A Perfect Gentleman

by Candace Camp

“Yes, I believe so, sir. Shall I send a maid to see if she is here? Perhaps you’d like to sit down; I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.”

  “No, no. If you say she’s gone, I’m sure she is.” Graeme turned away, then back. “The Swan? Is that the inn you mean?”

  “Yes, I believe so. Also, sir . . . Miss Hinsdale called here earlier.”

  “Laura?” Graeme gaped at him. “What in the world is she—no, it doesn’t matter. I can’t see her now. I have to leave; give her my abject apologies and—”

  “Oh, she’s not here, my lord. When I told her the ladies had gone to Tunbridge Wells, she seemed most agitated. She said she could not stay; she had to find them. I had the carriage brought round for her; I thought you would not—”

  Graeme interrupted him. “Are you saying Laura went after them?”

  “That was my understanding, sir. She was, well, she was acting in a manner most unlike Miss Hinsdale, if you’ll pardon me for . . .”

  He trailed off as Graeme whirled and ran back through the kitchen and out the door.

  Desperation gave Abby an added burst of strength, and she shoved upward with all her might, twisting as she did so. The sudden move shifted Mrs. Ponsonby off-balance, and with another heave, Abby rolled the small woman off her. Mrs. Ponsonby scrambled to get up, but Abby swung her legs out, cutting the companion’s feet out from under her. Mrs. Ponsonby tumbled to the ground.

  Abby jumped to her feet, sweeping up the parasol with her. She didn’t take the time to look back at Laura. She could hear the woman’s running footsteps and knew Laura was altogether too close. Abby would have no chance against the two of them, but her legs were decidedly longer than either of theirs and she was unhampered by a corset. Abby ran away.

  Behind her she heard Mrs. Ponsonby’s enraged screech, and Abby could not keep from glancing back. The woman had made it to her feet and was turning to pursue Abby, but at that moment, Laura barreled into the woman, knocking her to the ground.

  Abby was so shocked she stumbled to a halt, staring at the two women rolling around on the ground. Laura had not come to join Mrs. Ponsonby, Abby realized, but to help Abby. Lifting her skirts, she ran back toward the wrestling women.

  Laura, her bonnet torn loose and hanging by its strings down her back, managed to get on top of the other woman, but Mrs. Ponsonby reached out and grasped a branch lying on the ground.

  “Laura, watch out!” Abby screamed, but Mrs. Ponsonby was already swinging her hand up, and she hit Laura on the side of her head.

  Laura collapsed, blood streaming over her pale hair. Abby knew she should run; her first duty was to protect her unborn child. But she could not run away and leave the woman who had tried to help her lying helpless on the ground. Lifting the parasol, Abby let out a wordless bellow and charged.

  Mrs. Ponsonby came up swinging the branch. The parasol and branch clashed together like swords. The branch was stouter than the slender shaft of the sunshade, and it left a dent in the side of the parasol. Abby felt the shudder of the collision all the way up her arm. She barely managed to keep her grip on it.

  It was an unfortunate reality that the branch was not only thicker than the stem of the parasol, it was also longer. Its length negated Abby’s advantage in reach, making it almost impossible for her to get close enough to hit Mrs. Ponsonby. Mrs. Ponsonby moved forward, sweeping the branch back and forth in front of her, and Abby was forced to retreat, parrying her blows as best she could.

  At some point, Abby knew, the branch would break the parasol’s staff. Her only hope was to keep the woman occupied long enough that someone would come out and see what was happening.

  “Mrs. Ponsonby, stop! Think about this. How will you explain what happened to Laura and me?”

  “That silly creature! Why would she try to stop me? Graeme will be free!”

  “Perhaps because she’s a decent human being who doesn’t want to see anyone murdered?” Abby took a quick step backward as the branch whipped across in front of her. As it came back, she blocked it with her own “weapon.”

  “She doesn’t know! She doesn’t understand! They think you’re nice.” Mrs. Ponsonby made a scornful sound. “As if that mattered. You have no name, no lineage. You don’t deserve to be married to a Parr. I stopped when I found out you were carrying his baby.”

  She continued to swing her weapon in a dangerous arc, driving Abby toward the bridge . . . and the water. Abby didn’t dare take her eyes from the branch, but she feared that she would eventually step backward, all unknowing, into the stream.

  “Of course you did,” Abby agreed. “That’s why you must stop now. You don’t want to hurt Graeme’s baby. You can’t kill his heir, the future Lord Montclair.”

  “No, no, I realized!” Mrs. Ponsonby’s voice rose in excitement. “Your blood will taint them. You’re nothing but a mongrel American. God only knows where your family came from.”

  “But it’s just a baby! You cannot wish to kill a child.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if Graeme hadn’t kept after it! I thought it was over when he sent you away. But now he’s here and as besotted with you as ever. He’s gone to see the vicar.”

  “What does that matter? What does the vicar know?”

  “I don’t know! Nothing. Everything. Eventually Graeme will find out the truth. And I won’t let you ruin his name.”

  “Whose name? Graeme’s? How—”

  “No!” Enraged, Mrs. Ponsonby slammed the end of the branch against the ground. Abby was pleased to see that the blow snapped off the end. “George! My George—you ruined him, you and your father.”

  “George? Your husband? He was the one who embezzled the funds?” Abby was so startled she dropped her guard. But fortunately Mrs. Ponsonby was too much in the grip of her obsession to take advantage.

  “He would have put it back!” she shrieked. “He would never have taken the money if Thurston hadn’t dazzled them with all his talk. George thought he would double his money. Triple it. No one would have noticed it had been missing a fortnight or two. It was your fault!” She swung wildly at Abby.

  Abby knocked it away, taking another step back. “Me? I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Yes, you! You were the reason for all of it, so Graeme would have to take you. George lost everything—not only the money, but his good name. And Reggie! They were like brothers and then Montclair looked at him as if he were a worm, just because of that one little mistake. He—he abjured him! George, who had been his best friend his whole life, who’d always done whatever Reggie wanted. George couldn’t bear to live anymore. All because of you!”

  Eyes lit with fury, the other woman threw herself at Abby, swinging with all her might. Abby jerked to the side, blocking with the parasol, which finally snapped and went spinning away. Mrs. Ponsonby roared with triumph and raised the branch again.

  chapter 34

  Abby threw up her hands and caught the branch as it came down. The rough bark scraped her palms; the shock of it shot up her arms. But she held Mrs. Ponsonby off. The two women grappled over the stick, not even registering the shouts or the sound of running footsteps.

  Suddenly Graeme loomed up behind Mrs. Ponsonby and, clasping his hands together, brought them down hard on the back of her head. The woman crumpled. Abby staggered at the sudden release of pressure on the stick, but Graeme lashed out with one hand and grabbed her arm, keeping her upright.

  Abby flung herself into his arms. He squeezed her to him so tightly it took the breath from her; then he took her by the shoulders and set her back, anxiously examining her face and form.

  “Are you all right? Did she hurt you?” Before Abby could answer, he wrapped his arms around her again. Cradling her to him, he kissed her hair and face, saying in broken spurts, “I was so worried. And then, when I found Mother and Grandmother . . . I knew she had gone after you. Are you all right? Truly?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Abby nodded, faintly surprised to find that tears were running down her cheeks. “Oh, Graeme! I was sca
red she was going to hurt the baby. But she didn’t,” she added hastily when his arms tightened around her. “Wait. Laura! She hurt Laura.”

  “Laura! You’re right. I forgot.” They turned. Laura lay motionless a few feet away. “I saw her, but I couldn’t stop.”

  They hurried over and knelt beside the blond woman.

  “Look at all this blood,” Abby gasped. “Is she—”

  “No. I saw her fingers twitch. Head wounds bleed a great deal. Do you have a handkerchief?”

  “No, it’s in my reticule back inside. But no doubt Laura does.” She found the pocket of the other woman’s skirts and triumphantly pulled out a tidy white square.

  Graeme chuckled. “Of course she would.” He pressed the square against the cut, and Laura let out a groan. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Graeme?” Her face cleared. “Graeme! Abigail—Mrs.—” She struggled to sit up.

  “No, don’t worry. I’m fine.” Abby put a firm hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Just rest. She hit you hard.”

  Laura winced. “So it seems.” She reached up a tentative hand. “I’m going to have a bump.”

  “Why did you come? I mean, how did you know?” Abby sat back on her heels. “Either one of you? I didn’t suspect a thing until Mrs. Ponsonby came after me with that sunshade!”

  “After I talked to the vicar, I realized that she was the only person who would care if the news got out.” Graeme explained what he had learned that morning.

  “I had no idea why she had tried to hurt you,” Laura added. “But I was concerned about your fall on the stairs, so I asked around. Mary Littleton told me that she had been talking to Lady Fawley, who told her that she—Lady Fawley—had seen Mrs. Ponsonby push you.”

  “The idiotic woman.” Graeme scowled. “Why didn’t she speak up?”

  “Lady Fawley rarely sees importance in anything that doesn’t involve herself.” Laura grimaced. “I was alarmed, of course, and I dared not wait for a letter to get to you, so I decided to simply come see you. When Fletcher told me you were with her, I came straight here. I told myself it was foolish, that she would not try anything with the other ladies around, but I had such an uneasy feeling about it. . . .”

  “I’m very glad you did,” Abby told her emphatically. “She was about to overcome me when you arrived. She was insanely strong.”

  “I think perhaps she is. Insane, I mean.” Graeme sighed. “I can’t believe we never realized. . . . Mrs. Ponsonby always seemed so meek.”

  “Apparently not when it came to her husband. She kept raving that I had ruined him and that she wouldn’t let me destroy his reputation.”

  “Didn’t it occur to her that she would create an even larger scandal by murdering you?” Laura asked.

  Abby shrugged. “I suspect she thought that Graeme and his family would cover it up. She believed he would be relieved at getting his freedom once I was gone.” Abby stopped, her cheeks filling with color. In her relief and gratitude to Laura, she had momentarily forgotten that Laura was the woman for whom Graeme would want his freedom.

  “Abby . . .” Graeme turned to her, frowning.

  Abby jumped to her feet. “Look. I think Mrs. Ponsonby is stirring.”

  Laura and Graeme followed her. Mrs. Ponsonby was indeed conscious, but all the fight had gone out of her. She turned on her side and began to weep, her body shaking with sobs.

  Graeme shifted, his expression uneasy. “I’ve never struck a woman before. It wasn’t very gentlemanly.”

  “Well, I, for one, am very glad you didn’t play the gentleman this time.”

  “As am I.” He curled an arm around Abby, pulling her against his side. “I have no regrets.” He smiled down into her eyes. “None at all.”

  It took some time to settle matters. The police were called, and Graeme turned the now-silent Philomena Ponsonby over to them. She seemed surprised to find that Montclair would not conceal what his grandmother’s companion had done. No doubt it would be a terrible scandal and the whole wretched story of the embezzlement would come out. But Graeme had no intention of allowing the woman who attacked Abigail to go unpunished.

  By the time he had finished explaining the events to the police, including Mrs. Ponsonby’s likely guilt regarding an unsolved murder that had occurred in London, and returned to the private assembly room of the inn, Laura and Abby had managed to awaken the two older women. As soon as Graeme walked in the door, he was bombarded by questions.

  Raising his hands as if to stop the flow of words, he said, “No, no, I beg you. I promise to answer all your questions when we reach Lydcombe, but right now, I only want to get Abby safely home. She’s been through a terrible ordeal, and she must rest. I’ve ordered the carriage brought round for you. I rode here, so I shall follow you on horseback.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Abby said.

  “No use protesting, my love. You might as well resign yourself to being coddled and cosseted the next few days.”

  “Very well.” Abby smiled. “I shall try to take it with good grace.”

  Laura elected to go back to London by train. Despite Mirabelle’s and Abby’s assurances that she must spend the night at the Hall with them, she insisted on leaving.

  “It’s not that long a distance, and fortunately trains run frequently to London. I shall have no trouble catching one.”

  When Graeme eventually managed to get his family out of the inn and into a carriage, Laura insisted, too, that there was no need to escort her to the train station. “Really, Graeme, I am quite capable of finding the station myself. You should be with your wife.”

  “I will be, don’t worry. And I am aware of how capable you are. However, you must allow me to offer at least this small measure of assistance. I have done little enough today to protect anyone.”

  “What nonsense.” Laura smiled. She had cleaned the cut on her head and wound her hair back up into its usual order. Popping her plain bonnet on her head, she looked once again her neat, practical self.

  He could not imagine his own Abby even possessing so plain a hat or dress, let alone wearing it. How was it, Graeme wondered, that he had given his heart to two such different women?

  At the train station he bought her ticket home despite her protestations, saying, “Laura, please, it is the least I can do after all you have done for me today.” He looked down at her seriously. “You saved my wife. My child. I cannot ever repay you.”

  “I was happy to do so.” Laura reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “You must believe that, Graeme.”

  “I do.” He paused, then went on, “Laura, you know that I care for you. You were long my dearest companion, and you will always have a place in my heart.”

  “I know. And you in mine.” She smiled. “Graeme, dear friend, I know what you are trying to tell me.”

  “Good, because I’m not entirely sure I do.”

  “You have fallen in love with your wife,” Laura said simply. “That’s a good thing. All I want is for you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.” He heard the surprise in his own voice. “I really am.”

  “I won’t pretend I wasn’t sad to lose you, or that I haven’t missed you many a time over the past years. But that was a long time ago, and we are different people now. We’ve made other lives for ourselves. I am your friend, and I hope that you are mine, as well. But you love Abigail.”

  “I do.” An almost conspiratorial grin flashed across Graeme’s face. “I love her more than I ever thought possible.”

  “And she loves you.”

  “Do you think so? I—I have made so many mistakes with her.”

  “I’m sure. Anyone who sees her look at you knows it. And if you’ve made mistakes, I’m sure she will forgive you. You are an easy man to forgive.”

  “Like my father.” He shrugged.

  “You are a far better man than your father, Graeme.” Laura patted his arm. “I promise you.”

  Laura’s words were enough to keep his spirits buoyed all the way ba
ck to the estate. There he was slowed down by his mother and grandmother, who assured him that Abby was upstairs asleep and that they desperately needed to hear his account of the afternoon’s events.

  “You know I treasure you, Mother,” he said, gently removing her hand from his arm. “And I will tell you everything in the most minute detail later, but right now, I must go to my wife.”

  Lady Eugenia started to protest, but after her initial surprise, his mother only smiled. “Of course, darling.”

  He took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top, he saw that Abby’s maid was standing outside his door as if on guard. Little as he looked forward to dealing with the woman, it gave him a spurt of satisfaction to know that Abby had once again chosen to sleep in his bed.

  “Molly.” He nodded to her and started past, but she shifted so that she was squarely in his way.

  “I wanted to thank you, sir.” Her words shocked him into speechlessness. “For saving Miss Ab— Lady Montclair. I was wrong about you, and I admit it.”

  “I am stunned.” Graeme grinned.

  “Aye, well, you’d best take care of her, that’s all I have to say.”

  “I will.”

  Graeme stepped around Molly and opened his bedroom door. He looked immediately toward the bed, but Abby was not there. She sat in the easy chair before the fire. Her hands, palms bandaged in strips of white, lay in her lap, and her head was tilted back, her eyes closed. Obviously, she had refused to rest in bed—little surprise there—but exhaustion had caught up with her anyway.

  He knew he should leave the room and let her sleep, but he could not turn away just yet. As he stood there, Abby’s eyes opened and she saw him. A smile curved her lips. “Graeme.”

  “Abby.” He crossed the floor to her in two quick strides. Sinking down to his knees, he wrapped his arms around her, laying his head against her breast. “My love.”

  Abby went still. She had fallen asleep waiting for Graeme, and for an instant, she wondered if she was still dreaming. Caressingly, she ran her hand over his hair, letting herself drift in the moment. Finally he lifted his head and sat back on his heels, studying her face.