“Yes,” she said wholeheartedly. Then she paused and frowned. “Richard, earlier, my words about not loving you…”
“Say no more,” he said before she could finish the sentence. “No need to speak further on the subject. We are now business partners. Surely love and business have no place together, agreed?”
She sighed with relief. “Agreed.”
He smiled at her, and then they began to walk back to the house. Although she was to marry, she no longer had any fears. In fact, the way he spoke of their marriage and their life to come made it sound better than she could have ever expected.
Chapter Six
With Richard at her side and confidence in her step, Abigail entered the parlor. Her mother stood at once, and her father brushed at his suit.
“I assume you chose the flowers for the wedding?” her mother asked. “Do they meet your approval?”
“They exceed my expectations,” Richard said, earning a smile from Abigail’s mother. “There is one matter of which I believe you should be aware concerning the wedding, however.”
“If it is about the flowers,” her father said, “you may take as many as you wish. I’m sure the gardeners will see we have enough in time for the ceremony. All you need to do is tell me which you will be using, and I will see they receive extra attention until they are ready to be harvested.”
“Franklin,” her mother said in a low voice,” I do not believe we should get carried away. Those are my prized possessions.”
“My dear,” her father replied, “I realize…”
Abigail could not hear the rest of the exchange as they had turned away from her and Richard, but she was accustomed to her mother whispering about her even while in her presence.
Richard cleared his throat to gain the attention of her parents. “If I may finish,” he said. Her parents stopped talking and turned to listen. Richard’s hands trembled, and Abigail realized how nervous he was interrupting their conversation. “The wedding will take place in just over two weeks’ time. We have decided that only our closest friends and family will be present to witness this momentous occasion.”
The room went so quiet that a nearby fly buzzing in the window was all that could be heard. Abigail’s mother stood with her jaw hanging open, and her father’s eyes were as big as saucers. Abigail wondered if they could hear her heartbeat in the silence.
“I’m sorry,” her mother finally said when she realized she had been gaping. “I do not mean to challenge your request, but I must ask a question if I might.”
Richard nodded. “You may.”
“As it is, I fear we would need at least a month to be prepared for such an event. There is family who must travel a great distance—my beloved Aunt Cecilia, a woman who has lived as long as she has only to be present on a day such as this—why, by the time word reaches her, the wedding will have taken place!” Then, to Abigail’s shock, the woman began to weep. Was this outburst due to the emotional situation now before her, or was it a new ploy to get her way? With her mother, it could be either.
Her father rushed over to console her mother, and Abigail could do nothing but stand and stare at the pair of them.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said with a sniffle. “It is just that I have waited so long for my only daughter to marry…”
Richard glanced at Abigail. “Will a month be better?” he asked her. “Surely that is not too much to ask.”
Abigail sighed and then nodded.
“Oh, yes,” her mother replied as her father helped her sit. “Your kindness has warmed this woman’s heart, for it grew cold with fear that my dear aunt would not be able to attend.”
“I’m sorry,” Richard whispered to Abigail. “I have failed already.”
Though frustrated, Abigail could not bring herself to find him guilty, for she knew all too well how difficult dealing with this woman could be. “No, you have done no wrong. You should leave before she convinces you to invite the entirety of the ton.”
As if on cue, her mother stood again, her hands clasped in front of her in a demure stance that appeared odd on her. “There are several friends who have known Abigail since she was but a child in my arms. I beg of you, allow them to attend.”
“Beatrice!” her father said.
Abigail groaned.
“What is the meaning of this?” her father demanded. “We will not dictate who attends his wedding, no matter what shame it might bring us both.”
It was worse than Abigail had expected. Embarrassment coursed through her and she wanted to drop her head into her hands and cry.
“Of course,” Richard said, though his voice sounded frantic. “Invite your closest friends. I am sure that will be all right.” He glanced at Abigail and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I must go. Perhaps Friday you may come over for dinner and we can discuss this further? I have an appointment I must keep.”
“Oh, we would love to,” Abigail’s father said. Her mother nodded her head, the tears now magically gone from her eyes.
Abigail went to study her mother for a moment with suspicion, but Richard whisked her away to see him to the front door. His carriage was already waiting by the time he received his coat and hat from the butler.
She glanced down the hallway from where they had just come. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I do not know what comes over them.”
“Greed,” Richard replied. “Greed in getting their way. It is also the inability to allow their child to speak for herself. We shall marry soon enough and start a life together in peace. At least we can agree we both welcome a life with no intrusion from others, including our parents.”
Abigail smiled and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Your reward for rescuing me once again. Thank you.”
His cheeks reddened, and with a smile, he turned and headed to the carriage. Soon, he was riding away from the house, disappearing from sight.
Abigail had a month until she had total freedom, and then she would begin a new life. Though she did not love Richard, at least they got on well. Something her parents appeared to not have at the moment, for she could hear their raised voices from the foyer as she closed the door behind her with a sigh.
***
In no uncertain terms, Abigail had been told that she and her mother would travel to Winchester to place the order for her wedding gown. However, they had been in town for over an hour and were no closer to entering the dressmaker’s shop than when they first arrived. As it was, her mother took every chance to stop each person she knew, whether that person was friend or acquaintance, to inform them of the joyous occasion of her daughter’s upcoming nuptials.
“My day is now brighter,” her mother whispered as they came within shouting distance of their destination. “Lady Chadstone herself.”
Abigail watched as the aforementioned woman strolled toward them, her black dress soaking in the darkness around her. A widowed woman, Lady Chadstone controlled a vast fortune left to her by her late husband, the Marquess of Leavinghill, and his heir was still several years from being of an age to take control of his inheritance. Her husband had been twenty years her elder, and after six daughters and several miscarriages, they had finally had a son. Now, she was much older, and a widow, and yet she still had to wait for her son to grow old enough to take the reins of the title. It was all a very strange set of circumstances and explained the sour look the woman wore.
“Lady Chadstone,” her mother said with a nod, “have you heard our good news? My Abigail is to be wed.”
The woman offered a smile that was as dark as her dress. “Is that so?” she asked in a disdainful tone. “To Lord Rumsfeld, I presume?”
“Oh, no,” Abigail’s mother said with a wide smile. “She is to marry His Grace, Richard Seton, Duke of Rellingstone.”
The Marchioness raised her eyebrows as she looked at Abigail. “Is this true?”
“Yes,” Abigail replied, frustrated that her voice was barely above a whisper. However, this was her moment; she should emb
race it. “We are to marry…”
“Next month,” her mother interrupted. “The grandest and most private of affairs. Of course, the Duke only wants the highest members of the ton attending the ceremony.”
Abigail hid her clenched fists in her skirts. The tone her mother took with this woman was rude enough to have matched that of the Queen herself, and Abigail could not help but become suspicious. What game was she playing at now?
“That is wonderful news,” the Marchioness replied, though her smile did not meet her eyes. “I expected no less from your daughter.” She gave Abigail a pleasant nod that, for the first time since they had encountered the woman, seemed genuine. “A few of the ladies are coming by for tea on Saturday at noon. Perhaps you would like to join us.”
Abigail’s mother seemed to consider the invitation for a moment. Then she replied, “Well, though I am rather busy with the arrangements, I believe I can make room in my schedule to have tea. You know, the Duke has given me permission to extend an invitation to a few of my closest friends, and because you are so kind, I shall see you are one of those who will receive an invitation to the wedding.
Abigail grit her teeth. Her mother had no right to ignore the wishes of both her and Richard!
“I look forward to it,” Lady Chadstone replied.
The two women made polite conversation and soon parted ways. As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Abigail said, “Mother, did you not hear Richard’s wishes yesterday? This is to be a small affair.”
Her mother smiled and stopped in front of the door of the dress shop. “Abigail, my dear, he instructed me to invite my closest friends.”
“And yet, Lady Chadstone is not a friend,” Abigail said, trying to keep her voice even. “In fact, you have told me numerous times how you do not like her.”
Her mother sniffed. “I did, but that was before I was invited to her gathering on Saturday. Do you realize how long I have been waiting to join her group of friends?”
Abigail did not respond, and her mother gave no answer before opening the door and ushering Abigail inside. The owner, a Mrs. Goodfellow by name, greeted them with her usual pleasantries.
“Lady Linton,” the woman said, “Miss Linton. And what brings you here today?”
“My daughter is soon to be a duchess,” her mother replied. “Only the finest dress will do.”
“A duchess?” the dressmaker said, clearly impressed. “Why, Miss Linton, how exciting for you! And when will this happy occasion take place?”
“I will explain everything,” Abigail’s mother said before Abigail could reply. “But first, might we have some tea?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Goodfellow said. She snapped her fingers at one of her helpers. “Dorcas, please see that Lady Linton and her daughter have tea.”
The girl bobbed a quick curtsy. “Right away, Mrs. Goodfellow.”
Abigail looked around the shop. Seven women or so were in various stages of ordering dresses, some looking through the large books that held plates depicting the dresses and gowns Mrs. Goodfellow offered, some either entering or leaving a curtained room where measurements were taken. However, all wore wide smiles and had joy on their faces.
Abigail, however, could not bring herself to smile. As her mother explained to yet another woman the exciting news, Abigail walked over to the window and peered out, watching as people hurried about their business. Her thoughts drifted to Richard. She wondered what he was doing and if his mother was being as overbearing as hers was at this moment.
Chapter Seven
Richard drank the last of his tea. The clink it made when it touched it saucer on the table brought to mind a time when he was but eight years of age. His mother had invited a variety of guests—all of them important, of course. The clear skies and bright sunshine called to him, but he had wanted to please his mother, so rather than demand he be allowed to go out and play, he donned his best coat and sat quietly listening to the adult conversation around him, leaving him in an utter state of boredom. Which was why he had been careless with his teacup.
All eyes had turned to him, his mother’s glaring, and the woman proceeded to admonish him about having proper manners.
“We do not clink our teacups when we return them to their saucers,” she had said in her sharp tone. “We gently place the cup so as not to make any noise that will interrupt the discussion around us.”
The small impropriety had left him full of shame, and though now he knew it was not true, at the time he suspected that everyone had stared at him with critical eyes. Later that night, his mother had come to him as he lay his bed.
“You hurt me very deeply with your actions today, Richard,” she had said as she pulled the blanket up to his chin. “I had assumed you were ready for important gatherings, but apparently you are not. You really must try harder, for one day, you will be the Duke of Browning, and everyone will look to you on how to conduct themselves. And being noisy is not how we conduct ourselves. It will be some time before I invite you to one of my teas. Practice, and when I believe you to be ready, I will allow you to attend such functions.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said. “I promise to be better next time.”
His mother sniffed, amused. “We’ll see about that,” she replied. “Now, go to sleep. You have your studies tomorrow.”
After she had left his room—without kissing his forehead as she would normally do—he had cried silently, knowing that if she heard him, she would only admonish him again for acting like a child.
That had been just one of many ways in which he had disappointed his mother, and though he was no longer a child, such memories still pained him, as did his propensity to hurt her by doing acts that displeased her. Such as when he told her the previous night of his plans to marry Abigail; once again he had caused her pain.
“You are doing what?” she had asked with hand to breast. “How could you so such a thing, Richard! I do not approve, I tell you. And I had thought you a duke! Perhaps you are not the capable man I thought you to be.” Then she had stormed off with the excuse of a pain in her head, turning before leaving the parlor and saying, “My heartbreak is beyond measure, son. I doubt I will recover.”
He had expected her to avoid him the following day, as was typical when she was displeased with him. This morning, however, she had kept to her usual custom of joining him for a late breakfast, though she did not speak to him during the entire meal, and he did nothing to gain her attention beyond a welcoming nod before she had left the room upon finishing her meal.
What had seemed a brilliant plan to help Abigail had turned into a fiasco. Neither parents were happy, and it was becoming abundantly apparent that maybe it was starting to slip out of control. Yet, he was the Duke, a man, and no longer a boy, was he not? He could think the words; however, he found he could not believe them, neither that he was the Duke nor that he was a man. His father had taken little time with him during his younger years, always declaring that he would live to a ripe old age. Therefore, Richard had received little training beyond the strict social lessons he received from his mother. The only man who had seen to Richard’s training was their old butler, Yeats, a man who would lend an ear from time to time. Now, however, Yeats had grown even older, his hearing so poor he shouted when he spoke.
It was during these recollections that Yeats entered the room and gave Richard one of his stiff bows. “Your Grace,” he said, his eyes obscured by the untamed bushes that made up his eyebrows, “your mother wishes to say goodbye before she leaves.”
Richard shook his head as he rose from the chair. “Goodbye?” he asked. What was his mother up to this time? “Where is she going?”
“I do not know, Your Grace,” Yeats shouted. “All I know is she asked me if I knew of any cottages in Scotland where she could live. She spoke of working on a farm to support herself.”
Richard sighed and hurried past his butler toward the front door. His mother was there, dressed all in black, including the large hat on her he
ad and the gloves on her hands. Even the flowers she had added to the hat had been painted black!
“Mother?” he said as he approached. He glanced at the two bags beside the door. “What are you doing?”
His mother pursed her lips and jutted her chin. “I have finally realized that my son no longer needs me,” she said in that haughty tone she was wont to use when she had not gotten her way. “I have made a fool of myself one too many times. Therefore, I shall leave you and your bride-to-be in peace.”
“What has brought this on?” he asked, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was significantly shorter than he, and he knew she would not be happy to be forced to bend her neck to look up at him. “You have not acted foolishly.”
“But I have,” she replied, taking a step back from him so he would drop his hands. “I told many of my friends of your wedding.” She took on a wistful look. “What plans I had for it!” The wistful look disappeared and the pinched features returned. “Now, they will laugh at me as my son has a secret wedding in which I will have no input.”
As she looked down at the floor and dabbed at her eyes—he had not seen even a hint of tears, but perhaps he had missed them—he felt a twinge of sadness come over him. Though he knew her actions to be a ploy, he could not help but do whatever he could to placate her. “Mother, it is not a secret wedding,” he assured her. “I did not know how important the planning of my wedding was to you.”
She looked up at him. “It has been my dream since the day you were born,” she said. “I had no daughter on whom I could place my hopes, so I was forced to look to my only son to fulfill that dream.”
“Your dream?” he asked, though it was said with a bit of dryness he had not intended.
His mother did not seem to notice. “Of course,” she said, walking to the window and staring outside. “To be a part of readying my child for the day of his wedding. To cut the flowers, arrange the decorations. To finally have the daughter I never had.” When she looked back at him, her eyes were indeed rimmed with tears. “But, alas, that dream will never be realized.” She ended with a heavy sigh.
Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2 Page 5