Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2

by Catherine Mayfair

  “You are fine,” Abigail said with a smile. “No offense was taken. Still, you remembered my signal. I must admit that I worried you had forgotten.”

  “Never.” He looked around the garden as if expecting a phantom to appear. “I was made to swear that day in the ruins to rescue you in times of trouble. Though I’m unsure what trouble came to you this night.”

  Abigail wrung her hands. “It is Lord Rumsfeld,” she whispered, hoping no one was on the other side of the hedges listening to their conversation, “he seeks to court me, but I do not want that.”

  “Tell him you cannot,” Richard said firmly.

  Abigail laughed. “And earn the scorn of my parents? I think not.”

  “You were always afraid of them,” he said. “I would have thought by now…”

  “That I would have changed?” she finished for him, doing nothing to hide her irritation. “You still are the reluctant boy, only one with a title. You would never dare speak against the wishes of your father, so do not call attention to the very same shortcomings of which you suffer.”

  His eyes flickered with pain, and Abigail felt a twinge of sadness. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I did not mean to say such a thing. It is just the frustration of my situation that makes me speak with such bluntness.”

  “No, you are right,” he said. She went to speak, but he staved her off. “Even this very night, my mother is pushing me to court Lady Louise Rotterdam, and I find I cannot defy her.”

  “I saw the two of you speaking with one another,” Abigail said as she squeezed her fingers together in order to keep her expression even. “I thought that perhaps you had found happiness with her.”

  He snorted. “Absolutely not.” Then he looked at her, his eyes piercing. “I am still searching for the right woman…” Faint laughs and music played in the background as he went silent. Then he cleared his throat. “What will you do about Lord Rumsfeld?”

  “I have no choice, do I?” she asked with irritation. “I am no longer a child. No prince will rescue me as I once believed. I will be forced to court him, and ultimately, I will have to marry him. I have no doubt whatsoever that such will be the end result.”

  “That is madness!” Richard gasped. “The man is not worthy of being in the same room as you. You must deny his request.”

  “That is the logical way,” she said as she walked around to the back of the tree and placed a hand on its rough bark. “However, it is not what will happen.” She traced the carving of initials made long ago. “Do you remember when we did this?”

  “How could I forget?” he asked with a chuckle. “I was fearful we would be caught. Yet, you assured me that we would be fine. You were right, of course.”

  Abigail laughed and turned toward her friend. “Richard, why did we grow apart?” she asked. “I miss our talks, our journeys through the forest.”

  Richard shrugged. “I’m afraid we grew up.” He paused for a moment and then added, “As a matter of fact, there is something I wanted to share with you.”

  “Please. I need to hear good news before I return to the party.” She glanced past him at the shadows that filled the windows. “I fear my parents will notice that I am not there.”

  He nodded. “Many years ago, I was afraid to tell you something because I did not understand it myself. Now, however, I do.”

  Abigail scrunched her brow. “I don’t under…”

  He held up his hand. “Allow me to finish, please. And be patient; it is not easy to say.” He appeared to struggle, as if the words were stuck in his throat, and then he gave a heavy sigh. “Never mind. It is not important. Shall you tell your parents you came down with an illness? It will delay the request Lord Rumsfeld wishes to make.”

  “It will not matter,” she said with a sigh. “Tonight, tomorrow night, even in a week. My fate is sealed.” A wave of sadness washed over her and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Richard, why can I not be strong?”

  A moment later, she was in his embrace, his strong arms comforting her as she cried into his chest.

  “I want to be a child again,” she murmured, her voice muffled by his coat. “I want to stand up for what is right for myself.”

  He looked down at her and wiped the tears from her face. “I am sorry you are suffering,” he said in a low voice. “But it is not too late. I can help.”

  She sighed and used a handkerchief to wipe away the remaining tears. “I appreciate your offer of aid, but I doubt there is anything you can do that will change what is to take place. Plus, I must return to the party.”

  She moved to step past him, but he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Abigail, wait, please,” he said. “I must tell you now.”

  “Yes?”

  He licked his lips, worry in his eyes. “I…”

  “Abigail?”

  Her father came around the hedge, Lord Rumsfeld in tow. “What are you doing out here?” he demanded.

  Once again, panic threatened to overwhelm her as her mother also rounded the corner and let out a gasp. She looked down and realized that Richard still held her hand, and she released the hold and smoothed the skirt of her gown.

  “Your Grace?” Lord Rumsfeld said. “Is everything all right?” His lip curled as he spoke.

  Abigail’s mother stepped up and took Abigail by the hand. “You have disturbed His Grace enough already,” she admonished. “Come. We have matters to discuss with Lord Rumsfeld.”

  Reluctantly, Abigail nodded and hid a grimace as Lord Rumsfeld beamed with pride. Her heart felt as if it might explode as fear gripped her. Then, she almost fainted away when Richard spoke.

  “What manner is this that my fiancée is being spirited away from me?”

  Chapter Four

  Abigail stopped mid-step as her mother gasp coupled by her father clearing his throat. Surely Richard had not just said what she thought she had heard?

  “I beg your pardon,” her father said with wide eyes. “I believe I may have misunderstood you. I thought you said Abigail was your fiancée.”

  “Indeed, I did,” Richard said. “I have asked Abigail to be my wife. She will want to tell you herself her response to that proposal.” He gave her a pointed look, and four sets of eyes turned toward her.

  Her body flushed with panic, her mind racing in a thousand directions. She had asked for Richard’s help, but that had not included them marrying!

  Her mother’s pursed lips and raised eyebrow signaled what the woman thought of the situation, and her father indicated his reaction by taking out a handkerchief and wiping at his brow. Lord Rumsfeld chuckled as he shook his head. He did not believe them, which only made her reply stick in her throat.

  “I told him…” she swallowed but found her mouth too dry to do so. “I replied with…”

  She glared at Richard. Oh, bother! This is exactly why I simply do what my parents say. Look what happens when I defy them. That was what she sent with that glare, and she hoped he received that message abundantly clear.

  Yet, as she looked at him, she considered her options. If she told them that she refused, her parents would send her right into the arms of Lord Rumsfeld. If she accepted Richard’s proposal, she would marry a man much better than the Baron is so many ways, but also a man she did not love. Then again, would she have the benefit of marrying a man she loved if she married neither of these men?

  Looking at Lord Rumsfeld one more time, she imagined him courting her. His voice had a nasal tone to it, and that arrogant demeanor made her feel ill. Then she turned her gaze to Richard. Could he not have said he had asked to court her rather than marry her? It would have been much easier if he had. No, of course he had not. The fool, in his naivety, had blurted out marriage instead.

  “Abigail?” her father asked. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, trying to coax moisture into her dry throat. Her fate now was in the hands of either man, and she knew she could not marry Lord Rumsfeld. Tears of sadness and frustration escaped her eyes as she replied.
“Yes, I am fine. And I accepted his proposal.”

  “I do not know what to say,” her mother blurted. “Franklin, were you aware of this?”

  Her father shook his head. “This is all so sudden,” he murmured, clearly shocked by all that had occurred. “So…unexpected.”

  “Do you not wish to give me your daughter’s hand, Linton?” Richard asked.

  Lord Rumsfeld snickered. Apparently, he continued to believe he had a chance to gain Abigail’s admiration.

  Abigail’s father smiled broadly and took Richard by the hand. “No!” he said as he shook Richard’s hand vigorously. “I mean…no, of course not! By all means, this is good news.” He slapped Richard on the shoulder. “Congratulations. We have much to discuss.”

  Lord Rumsfeld grunted and then turned and stormed off toward the house.

  Good riddance, Abigail thought; though, when she turned back, she found that she could not stop the flow of tears.

  “It appears your father is not the only one with much to discuss,” Abigail’s mother said as she leaned in close to Abigail. She did not sound as happy as her father did. “Tell me how this all came about.”

  Abigail looked down at the ground. “I…well…I needed fresh air, so I came outside.”

  “Continue,” her mother commanded.

  “The Duke was doing the same, as it so happened, and we spoke briefly of our time growing up together.” At least that much was true. “Then he asked.”

  Her mother gave a loud harrumph. “That is all? You were discussing the past and he asked?”

  Abigail nodded. “I am sorry for upsetting you, Mother.”

  Her mother looked at her in surprise. “I am not upset,” she said with a smile. “In fact, I am quite proud of you!”

  This sent Abigail into a state of shock. “You are?” She could not recall the last time her mother spoke such kind words to her, and it helped lessen the tension Abigail was feeling.

  “Yes,” came her mother’s soft reply. Never had Abigail ever heard the woman use that motherly tone before. “The duke is very wealthy, and he has land holdings that are far superior to those of Lord Rumsfeld. It has shown you have a sharp mind.”

  “And if I do not love him?” Abigail asked, seeing now the driving force behind her mother’s caring demeanor.

  Placing an arm around Abigail’s shoulders, her mother gave her a smile and guided her toward the house in the direction the men had taken. “Love is not what is important,” she advised. “Marriage is about your station in life, and you becoming a duchess will give you such impressive standing among the ton!” They stopped in front of the door that led back into the house. “The daughter of a baron marrying a duke! The amount of respect—not to mention the jealousy!—you will earn from the ladies of the ton will increase tenfold!”

  Abigail could do nothing but allow the tears to fall from her eyes. She would marry Richard to escape Lord Rumsfeld, and her parents saw what it would bring to them in their standing in society. Her dreams of marriage for love were now over, and she was terrified of what the future now held.

  ***

  The image of the tears of joy Abigail wept would be etched into Richard’s mind for years to come; perhaps even forever. Not only had he come to her rescue, but his doubt of what he had done had also washed away with the same tears that ran down her cheeks. He had made her happy, and in so many ways—though he still felt bewildered by what he had said—he shared in her joy.

  An hour had passed since that gratifying moment, and during that time, he and Lord Linton had passed the time in Richard’s office—despite the continuing party that rang in muted sounds through the walls and closed doorway—discussing the merits of marriage, had moved on to how the impending matrimony would benefit both when it came to business, and now returned to the discussion of the wedding itself. Although the topic was important, what Richard wanted to do was return to his guests. His father would have been irate if he were alive.

  “I imagine a grand affair,” Lord Linton said before taking a drink of his port. “It will be unlike any seen before.” He looked at the glass and gave an appreciative nod. “I say, this is the finest port I have ever drunk.”

  “I purchased it on one of my excursions in France,” Richard replied as he poured his future father-in-law another glass. “As to the wedding, perhaps I should go to your estate on Monday afternoon to discuss the finer details.”

  Lord Linton sniffed at the contents of the glass and smiled. “Yes, of course. I see no reason to discuss such things right now.” He took a hefty gulp of his drink and smacked his lips. “You are a lucky man. My Abigail has many men vying for her hand. Though it comes as no surprise that you won.”

  Luck was on Richard’s side, for Lord Linton stood—a bit unsteady on his feet—and said, “I look forward to conducting business with you in the future.”

  “As do I,” Richard replied, though he cared less for business than he had before. It seemed his entire life had shifted; Abigail and her continued happiness his main focus. What a strange predicament in which to find oneself. For the first time in his nineteen years of life, he felt tall and proud.

  The conversation lulled, and Richard used the moment to end the conversation. He stood and said, “Well, I really must get back to my guests, lest they believe I have abandoned my own party.” He added a jovial laugh to ease the tone of his words. In all reality, he should not have concerned himself with how this man saw him—Lord Linton was a baron and Richard a duke; therefore, the distinction was clear. However, the man was the father of the woman Richard loved, which put him in a different light from other men of his station.

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Linton said with a smile. “I really should not be taking up all of your time when you have others vying for your attention.”

  Richard laughed. “It is not every day a man speaks with the father of the man he means to marry.”

  “True, true,” the man replied. “And how fortunate for both of us, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Indeed,” Richard replied with a light chuckle. He could not have spoken truer words, for Richard was much more than fortunate.

  The sounds of laughter intensified when Richard opened the door to the hallway. He could not contain the smile that came to his lips when his eyes fell on Abigail, who stood with a group of women, her mother no doubt bragging about the exciting news her daughter had shared.

  Just as he stepped into the room, a hand grabbed his arm. Turning, he looked down at his mother, and she did not appear happy.

  “Is it true?” she demanded once they reached a far corner where a large fern gave them some privacy. “Have you asked for Abigail Linton’s hand in marriage?” Oh, she was not happy, not one bit.

  “Yes, Mother,” he said, forcing courage into his words. “I thought it best to marry her, and she accepted. We have known each other for many years, and we get on well.”

  His mother sniffed. “I thought you would have married higher,” she said. “A woman such as Lady Louise would have been more appropriate; at least she is not the daughter of a baron.”

  He went to speak, but she raised her hand to silence him.

  “You are a duke, and your choices are your own, I suppose,” she said, though she did not appear to agree with what she was saying. And the words that followed only punctuated her expression. “However, I must say that I am disappointed with your decision. And I am also displeased that you did not inform me of your intentions earlier. To think of how foolish I appeared to Lady Rotterdam….”

  Richard nodded, though the tall pride he held earlier diminished as sadness crept over him. He had never been able to please his mother—unless, of course, he followed through with any suggestion that originated with her. It would be a lie to say she was never happy with him, but he came to realize that her happiness with him was tied to him doing her bidding, more so since the passing of his father. She had mourned for much longer than the expected year, and he did not like to see her sad.


  “I am sorry, Mother,” he said. “It was not my intention to exclude you. I seek your forgiveness.”

  The woman shook her head as though hearing the news of the passing of a dear friend. “Perhaps the woman will accept my aid in preparing for the wedding. It will give me the chance to bond with my new daughter-in-law.”

  Richard swallowed hard. He knew he should tell his mother no, for she could be overbearing with anyone who differed from her in opinion. Plus, he was the Duke. Did that not mean his word was final?

  Yet, rather than do what he knew would be best, he instead sighed, all sense of courage gone. “Yes, I believe she would like that.” He cringed at his own words.

  “Excellent,” his mother replied with a firm nod. “Now, come. We have many people with whom we must speak. The guests are already whispering amongst themselves concerning this rumor. Perhaps you should address them?” Although she phrased it as a question, he knew its intention: it was a command.

  “A very good idea, Mother,” he said, hiding his reluctance.

  He spoke to a footman, who went to the musicians. Once the music stopped, the guests grew quiet, and Richard cleared his throat. “Dearest guests,” he said in a loud voice, “if I might tear you away from the festivities, I would like to make an announcement.”

  The room filled with murmurs, which he had expected. What he wanted to do was blurt it out in one go, but he was a duke; therefore, certain expectations were made of him. A duke did not simply blurt out to a listening crowd. He announced.

  His eyes fell on Abigail, whose mouth hung open, clearly full of joy. This increased his courage, and when he continued, his voice was stronger. “For many years, I have been friends with Lord Linton and his family.” The Baron beamed, as did his wife. “It is through that friendship that I had the honor of becoming acquainted with their daughter, Miss Abigail Linton.” Appreciative nods made their rounds throughout the room. “Therefore, it is my greatest pleasure to announce that I have asked Miss Linton for her hand in marriage, and she has graciously accepted!” He took a glass from a nearby footman and raised it in the air. “Let us now say that this gathering is now in celebration of our engagement!”