by Abby Ayles
* * *
“It has been a prolonged recovery,” Lord Gilchrist said simply.
“Well, come and have a seat and join us,” the duke motioned toward the ladies. “We are just having some refreshments before leaving for tonight's events. I assume, by your dress, you will be joining us. It will certainly be an honor to have a war hero in our midst.”
Gilchrist came to sit by his sister on her sofa, figuring it to be the safest place. He was now keenly aware of the effect he had on women.
Where before, his mere presence could bring rosiness to a lady’s cheeks, he now made them pale in fear. He did his best to turn his frame so that the worst of his scars faced the fireplace and not the party present.
It burned his still very tender skin to have the heat of the fire on it, but the pain was of little consequence to him now.
“Do you hurt much?” Isabella looked at him with pity.
Though Gilchrist knew her heart was in the right place, he could no longer stand pitying looks and fear.
“There were many others who got it far worse. I am happy enough I survived.”
His words came out much more curtly than he had hoped. Gilchrist shifted uneasily in his seat. He was already regretting being convinced to attend the ball by his sister.
Chapter 6
The ride over to the Duke of Northingshire’s ball was not a very comfortable one. Though the duke kept up a conversation with Gilchrist on matters of the war, politics, and other gentlemen they knew in common, the tension was still high.
For Lady Abigail, she could not see how this scarred man before her could possibly be the Colton Frasier she had heard so much about over the years.
This man seemed to be quiet and reserved. When he did speak, he was short and very coarse in his manner. It didn’t match well with the image of a playful gentleman who always seemed to win over crowds with humor and charm.
When they entered the hall, even Lady Abigail felt embarrassed for the earl. The number of stares and pointed whispers were frankly rude. One elderly woman actually screamed and, in a very loud tone, told her companion how frightfully garish the earl looked.
For his part, Lord Gilchrist did his best to ignore it, as did the rest of the party. His mood significantly soured with each look and whisper, however.
Lady Abigail usually enjoyed the spreading of news that others might call gossip and even rather liked when it was her in the limelight. This type of attention was not to her taste, though. To make matters worse, as the earl lost his temper over rude looks, he began to give his opinion vocally.
It came to a head when the elderly woman spoke so brazenly for the whole room to hear.
“Perhaps if you don’t like it, you should look the other way,” he said to the room on the whole.
This, of course, only caused more whispers.
“My dear, Mrs. Henderson was just surprised,” Isabella cooed to calm him. “She is so hard of hearing; I expect she thought she was whispering.”
“I don’t care about the old crone’s hearing,” the earl spat back tartly.
“Perhaps a turn on the dance floor might lighten your mood,” Lady Louisa suggested. “You used to love to dance.”
Lady Abigail thought Louisa added these words in a desperate attempt to find the brother she once had.
He simply tapped his cane to the floor, a little louder than necessary, and said, “I can’t imagine many ladies would find it enjoyable to dance with this, or this,” he motioned to his face with his free hand.
Though she was ashamed to admit it, Lady Abigail feared that she might be volunteered for the job. All she had seen of the earl thus far was a rude, crabby man with no manners at all.
That image was not lost on all the others in attendance at the ball. If she were to dance a set with him, what would that say about her hopes of securing any prospects?
“Even if I could find a willing partner,” he added, seeing that his words had hurt his sister, “my leg would be far too weak to keep up.”
“Come, old chap,” the duke said, motioning to Gilchrist. “Let us leave these ladies to their socializing while you and I join the gentlemen in the smoking room.”
Lord Gilchrist couldn’t help but be thankful for the friendship of the duke. He was the only one who had honestly looked at him no differently than before and wasn’t put off by his sharp attitude.
For the latter, he tried his best to curtail it. There was so much anger boiling up inside him since he joined the Regulars that he scarcely thought he would ever keep his words down at a proper level.
It was not just that he had gone off to battle and seen things that no others in his company, with the exception of perhaps the duke, could even begin to imagine. It was also that so much had been lost in the process.
Because of his ridiculous need for adventure, he had changed himself permanently, both inside and out. What nagged at him even more was the genuine possibility that not only had his father been right in calling his commission a poor choice, but it had also led to his father’s death. It was something that Gilchrist could never forgive himself for, nor did he expect his mother or sister ever would either.
He was happy to leave the company of the women. Both his sister and Isabella seemed so keen on putting him in some kind of a happy mood or creating enjoyment in the event when it was impossible for him to find any.
Then there was the duke’s younger sister. Naturally, she was the most distant from him of them all, as they had yet to meet each other before that night. Nothing had pained him more than the look on her face when Louisa had suggested dancing.
It was a look of pure terror that she would be the likely candidate. In years past, a beautiful young lady such as Lady Abigail Grant would have been happy to turn the floor with him. Now, she looked at him with pure fear and horror that doing so might ruin her reputation forever more.
He was glad for the duke’s suggestion to escape from his sister’s presence and hoped he wouldn’t have to ever see her again. Gilchrist knew that wouldn’t be hard since, from the moment he entered the ball, he determined it would surely be his last.
Gilchrist would not run from the party and let the gossipers know that they had gotten to him. He would also not subject himself to such ridicule ever again. If that meant staying within the confines of his home, then he would do so.
Lady Abigail felt the evening take a turn for the better once the men left them. She observed herself visibly relax at their departure. She hadn’t even noticed how tightly she was holding herself for nerves.
At first, the ladies stayed in their own trio and talked about the preparations for the Foundling Hospital project. Soon, Lady Fortuna joined them and they began to plan in earnest when they would meet and what they would accomplish first.
All felt that warm, thick nightgowns and quilts were of the utmost importance. Making sure the children had comfortable beds and warm clothing seemed to be the wisest use of the ladies' time.
Lady Abigail, of course, was given the task of collecting fabric scraps and cutting them into proper shapes for the desired quilts. Perhaps if she did well enough at that, she might graduate to sewing the patches together.
Both Lady Abigail and the duchess determined to make the quilts first. Isabella was excited at the prospect of turning out the most creative decorative bedding time would allow her.
Lady Fortuna and Lady Louisa, therefore, determined to make nightgowns for both the girls and boys.
As the night progressed and the festivities continued, Lady Abigail quickly got swept up in the excitement of a ball. She danced several sets with young men she knew well, including Lord Fenton.
He stayed with the ladies after the set and happily told stories he had heard of the duke’s younger years. He was such a pleasant, diverting man to have around, Lady Abigail almost forgot altogether the discomfort she had felt earlier in the earl’s presence.
The mood shifted when the duke and Gilchrist returned to the party toward the en
d of the evening. They both smelled of rich tobacco and brandy, and it even seemed the earl's spirits were higher than before.
“I was hoping I might take you for a turn, if you are up for it, my dear?” the duke said to his wife.
He always felt her to be so delicate in her condition but, in reality, she had been secretly hoping for the good exercise of a dance to get her blood pumping after standing in one place for so long.
“It is good to see you, Lord Gilchrist,” Fenton said with a slight bow. “I heard the news that you are back in town.”
Unlike the duke, who was man enough to see Gilchrist as the gentleman he once was, the earl found his old friend Fenton lacking in that department.
Suddenly, the relaxation of drinks and cigars with the duke in a leather easy chair melted back to the reality surrounding him.
Because of Fenton’s faltering, Gilchrist only gave him a curt nod in return. Seeing that he was not about to converse, Lord Fenton turned back to the ladies.
“I was rather hoping to invite you to join me in the park tomorrow evening, Lady Abigail, before your brother returned. I do not doubt that he won't allow such a thing.”
“No, I would not. I am all too aware that you will not only plan to take her to another gig race but maybe even allow her to be in one.”
“Thankfully, my brother has no say over what I do during the day,” Lady Abigail said pointedly. “Therefore, I would be happy to accompany you on a carriage ride around the park. Should we find ourselves at an impromptu race, all the better.”
Before the duke could retort, his wife drew his attention to a new set about to start and his promise to dance with her.
“How about you, Lord Gilchrist?” Fenton said, turning to his old friend.
He was moderately put off by the look of Lord Gilchrist, but another body at the race meant more bets and a more significant cut for himself. He may have been sensitive next to Gilchrist now, but Lord Fenton was not above taking his money.
“I find racing to be an altogether waste of one's time. It is merely entertainment for those too simple to find actual substance of interest.”
Lady Abigail opened her mouth in shock. Not only had he insulted Lord Fenton, but her as well.
“You didn’t used to feel that way,” Lord Fenton said, partly under his breath.
“Yes, and then I realized that life has more to offer than these useless pastimes.”
“Yes, and how did that work out for you?” Lord Fenton spat back, no longer hiding his distaste behind civility.
The look on Gilchrist's face was altogether terrifying for the women. Lady Louisa was half worried that her brother might actually start a fist fight, right there and then.
He may have always been an energetic man, but he was never prone to letting anger get away from him. It was an entirely new side she was seeing of him and she didn’t like it.
Chapter 7
Lady Abigail had been completely put off by Lord Gilchrist. It no longer mattered the types of praise Isabella or Louisa had given him in the past; in Lady Abigail’s mind, he was a horrible person.
Between his coarse words, loud, brazen comments, and the insults he threw directly at her, she found him to be just as ugly a person on the inside as the scars had turned him on the outside. She would rather never cross his path again.
She soon forgot about the earl who seemed to worry her sister-in-law to no end when, the next day, Lord Fenton arrived in time for an afternoon carriage ride.
He was a pleasant enough fellow to ride along with and, in many ways, a good friend of hers. Like Mr. Shawn James, races were a means for Lord Fenton to make a little something of himself. He came from a family of four brothers before him.
The first had taken his place as Earl of Dovenshire, the second a clergyman, the third a militia officer, and Lord Fenton the youngest. Lady Abigail felt deeply for the man. Where she still had the opportunity to marry back into the peerage, if desired, his lot in life was set at birth.
Whether it was because he was the youngest of sons, or the fact that each brother had already claimed all the other reasonable careers, Lord Fenton was left with studying the law. It was not something that he took to well and he was very vocal about his distaste of it.
Lady Abigail assumed his adventures with gambling were to ensure that he still held the life of a gentleman without having to work for a living. She didn't fault him for this desire. It was a hard thing for someone to grow up in the peerage, only to be removed from it as an adult.
“Do you know Lord Heshing well?” Lady Abigail asked as she shielded her face from the sun with her mint green parasol.
As promised, Lord Fenton had arrived at the Wintercrest home in a fetching open carriage to take her around the park. Lady Abigail had chosen to wear the mint green silk walking gown that had a white stripe pattern and delicate lace cuffs.
It was her favorite to wear in the sun because it matched well with her warm skin tone and accentuated the vibrant red of her hair. She didn’t dress so meticulously for the benefit of Lord Fenton. Though he was a good friend of hers, kind, and relatively handsome, he was not the one who occupied her mind as she dressed this morning.
Fenton gave Lady Abigail a sideward glance as he directed the horses at a leisurely pace.
“Having one’s lady speak of another gentleman on a carriage ride is slightly off-putting,” he said with a smile.
She was irritated that he dodged the question.
“I am certainly not your lady. Though I do cherish your friendship, I rather thought you had an eye on Miss Mary Johansson?”
Lord Fenton measured his words carefully before speaking. It was well known that he was drawn to Miss Mary. She was a great beauty. The match, however, would not do well for either of them. Both would be in need of a spouse with significant funds. This was something neither of them had.
“She is a very sweet girl, isn’t she?” he finally said in return. “So, you find Heshing quite a beau, then?”
“I wouldn’t say that, no. I only met him the one time. He seemed very nice though.”
“And handsome, charming, a favorite of the racing circuit, oh, and not to mention an earl,” Fenton teased.
“You are not the only one who has an eye on him,” Lord Fenton continued when Lady Abigail refused to give into his teasing.
“I never said I had an eye on him,” she replied exasperatedly, but still blushed all the same.
Much to Lady Abigail's satisfaction, Lord Heshing was, in fact, present when they came upon the King's road. Even better was the fact that he would not be racing that day. It would give Lady Abigail a chance to have a longer conversation with him.
Though Lord Heshing was not dressed in his riding clothes, he still looked just as handsome as ever in his blue velvet jacket, cream pants, and high boots.
Lord Fenton, ever the kind friend, made sure to park the carriage close to where Heshing was standing. As was customary of a gentleman, Lord Heshing came up to the side of the ride to help Lady Abigail down.
“It is a wonderful day, is it not, Lady Abigail?” Heshing said as he took her hand. “I know most women are not as happy for bright sunny days like this, but I must confess that they are my favorite.”
“I must agree with you, Lord Heshing. Where I live up north, we don’t have many sunny days, and when we do, I refuse to take them for granted.”
“And how do you spend those few days? Perhaps attending races like you are now?” Heshing said as he walked Lady Abigail over to the start line.
Lord Fenton was already hard at work collecting bets and cared not a whit that his companion had been taken by another.
Lady Abigail smiled up at Heshing, gauging how much she should say. Typically, when meeting a gentleman for the first few times, she would hold herself back and try her best to be more of the timid lady that gentlemen seemed to enjoy.
Looking at the fiery spark in Heshing’s brown eyes and knowing him to have as high a need for adventure as she
did, she didn’t feel the need to hold back today.
“There are not very many races at Wintercrest Manor. Instead, I rather like walks in the park surrounding the estate. It gives me a chance to soak up some sun.”
“No doubt the cause of those freckles,” the earl said with a nod to Lady Abigail’s nose.
She covered it, embarrassed, with her gloved hand.
“Don’t worry, I rather like them on you,” he said in a lower tone, causing Lady Abigail to blush profusely.
“I find ladies that sit inside all day long, painting screens or sewing pillows, so dull. Life is meant to be experienced, not merely watched through a window,” Lord Heshing added.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Lady Abigail ventured to say.
He smiled down at her then, satisfied with her reply. Lady Abigail couldn’t help but feel the tingle of excitement as his brilliant white teeth shone down at her.
They stood next to each other, swapping tidbits of information as they watched two gig races in consecutive order.
Lady Abigail was happy to see that Mr. Shawn James was present for the first race and, in fact, won. It made her feel slightly better for wishing against him earlier.
“James was a good sport,” Lord Heshing said after the final race. “I thought he would have been quite sour, losing to me again.”
“Again? Have you been doing much racing this season already?”
“I have,” he said casually, “but that is not how he lost to me. On occasion, I frequent White’s and try my hand at faro when I have the time. I happened to be there the night before the race and so was James. Let’s just say he lost far more than the cost of a horse that night.”
“Poor Mr. James,” Lady Abigail said, watching the now champion receive his congratulations.