Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2

by Catherine Mayfair

  The room erupted with “Here, here!” and “To the Duke and his intended bride!” and “Amen!” as the guests lifted their glasses to toast the wonderful news. Within moments, Richard found himself surrounded by a mass of people congratulating him. He could not stop smiling, he was so pleased.

  He hoped he had not startled Abigail by drawing so much focus on her; he knew how much she despised being the focus of attention. However, when he looked to where she stood, also surrounded by well-wishers, her tears of happiness told him he had done well, and he could not have been prouder.

  Chapter Five

  Richard had put Abigail in the direst of circumstances. She had spent the last two days fretting over what had happened at the party, insomuch that her stomach ached and her heart hurt. No opportunity presented itself for her to tell him her true reaction to his proposal, for everyone vied for both their attention, so she had left without speaking to him of the travesty he had inflicted upon her. She did not love Richard beyond that bond friends shared, and knowing this was the only thing that propelled her forward. In that time since the party, she had devised a plan to get her out of the horrid situation in which she found herself.

  The idea was simple. Just because one became engaged did not mean the wedding would be scheduled in the near future. In fact, she would ask for it to be delayed for some time, at least until she conceived a way out of the marriage altogether. The more she thought on it, the less complex the situation became.

  “Sit up straight,” her mother commanded, breaking Abigail from her thoughts. “You do not want the Duke to think you a slouch.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Abigail replied, though how she could possibly be slouching in any way with how tightly her mother had tied her corset, Abigail did not know. In fact, it was so tight, she thought she might faint from lack of air. What Abigail really wanted to do was return to her room and lie in bed for the remainder of the day. Yes, hiding out until everyone gave up on a wedding was another good plan.

  A commotion in the foyer made Abigail look toward the door. Richard must have arrived.

  Her mother reached over and smoothed a wrinkle from Abigail’s white dress. She gave the woman an exasperated look, which went unnoticed, of course.

  “You have made us proud,” her mother said. “Now, remember to speak only when spoken to.”

  Abigail went to respond, but the door opened, and her father and Richard entered the room. When she saw Richard, she had to admit he did look handsome in his dark-blue coat. A white cravat was tied perfectly at his neck, and his beige breeches did nothing to hide the muscular legs beneath. Immaculate hair finished the look.

  Her mother stood, and after giving Abigail a pointed look, Abigail stood as well. Both gave him a curtsy, to which he returned with a bow.

  “We are honored to have you in our home,” her father said. He walked over to a heavy wooden chair carved with intricate designs. “Please, take a seat. This chair was imported from France and is our most comfortable.”

  Abigail could have argued that point, for the chair had little cushioning, hard armrests, and a straight back. No one could lounge well in it, for she had tried. However, it was her father’s most prized possession; Richard was not the first guest to be offered the ‘seat of honor’.

  “Thank you,” Richard replied. He waited for Abigail and her mother to sit before he did, whisking his tails out of the way before doing so.

  The Richard Abigail remembered would have plunked himself down without hesitation—unless his mother was in the room. The thought made her giggle, and her mother gave her a glare that made her swallow the reaction.

  Richard looked around the parlor. “Lady Linton, your home remains as beautiful and majestic as I remember.”

  “Thank you,” her mother said with an acknowledging nod. “I must admit that I enjoy spending time in this room. Why, just yesterday, Abigail and I were discussing the importance of having the latest décor if one is to entertain guests.” They had not done so, in all reality, which made Abigail want to giggle once again.

  “Indeed,” Richard replied, though Abigail did not miss the amusement in his eyes.

  The room fell silent, and as if the fill the quietude, Abigail’s mother said, “I have already sent for tea, and Cook makes the best tarts.” As if summoned, a footman entered with a large tray laden with a silver tea set, several cups, and an array of tarts. Her mother was right; Cook did bake the best tarts Abigail had ever eaten.

  Once everyone had their tea, Abigail’s father said, “Well, I imagine we have much to discuss, do we not?”

  “Indeed,” Richard replied with a smile. “I am sure Abigail is ready to discuss the wedding, or more specifically, the planning of the occasion.”

  Before Abigail could respond, her mother spoke. “What my daughter wishes is to have what you desire and nothing more. We would be interested in knowing what you expect.”

  Abigail had to stop herself from glaring at her mother. What she wanted to do was to stand up and shout, ‘I do not want to marry this man!’, yet she did not. Instead, she sat glumly drinking her tea and saying nothing.

  “As it is, my mother wishes to be of some assistance to the planning,” Richard said.

  Abigail nearly groaned. The Dowager Duchess was as intrusive as her own mother, and the thought of spending time with the woman brought on a sense of dread.

  Her mother, however, did not have the same qualms. “I would love to plan alongside your mother,” she said excitedly. “As a matter of fact, I have already conceived several ideas…”

  As her mother went off on her tangent, Abigail could not keep her mind from drifting. Even her wedding day was being planned without a single inquiry for what she wanted, much like her entire life, and she wanted to stand and call off the madness. When would she be allowed her own life, to make her own choices? Was she nothing more than a well-dressed servant? Her parents made every decision for her, and now that she was to be married, would it be Richard who would then take over that task? It was not that Richard had ever been overbearing…

  Ha! That was untrue. Had he not announced their marriage before even asking her? No, marriage to him would be no different than her life with her parents, and just the thought of such constraints made her tremble and fight back tears.

  Then her mother said something that made her come back to the conversation at hand. “…look forward to the grandchildren. Though I only have one child, I do hope you and Abigail have many.”

  Shock coursed through Abigail, and her gaze went to Richard, whose grin made her jump. Was the man thinking he would have his way with her? Then she almost laughed. Of course he would if they were married. She would become an object for his lust and pleasure and nothing more, and that scared her that much more.

  She had to take a stand, to tell them what was on her mind. They could not do this to her! With a burst of courage, she stood, the napkin on her lap falling to the floor. Then she simply stood there, saying nothing.

  “Abigail,” her mother said with a look of disapproval as the men jumped to their feet in response.

  “I…”

  “Sit down,” her mother commanded with a hiss.

  “But, Mother, I…” Abigail swallowed. “I would like to show Richard some of the new flowers the gardener planted. I believe they will be perfect for the wedding.” She groaned inwardly. Why could she not say what was on her mind?

  “Surely not now?” her father asked, startlement clear in his tone.

  She tapped two fingers on her skirts as she looked at Richard.

  “I would love nothing more,” he said as he set his teacup on the table. “In fact, as one who has not seen your gardens in some time, a full tour would be in order.”

  Her parents gave them a bewildered look.

  “Is my request not accepted?” Richard asked.

  “Why, of course,” her mother replied. “She will need her hat and a wrap of some sort.” She pulled the bell chord, and when a maid entered, she said
, “Becky, please bring Miss Linton her garden hat and her blue wrap. That will go nicely with her dress.”

  The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and left the room, returning only moments later with a wide-brimmed hat and the wrap Abigail’s mother had requested.

  Once Abigail was outside, her lungs seemed to open, allowing her to breathe once again, though the corset still restricted what air she could take in. Despite the uncomfortable feeling of being alone with Richard after all that had happened, she was glad to be away from her parents and their excessive planning. She would use this as her first opportunity to delay the wedding, and if she was lucky, she would continue to do so, delaying the event for months, if necessary.

  Plus, it also would give her the opportunity to give the man a piece of her mind.

  ***

  The rays of the sun helped warm the coolness of Abigail’s cheeks as she and her future husband stepped onto the garden path. The thought of him as her husband increased the worry and fear that had threatened to overwhelm her inside. At least her parents had not insisted on accompanying them, a miracle for which Abigail was grateful.

  “Which flowers did you have in mind for the wedding?” Richard asked, his hand now on hers.

  Abigail glanced about, assuring herself that no one would overhear.

  Richard stopped them, and he gazed down at her with a look of affection that seemed strange on his face. “I sense your frustration, but do not worry; I care not which flowers you choose.”

  “No, Richard,” she said with exasperation. “It is not about the flowers.”

  He gave her a confused look. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Then why have we come outside?” He had such a look of innocence in his eyes, the same look she remembered from their youth, and though it warmed her heart to see it had not left him, it did not take away the facts needing to be discussed.

  “This wedding. Why did you say such a thing at the party? Could you have not simply told them we were to court?”

  “Oh,” he said simply. “I take it you are not happy with this arrangement.”

  “Not happy?” she said incredulously. “I’m terrified. I did not want to marry you.”

  His face took a stoic expression. “I must have misunderstood. Are you saying you care for Lord Rumsfeld?”

  Abigail shook her head in frustration. “No, I do not care for him. I want to marry the man with whom I fall in love. Who that man is, I do not know quite yet, but it most certainly is not you.”

  For a brief moment, she saw a flicker of pain behind his eyes, and she almost took a step back. No, her words could not have hurt him, for they were friends and nothing more. She was seeing something that was not there. What did she expect when she was still reeling from all that had happened? That had to be the only explanation.

  “I understand,” he said, yet his jaw tightened. “You asked for rescue, and I did as you wished. Now it is not adequate enough for you?”

  This time Abigail did take a small step back. What was wrong with this man? “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. Did he care for her in that way? That was something she had never considered, for he had never indicated in any way that he had feelings for her that went beyond friendship. “I have a great affection for you, but as my friend, a dear friend, just as I always have. I did not believe you thought more of this wedding than as a means to help me escape the clutches of Lord Rumsfeld.”

  He snorted. “Believe me, I did not,” he said, puffing out his chest. “In fact, I thought it was a chore.”

  Abigail knew the man was lying, but she had learned long ago that, when he acted as he did now, it would do no good to argue with him. “Come,” she said quietly. “Escort me through the gardens.”

  He gave her a stiff nod and offered her his arm once again. She placed a gloved hand through his arm, and they continued down the path.

  “Perhaps we could delay the wedding,” she offered. “Next summer may be suitable.”

  They came to a small bend where the path led to a set of benches.

  “What will we do when that time comes?” he demanded. “Delay it once again? Do you plan to continue this charade until we are as old as the trees?”

  Had he the audacity to make demands of her? This was his doing! It was he who decided to rescue her from the frying pan and throw her into the fire!

  “I do not know!” she said, frustration and sadness coating her words. “All I know is that I am engaged with two mothers wanting to plan everything for me, and like the rest of my life, I have no say!” She had not meant to shout at him, but she could not contain her emotions any longer. Once again, she felt the need to run to her room and lock the door behind her so no one could bother her.

  She wiped tears from her face. “I’m sorry for speaking to you in such a manner,” she said, shaking her head as she studied the ground between them. It was so unlike her to be so disagreeable, and she did not like this new person she had suddenly become.

  At first, no reply came, and she wondered if she had gone too far. However, he sighed and said, “There are more important things than mannerisms about which to worry at this moment. You have every right to be angry, so let us discuss how to fix this problem.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I admit I am frustrated. With my parents, undoubtedly, but more with myself. You are right; I should have been honest from the beginning. I should have spoken plainly and told my parents I did not care for Lord Rumsfeld.”

  He chuckled. “I must admit, I struggle with speaking to my mother, as well.”

  She looked up at him, wondering if he was somehow mocking her. How was it a duke could not stand up for himself? Granted, when he was younger, he was the ever-obedient son, but he was a man now. One would believe he had outgrown such behavior, especially if that person was a man. However, his face showed no indication of mocking.

  “You look at me as though I lie.”

  She shook her head. “It is not that,” she said, trying to find the best way to express what she was feeling. “I assumed that since you became a duke…”

  “That I had somehow found strength I had not before possessed?” he asked with a sad smile. “That I can suddenly stand up to my overbearing mother?” He laughed and then extended his hand toward one of the benches. “Let me tell you a story.”

  Abigail took a seat, and Richard sat beside her.

  “I thought that, by inheriting my title, I would somehow gain courage, that it somehow simply came with the station and I would magically be granted strength to speak my mind and act on my own. The truth is I feel more lost now than I ever did before.”

  “I would never have thought such a thing,” she said in a low voice.

  “It is true. Though I have never told another soul, I know I can share the truth with you.”

  This made her smile, and she reached out and patted his hand, which seemed to encourage him to continue.

  “If I were not to marry you, I would be forced to marry Lady Louise, or some other woman for whom I care not.” He looked at her and took her hand in his. “I will not lie; I do care for you.”

  Abigail was at a loss for words, and all she could do was nod. He cared for her? When had that happened? They had not seen one another for close to a year, and they had not spent significant time together for even longer. None of it made sense.

  He straightened his back and pursed his lips for a moment and then said, “Here is what I propose. A business arrangement of sorts.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, curious of this plan of his.

  “I believe there are only two choices. The first is to call off the wedding, allowing both of us to go our separate ways. However, I fear we know what will happen if we do such a thing.”

  It did not need to be spoken for Abigail to understand the outcome of such a decision.

  “The second is we could marry. Perhaps we could view the arrangement not so much as a marriage but as two friends working together. Call it a marriage of convenience, where t
he convenience is for each other. Surely you still have dreams you want to pursue?”

  “I do,” Abigail said, warming to the idea. “I often wanted to paint, but Mother never allowed it. She said it was a messy business and did nothing to improve my standing in society.”

  “Then you shall paint,” Richard said. “I know the perfect room you can dedicate to such a pastime. Whatever you want, it will be yours.”

  Abigail considered this option. It did seem a sound idea, much better than marrying Lord Rumsfeld, who she imagined would never have allowed her to paint any more than her mother had. “That is kind of you,” she said after some thought. “Thank you.”

  “All I ask in return is that you attend functions with me as my ever-loving wife. I need to at least give the illusion that we are happy, or that is, in love.”

  With a nod, Abigail thought about her future. The options were few but simple, and her plan of delaying the wedding until the following year would only slow the inevitable. Perhaps the marriage would not be as horrible as she first thought. Plus, the manner in which Richard spoke of making her happy made her realize a much worse fate awaited her if she declined his proposal.”

  “Very well,” she said finally. “I agree to those terms.” She put her hand out, and he shook it as he would have any man, a wide grin on his face. “Now, what about the wedding?”

  “The idea of a honeymoon to escape intrigues me. I suspect our mothers will suffocate you with the planning details, do you agree?”

  Abigail laughed. “I agree,” she replied.

  “That means having the ceremony sooner would be best. If we allow them too much time, they will turn the occasion into the social event of the century.”

  This made her laugh. “Once again, I agree.”

  “Then I will return home at once,” he said, standing and offering his arm once again. “I will send word to the Vicar that in a fortnight we are to be wed. A small ceremony for family only, and maybe a few close friends. Is that acceptable?”