollection of a brief, angry exchange with Lady Desmond—then the sense of a hard thrust. After that, everything went blank. But she had never made the connection. And now, she felt sickened to think that someone could despise her so much.
“I’m afraid that day is still something of a blur to me.”
“My brother was furious when Valerie accused Lady Desmond,” the girl confided. “He made Valerie apologize. It seemed terribly unfair, but he explained to us later that he feared her ladyship might make trouble.”
“He knew she’d pushed me?”
Her dove-gray eyes grew larger. “Perhaps I oughtn’t have said anything. But I thought you’d remembered, Miss Linton. Oh, please don’t be angry at Max. He meant well, I’m sure!”
“It’s all right, darling. I doubt I shall ever see your brother again.”
Abby was too caught up in her own dark reflections to do more than peripherally notice the sparkle that came into Lady Gwen’s expression. The girl parted her lips as if to reply. Then she apparently thought better of it and turned to gaze out the window.
The revelation had yanked Abby fully out of the doldrums and stirred her to a wintry wrath. The gall of Max, to know the malicious trick that Lady Desmond had perpetrated and then to go off with the woman as if it were nothing at all! Maybe in his unprincipled world, people behaved with such wicked treachery, but not in hers!
Abby fairly itched for a quill and paper to write him a censorious letter. Oh, it would be a more blighting epistle than any he had ever received! Every frosty word would numb that flirtatious charm of his and freeze his ducal arrogance. Her mind was busily composing the biting missive when Lady Gwen’s voice broke into her icy musings.
“Oh, look, Miss Linton! The ducal coach is behind us. I can see the Rothwell crest on the side!”
Abby’s heart careened against her corset. Max! He had come back.
Disbelieving, she leaned over Lady Gwen’s shoulder to peer outside. As the carriage followed the winding curves of the drive through the estate, she could indeed see the coach trailing them.
She sat back, gripping her gloved fingers in her lap. It took a moment to collect her disordered thoughts and assume a pose of glacial dignity. Well! So much the better. Instead of writing that note, she would have the chance to give the duke a severe reproach in person.
She remained in a state of rigid control as the carriage drew up before the portico and a footman handed them out onto the graveled drive. A moment later, the coach came to a stop as well.
Abby braced herself to be poised and cool, to request an interview with His Grace at the earliest possible convenience. She would not even have to bide her tongue, for she needn’t be constrained by the fear of losing her post.
When the coach door opened, however, out came a middle-aged woman in sober garb, her figure tending to plumpness. No other passenger emerged. A footman retrieved a portmanteau from the boot before the coachman continued toward the stables.
Realizing that Lady Gwen was gliding toward the visitor, Abby belatedly followed. “Welcome to Rothwell Court,” the girl said. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Bryce. May I presume you’re Miss Thackery, my new governess?”
The woman smiled as they shook hands. She had plain, pleasant features and an air of quiet, aristocratic competence. “If I may be so bold, you’re every bit as engaging as His Grace described. And I must add, it was kind of him to allow me the use of his traveling coach.”
“Very thoughtful, indeed! You’re a day earlier than expected, but I daresay I sim
ply misread his note. I’m pleased to meet you, though. Miss Linton recently suffered an accident, and she wishes to go home to her family.”
As they entered the house, Miss Thackery clucked over Abby without being so indiscreet as to press for details of the injury. Abby kept mum about the prizefight and so did Lady Gwen. Luckily, the new governess turned her interest to the great hall with its frescoes of classical scenes.
“It’s a large house, but you’ll soon learn your way around,” Lady Gwen told the woman as they started toward the grand staircase. “Perhaps once you’ve had some refreshment, you might allow me to take you on a tour.”
A lump formed in Abby’s throat. She ought to be glad the two appeared to be getting along so well. With newfound confidence, the girl had matured in only a few short weeks. Her timidity had transformed into a ladylike graciousness. It had helped tremendously to have Valerie as her companion and to mingle with Max’s friends. Abby liked to think she herself had played a part, too, by taking the girl out to visit the tenant farms.
They were starting up the stairs when Lady Gwen turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot! Miss Linton, would you mind fetching a book of poetry from the library so that I might read to you tonight? Edmund Spenser, perhaps.”
“There’s no need since my head doesn’t hurt anymore,” Abby said. “And with Miss Thackery here, I should pack the last of my things and depart.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t! We won’t have time for a proper farewell! Please, Miss Linton, say you’ll stay for one more night.”
Abby found her hands clutched in earnest entreaty. The girl looked so despondent that Abby’s resolve weakened. “As you wish, then. I’ll return home in the morning.”
In a twinkling, a bright smile replaced the wretched sadness. “And you will promise to go straight to the library for the book?”
“Yes.”
Wondering at the girl’s insistence, Abby peeled off her gloves as she headed down a long corridor. She had a fleeting sense of having been maneuvered. But unable to discern any reason for it, she let her mind drift to the matter of her own exodus. It was daunting to have the moment cast upon her so swiftly. One more night, that was all she had left here. How quickly this grand palace with its stately rooms had come to feel like home to her!