by Lynne, Karen
Andrew made it to the house without talking to anyone and shut himself in his study, locking the door behind him. He poured himself a glass of liquor, not caring which one. Andrew twirled the glass under his nose. What was he doing? Andrew looked at the liquid then threw the glass across the room into the fireplace, shattering the glass as it hit the bricks. He wasn’t a drinking man, and nobody was going to make him into one not even Abigale who had made her way into his heart, only to shatter it.
* * *
Abby’s heart tightened as she looked into Mr Dalton’s pleading eyes, gently pulling her trembling hand from his. “Benjamin, you know that I adore you.” She reached towards him, pushing a lock of hair off of his forehead. Just as she would her brother. There was no passion in his touch, no sizzle or anticipation. “I cannot, for I’ve given my heart to another.” She smiled to soften the blow.
He relaxed, drawing his hands away, he sat beside her. “It’s Sir Andrew, isn’t it?”
She blushed, nodding her head.
“If I were Sir Andrew sitting here, your answer would’ve been different, wouldn’t it?”
She nodded her head again, afraid to say it out loud.
“Well.” Mr Dalton sighed. “I should be jealous, but I’m not. That must mean something, right?”
“I’m glad I have not broken your heart, Mr Dalton, but I hope that we can be friends.”
“Friends? Yes, Abby, I would like that. Can I call you, Abby?”
“Of course, if I can call you Benjamin.” She giggled as the tension defused between them.
Mr Dalton stood and offered Abby his hand. “I better return you to your aunt. I would hate to compromise you.” He smiled.
The walk back to the lake was relaxing. Abby’s heart warmed from seeing her aunt sitting under a tree with Mr Albert, her pencils undisturbed. She sat down and took them out, and Benjamin joined them.
“Did Sir Andrew find you, Abby?” her aunt asked.
“Sir Andrew? Was he looking for me?”
“Yes, dear, but I expect he’ll be back if he didn’t find you.”
Her heart sunk. The sound of laughing children got her attention. Master William was playing with a toy boat happily while his nanny sat, talking with the other women. Older boys pushed their boats around the pond.
Abby pulled out her pencils and began to sketch Master William. His curly hair had fallen over his brow, and his rosy cheeks stood out in the heat of the afternoon. She quickly sketched, trying to catch the moment before the child moved away. A gift for Sir Andrew, to thank him for a wonderful weekend, she thought.
She glanced up from her sketch to see Master William walking towards the edge of the pond, his arm outstretched with his boat, ready to drop it in the water. Abby stood and raced towards the pond, fearing that he might fall in. Master William did, headfirst, into the water as his boat moved away on the waves the boy had created. Abby jumped without thinking, scooping the child up as he sputtered, crying out, clinging to her neck. She held him tight for a few minutes as her pulse slowed. He was safe. She turned to see his boat bobbing away on the ripples.
“Boat, boat,” Master William cried.
* * *
Andrew sat in the nearest chair, bent over, his hands cradling his head as his son’s sharp cry brought him to attention. The screams came from a distance down by the lake. He stood, quickly walking to the window. Crowds were moving towards the lake. His son’s loud cry could still be heard.
Andrew ran outside, making it to the hill as the lake came into view. He could see Abigale waist-deep in the lake, his son clinging to her neck while she walked towards the edge. She handed William to his nanny, dripping from head to toe. Abigale turned towards the lake and reached for William’s toy boat. An older lad swam over and, grabbing the boat, handed it to Abigale. She turned to make her way back to the lake’s edge.
“Master William, see? Lady Abigale waved the boat toward Master William, “Abby has saved your boat.”
Mr Dalton reached for the boat and took it from Abby’s hands, handing it to his son, William. The child quieted down while the nanny turned and started toward the house.
He was trying to wrap his mind around the scene before him. His son was safe now but had somehow had fallen into the lake where Abby had rescued him. Andrew’s feet somehow moved forward. Abigale climbed out of the lake. Wet from the waist down, her thin dress clung to her, her shapely silhouette for all to see.
Mr Dalton turned his back as her aunt quickly ran to her aid, wrapping her shawl around her. But it was too late. The picture was emblazoned upon his mind, etched in his memory to torture him forever of the woman he could not have.
The crowds thinned out as the participants moved towards the house. His nanny approached; William had started to cry again, whining for Abby.
“I’m sorry, sir, I should have watched him better,” his nanny replied.
Andrew reached for his son and took him from her arms. The boy clung to his neck, laying his head on his shoulder, and quieting as he slipped his thumb into his mouth for comfort. He watched Abigale making her way forward with her aunt beside her, Mr Dalton on the other. His coat around her shoulders further shielded her from embarrassment, and his arm wrapped around her waist for support. They drew alongside him.
“Lady Abigale, do I have you to thank for rescuing my son from the lake?” Sir Andrew asked, his voice thick and husky.
“I wouldn’t call it a rescue.” She laughed. “But yes, Master William tumbled over into the water while trying to float his boat.”
“Boat, Abby, boat,” Master William cried, raising his head from his father’s shoulder.
“Yes, William, Nanny has your boat,” Abby said.
Nanny stepped forward, showing the child his boat as he waved his wet thumb, reaching for it. The nanny placed it into his grip, and he squeezed the boat tight as he laid his head back on his father’s shoulder.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Abigale?” Andrew asked, his voice tight.
“No, Sir Andrew. I’m just a little wet. I should be fine after a change. Take care of your son, and we will talk later.” She smiled up at him. No sign of distress touched her face.
Andrew quickly turned and retreated toward the house, gripping his son tightly. His son whimpered, “Abby, I want Abby.” He cried into his father’s shoulder.
Andrew tightened his grip. “I know, son. I do, too, but it’s too late. We can’t have her,” he whispered.
* * *
Abby watched as Sir Andrew hurried his son into the house, her heart softening with every step. When she reached the terrace, she reassured Mr Dalton that her Aunt Lucy could take it from there.
“It was a delightful day, Abby. I shall call before I head back to Bristol.” He bowed.
“Thank you, Benjamin.” She gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hand before turning and making her way back to her room.
Betsy arrived shortly after hearing about the ruckus. “Oh, my lady, it’s true, then, you jumped into the lake.” She brought Abby’s drawing set and her sketches and laid them on the dresser.
“Yes, Betsy, I jumped into the lake. What else would a proper lady do to save a drowning child?” She laughed.
“Betsy, I know you’ve packed all of my things, but could you find a dry dress for me to drive home in tonight?”
“Yes, my lady.” She quickly left the room, leaving Abby standing with her aunt.
“This day didn’t end quite as I planned.” Abby sighed. She feared she’d missed an opportunity to talk with Sir Andrew, as he would be busy with his son.
“Never mind, dear, it was a lovely weekend. You were brave to jump in the lake like that. You never were one to worry about your clothes or how you looked.” Her aunt chuckled. “No matter how hard I tried.”
Her maid had convinced footmen to remove a bag from the carriage to retrieve a dry dress from her luggage. Dressed in dry clothes, Abby felt much better. It was time for them to leave, but Sir Andre
w did not make an appearance as she waited in the hall. She left the sketch of Master William on the side table in the hallway.
She would have liked to have seen him before she left but understood his need for staying with his son. The ride back to Mrs Notley’s home was uneventful. It had been a glorious weekend. She looked forward to seeing Sir Andrew the following week.
Andrew woke the next morning having had a restless night of sleep, visions of Abby standing by the lake, her dress clinging to her shapely figure, driving him mad. When had he started thinking of her as Abby and not Lady Abigale?
She had enchanted his son, who kept asking for her throughout the evening. William had been bathed and quickly settled back into his regular routine. Andrew read him a story before tucking him in for the night. He’d fallen asleep immediately. If only his own night had been as peaceful.
He would get back to his projects and work just as he had before Abigale came into his life. He would get through this.
Andrew was passing through the hall on his way to the study when a piece of parchment caught his eye. Coming closer, he stared down into the face of his son, William, playing with his boat beside the lake. She had captured his playfulness and innocence of youth. He folded it reverently and slid it into his waistcoat pocket.
Chapter Twelve
Abby’s week continued much as before. She visited the workhouse with Miss Stewart, who had gathered clothing for the children through her women’s society. It was good to see the children again, she thought as she brought them more candy. She borrowed a few novels from the lending library and enjoyed the ice shop and walks through the park, but the parties weren’t as bright as they had been before. She missed Isabella and Benjamin, but especially Sir Andrew.
Pacing the drawing-room, Abby felt restless. “Aunt Lucy, if it weren’t improper, I would dare write Sir Andrew. I was sure he felt something toward me. I must have done something to give him a dislike of me.”
Her aunt laid down her stitching, giving Abby a sympathetic look. “I know you can be impulsive, Abby, but I have seen nothing in your actions to cause offence.” She looked at Mr Albert. “I hesitate to admit that we saw interest as well. We are surprised he hasn’t asked for your hand by now.”
Abby deflated and sat next to her aunt. “I thought so as well, but I don’t know anymore, Aunt.”
“Why don’t I make a trip over and visit Sir Andrew myself?” Mr Albert offered.
“Really? You would do that for me?” Abby brightened.
“Lionel, that would be wonderful,” her aunt exclaimed.
“Yes, dear, I hope that I can bring you the good news you seek and put both your mind at ease.” Mr Albert looked at her aunt lovingly before turning a smile on Abby.
Abby relaxed. If Mr Alfred should bring news that Sir Andrew had been put off by her, then she would try to be happy as she was before. At least, that was what Abby wanted to convince herself of.
The next day, Abby paced the drawing room as her aunt watched her walk back and forth.
“Abby, dear, you’re as bad as William was when he was worried about Eliza. Pacing will not bring the answer any sooner. Lionel will be here when he can.”
Abby stopped and sat next to her aunt. “You and Mr Albert have come become very close, haven’t you? I have noticed he is very tender towards you.”
Her aunt blushed. Abby could not believe the happiness in her countenance. She was like a young schoolgirl. Finally, to have found love.
“I hesitate to tell you our news, Abby, with you being so distressed over Sir Andrew.”
“Aunt Lucy, I would not wish to rain on your happiness. I shall be fine whatever the outcome.”
Her aunt looked into her face as if to gauge the truth of Abby’s words. “Lionel has asked for my hand, and I have accepted.”
Abby’s eyes began to pool as she reached for her aunt and embraced her in a tight hug. “I am so happy to see that you have found someone.” Abby pulled away. “You deserve some happiness in your life.”
Her aunt patted her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Abby, I have been happy. You have brought more joy to my life than I can say.”
A tear slipped from Abby’s eye and she wiped it with the back of her hand.
“Abby, it was my choice not to marry. I can tell you now because I think you’re old enough and it might help you in some way.”
Abby nodded and settled back to listen.
“I had many gentlemen pursue me when I was young, and then I gave my heart to one, and we were to be married. Your father, older and wiser than me, checked into his character. His solicitor found that he was a bounder, a dishonourable man who only wanted my fortune. He had a wife in another town. It was hard to hear, but fortunately, your father found him out before we were married.” Her aunt gave her a sad smile.
“I was heartbroken, of course, and vowed not to marry. It was easier. Until Mr Albert, my heart never healed.”
“Mr Albert healed your heart?”
Her aunt laughed. “Yes, he has, but then so have you, Abby. I have loved being a part of your life.”
The door opened, and Mr Alfred walked in, his eyes brightened at the scene before him. “You have told her?”
“Yes, Lionel, I have told her.”
Abby came forward, giving Mr Albert a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. “I’m so happy for you both.”
Mr Albert walked over and took her aunt’s hand. “Do you have news, Lionel?” her aunt asked.
He nodded, looking up. “I’m afraid when I reached Sir Andrew’s home, I was told that he had left for London.”
“London! When?” Abby sat down in the nearest chair, trying to take the news in. Why would he go to London? “Did they say when he would return?”
“No, the butler said they didn’t expect him home for quite some time.” Mr Alfred gave her a sympathetic look. “I wish it could have been better news.”
Shocked by the news, Abby stood, her eyes pooling with water again as she wiped a tear from her cheek. No wonder he hadn’t called. How soon had he left for London? Had it been right after the party?
“Aunt Lucy, I think I’m ready to go home.”
“Yes, dear, we understand.” Her aunt looked into her intended’s eye. “We shall make the arrangements.”
Abby walked to her room. She would have Betsy start packing. There was nothing left for her here.
* * *
Sir Andrew, determined to get his life back to normal, visited the workhouse to check how the plans were progressing for the new workhouse at Bathwick. He was informed of Miss Stewart’s and Lady Abigale’s donations of clothes and candy for the children.
He’d also observed her strolling through the park several times with Mr Dalton this past week. He was perplexed as to why she hadn’t returned home to get ready for her wedding. By the second week, he’d had enough. The tension was building, and he was having a hard time resisting the urge to visit her. Fearful he might say something he would regret, he returned to London, to keep a safe distance.
But London was hot, dirty, and sweltering, not a good combination for Andrew’s mood. Unhappy that he was run from his country home, he tried to make the best of it. It had been over a fortnight, and he’d been scouring the papers every day for an announcement of Lady Abigale’s engagement to Mr Dalton. But they were silent. He laid the paper on the table in frustration.
Lifting his cup, he took a drink of his coffee. It had grown cold. He glanced across the room over the rim of his cup. There sat Sir George. Strange that would he would be in the club at this late date. He would have thought he’d be home in the country with his daughter. Setting the cup down, he moved across the room to join him.
“Sir George.” Andrew offered his hand as he came near.
Sir George stood, grasping his outstretched hand and giving Andrew’s a firm shake. “Sir Andrew, what are you doing in London?”
“Just some business before I return to the country. I could ask you the same, Sir George. I tho
ught you would be in the country now with your daughter.”
“I had a few things to finish, but I should be leaving this week,” Sir George replied.
“Congratulations on the betrothal. You must be pleased.”
“Oh, yes.” Sir George chuckled. “I had given up on the old girl, but she finally came through. My daughter wrote that she is thrilled. Smitten, she said. I think they will be very happy together.”
Andrew’s heart tightened at the news. Jealousy rose again as he tried to tamp it down. It was an uncomfortable feeling that made him shift in his chair.
“My sister wrote that you took good care of my Abby. She said you made sure she was properly chaperoned. Thank you for that, Sir Andrew. I owe you great favour as I know it was a great inconvenience to you. I would like you to come out to the wedding. It’s at the end of the week. You may stay at our home. I know my sister would be delighted to see you again. It will get you out of this London heat.”
Sir Andrew was tempted, but he didn’t think he could watch Lady Abigale marry Mr Dalton. He might do something that would embarrass himself.
“I thank you for the offer, Sir George. I will have to check my schedule.”
“Fine, I will send you directions if you decide you can make it.”
Andrew wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude. “Give my best to the couple. I know Mr Dalton to be of fine character.”
Sir George’s brows wrinkled. “Mr Dalton? I don’t think I know him.”
Andrew settled back in his chair, confused. “Mr Benjamin Dalton, the groom?”
“My sister is marrying Mr Albert, Mr Lionel Albert.”
“Your sister—" Andrew felt his head in a fog. “I thought Lady Abigale was marrying Mr Dalton?”
“Was that his name?” Sir George asked.” Lucy told me Abby had received a proposal, but she turned him down, claiming she’d given her heart to someone else. But that gentleman never came up to scratch. She was so disappointed they came home. Abby swears she’ll never marry, but I’m sure she’ll change her mind. Abby is a bright girl with a cheery attitude. Nothing gets her down for long.”