His guilt increased as each item was ticked as if on a list. “No,” he said quietly. “When Abigail comes to call on Saturday, I will tell her that you are to help in the planning of the grandest of weddings.”
His mother gave him a weak smile. “You are too kind, my son,” she said. “I will do that and then leave the day of the wedding.”
“What is this leaving of which you speak?” he asked. “Yeats said you mentioned working on a farm? Why speak such nonsense?”
His mother sniffled. “It is not nonsense. You will not want your mother here once you are wed. It would be best if I left immediately as to not upset you and your new bride.”
He gave her his warmest smile, the smile that always seemed to calm her when she was in one of her moods. “You do not upset me.”
It worked instantly. “You mean to say that I can stay with you and Abigail?” she asked, hopeful.
Richard drew in a quick breath. “Well, I mean you are always welcome to come and stay, of course.”
“Then I will remain!” she said as she gave him an exuberant embrace. “I knew my son would never hurt his mother. I have raised a boy who is kind and considerate of others’ feelings.”
With her words, the last bit of hope melted away as control slipped from his hands.
“Mother, I…” The words fell flat.
“Yes?” she asked as she pulled a glove from her hand. Then she stopped and gave him an incredulous look. “You do not wish for me to remain? To help raise your children?”
“It is not that,” he said, but when he saw the pain in her eyes, he could not bear it any longer. “It would be an honor to have you remain.” Once the words left his lips, he felt pulled in two directions at once. His mother was once again mollified, but now he had to figure out how to appease Abigail, for she would be quite unhappy with what had transpired. Maybe she would see reason when he explained.
The thought made him want to laugh. Perhaps he needed to clarify the situation with his mother first.
“At some point you will have to take up your own residence,” he said with a smile. “Not a farm, of course, but a lovely home befitting a woman of your status.”
His mother laughed. “Of course,” she replied as she removed her hat and handed it to Yeats. “In due time, once the grandchildren have grown. Now, I will have my belongings returned to my room. I’m going into town.” She grabbed her hat and gloves back from Yeats. “There are invitations to be written.”
Richard groaned inside. He had to right this wrong! “Mother!” he blurted out as his mother walked through the front door of the house. “I told Abigail and Lady Linton that the ceremony would be small. Just a few friends and close relatives.”
His mother gave him a knowing smile and patted his cheek. “My son, only a select few will bear witness to this ceremony.”
With a relieved sigh, he nodded as he walked with her to the waiting carriage. He helped her inside and watched as it made its way down the drive. When he returned inside, Yeats stood at the ready beside the door.
Richard stopped and looked at the old butler. “I find myself struggling to say what is on my heart,” he said. “Have you ever suffered from this type of problem?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Yeats replied. “My heart struggles whenever I must take the stairs. You should have the doctor call in if it’s happening at your age.”
With a smile, Richard shook his head. There was no sense in repeating what he had said; the old butler would only be embarrassed by his mistake. He made his way to his office, thinking on what Yeats had said. By the time he opened the door, he was laughing. Perhaps if he was as hard of hearing as the old man, his problems would be solved.
Walking to the window, he glanced out at the gardens where his upcoming wedding would take place. He hoped Abigail would understand his mother staying with them, but deep down, he was knew she would not.
Chapter Eight
The days passed, and Abigail was at her wit’s end. Her most beloved female friend, Florentia, had married the previous year and was now with child, making the long journey from Kent out of the question. That meant that Abigail’s parents spent the majority of their time making plans for her wedding, and they did so as if she was not in their presence. It soon became apparent that all the ton would be in attendance, for her mother continued to invite every person she encountered whenever she went to town. Most were not outright invited, of course, but much as with Lady Chadstone, barter took place. Invitations to the most lavish of parties, bits of gossip, and other promises were exchanged for the promise of wine and food fit for the King himself at what was to become the grandest of weddings in years.
Letting out a sigh, Abigail attempted to ignore the argument her parents were currently having as they traveled to Helmsford Castle, where they had been invited for dinner with Richard and his mother. She gazed out the carriage window, but her parents’ bickering still came to her ears.
“The Dowager Duchess will not be pleased with our tardiness, Franklin,” her mother sniffed. “I hope you know you have caused embarrassment for us all!” Abigail’s father had returned home an hour later than expected, which meant they left all the later than planned. Abigail's mother did not like to be late to anything.
“The Dowager understands all too well the importance of business,” her father argued. “She was married to the Duke, after all.”
The sun had not yet set and would not for some time, and its rays bathed the passing forest. However, it was not the brightness of the sun to which she felt kinship at this moment, but rather the shadows in the thick underbrush of the woods. How she wished she could blend in with them, to disappear and perhaps be free to think clearly for once.
As her parents continued to argue, her mind drifted to Richard and their upcoming wedding and subsequent marriage. The ceremony now out of her hands, she focused on her life to follow. She would pursue her painting, allowing her anger and sadness to be reflected in her art. In return for allowing her such freedom, she would attend functions with Richard as his loving wife, the Duchess of Rellingstone. She had to admit that the title was appealing, one she never considered having. Furthermore, to be married to Richard, the boy with whom she threw rocks in the river, was not such a bad idea, was it? Deep down, she had wished he had outgrown his meekness and became the Duke he was meant to be. If that had been the case, then perhaps he could have put a stop to all the intrusion they had to endure. Instead, he was just as afraid of speaking out as she.
The carriage jostled, breaking Abigail from her thoughts. Ahead lay Helmsford Castle, a massive stone structure from medieval times with grand towers topped with battlements as well as a flag with the family crest fluttering in the breeze. Abigail had been to the castle on more than one occasion, but each time she accompanied her parents there, her awe never waned. She had never told anyone, but she had imagined living in such a place believing that it would never come to pass.
They rounded a circular garden with a large sculpture of a man long past gone, apparently a previous Duke of Rellingstone, and came to a stop in front of the door. Her parents became silent as the carriage door opened, and Abigail waited for her mother to alight first before she followed behind.
It had been some time since she had been to Helmsford Castle, and she was swept back to when she was but ten years of age and she and her parents had been invited for tea. She and Richard had been allowed to go off together and play, and Richard promptly began boasting of his new horse, which they rode to explore the property. As she thought on that day, she could not help but wonder why her parents had not insisted she remain inside with them, for if they had known that she had ridden with Richard—something of which neither of them knew to this day—they would have had fits. That was just one of the many secrets Richard and she shared, and she smiled at the memory.
“Abigail!” her mother hissed, looking over her shoulder.
Abigail looked up at the door where Richard stood, his smile as bright as the
sun above. She followed her parents up the steps that led to the front landing and lifted her skirts to give a perfect curtsy.
“I apologize for arriving late, Your Grace,” her mother said. “I assure you that Abigail has a respect for time. The fault lies elsewhere.”
“My guests have arrived safely,” Richard said. “That is all that matters.”
Abigail returned his smile as she walked past him and into the foyer. The butler stood proudly beside the door until they had all entered, closing it behind them. From what she remembered, Yeats had been with the family for many years, and he was always pleasant but had trouble with his hearing.
“Miss Abigail, is that you?” he asked as he took her wrap. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you.”
“I believe it has been close to four years,” Abigail replied with a warm smile.
He shook his head. “I’m not one to argue, but I don’t believe it’s been forty years. Maybe four, if I’m not mistaken.”
Abigail giggled. “Perhaps you are correct,” she said. When she looked at Richard, he gave her a wink and she leaned in and whispered, “He has not changed one bit.”
“No,” Richard replied. “In fact, his hearing has worsened. I cannot find it in my heart to retire him. Besides, I think he would refuse to do so if I asked it of him.”
When they entered the large dining room, Abigail’s smile faltered. Though the room was decorated to the best of standards with its long oak dining table laden with the finest china and beautiful flower arrangements, the sour look of the Dowager Duchess gave Abigail reason to pause.
“Mother,” Richard said as he led Abigail and her parents to the far end of the long table, “our guests have arrived. You remember Lord and Lady Seton, of course.”
His mother smiled, though it lacked warmth. “I do. It has been several years since we have shared a table together.”
For a moment, Abigail thought all was fine until the woman spoke again.
“I believe they were also tardy for the funeral of your late father if I remember correctly.”
Richard cleared his throat, and Abigail worried her heartbeat was loud enough to echo in the silence that followed.
“Please,” Richard said, giving his mother a pointed look, “let us speak only of happy things tonight.” He turned to Abigail and her parents. “Let’s take our seats.”
He directed everyone to their places, his mother on his right, Abigail on his left, and her parents across from one another, her mother beside Abigail. Footmen brought bottles of wine and filled the crystal glasses, and Abigail took the moment to offer Richard a smile, which he returned, though it was weak. When the wine had been served, Richard said, “It is not often old friends reunite, especially under such joyous circumstances. May this night be remembered in the years to come as one of happiness, friendship, and joy.”
Audible agreements came forth before everyone took a sip of the wine.
“Miss Linton,” the Dowager Duchess said, “I have begun procuring the decorations for the wedding. I put in an order with a wonderful friend of mine who has the best flowers to be found in the area.”
Abigail's mother shifted in her seat beside her, and Abigail groaned inwardly. They had not even begun the first course yet!
“You do not mind, do you?”
“No, Your Grace,” Abigail said, though it was a lie. “Your expertise is welcome.” She offered the woman a smile and was greeted by an exhale of relief from Richard.
“Excellent,” the older woman said. “I knew you would welcome an experienced eye. That is why Richard has invited me to remain here at Helmsford Castle; to help you raise the children.”
If the footmen had not entered at that exact moment with bowls of soup, Abigail was unsure what she would have said or done. Inside, however, she fumed. The Dowager Duchess living with them? Raising their children? She would have a word or two with Richard about this!
When she looked his way, however, he pretended to study the soup, allowing his mother to carry on with her plans for the wedding and their lives thereafter. It was not long before Abigail began to wonder if marrying Lord Rumsfeld would not have been the better choice after all.
***
The meal proceeded with no arguments, much to Abigail’s relief, though the parents spoke of the wedding as if it were their own, not once asking Abigail or Richard their thoughts on what was meant to be their wonderful day. It did not matter it was a farce—no one but the bride and groom knew it was so—but that did not mean Abigail did not have a small amount of annoyance boiling up inside her. Well, she supposed she should be glad the discussion was at least cordial; it could have been worse. Much worse.
Then it deteriorated.
“I do not understand why these two insist on keeping the guest list limited,” the Dowager Duchess said. “We have so many wonderful friends who should be in attendance, and they will be offended when they do not receive an invitation.”
Richard stood. “Why do we not retire to the parlor for some coffee—or another form of drink.”
Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, and as she rose, she raised and tapped her fingers, which Richard seemed to recognize immediately.
“Yeats will accompany you to the parlor,” he said. “I must speak to Abigail for a moment.”
The Dowager Duchess frowned, and Abigail thought the woman would argue. Instead, she followed Abigail’s parents from the room without comment.
Once they were gone, Abigail turned to Richard. “Let us speak outside,” she said. “I fear my voice may carry, and I do not think it wise to allow what I have to say be overheard by others.”
Richard nodded. “Very well, then. Shall we go to the garden?”
Abigail glanced at the door the parents had exited and shook her head. “No. The stables would be better; they are further away and less likely to bring either of our parents within earshot.”
Without another word, the two left the dining area and made their way to the front door, which Richard opened for Abigail. She walked out into the cool, welcoming night air, her surroundings lit by the full moon and the stars sparkling down upon them.
The pungent odors of hay and horses permeated the air long before they arrived at the stables, a large structure that could easily have been ten workers’ cottages sewn together.
“If this concerns my mother,” Richard said once they ascertained that no one had followed them, “I can explain.”
“It is not just her,” Abigail replied, wishing that all of this was over. “That is, no more than my own mother. We have let them all take control of the very thing we swore they would not.”
Richard gave a heavy sigh. “I failed once again,” he said. “I wish you knew how much it torments me with my continuous failings when it comes to my mother. Give me a business decision, and I will show you my strengths; however, bring my mother into the mix and watch me ignite like dried timber.”
The pain in his eyes made Abigail worry her lip. She had not meant to say the words to hurt him, but the words needed to be said. “You do not fail,” she said in an attempt to appease him. “You are a smart, caring…”
“Bumbling fool,” he finished for her. He picked up a strand of hay and began twisting it between his fingers. “I do not understand why I allow her to treat me as she does. I know deep down I must speak up for myself, yet for some reason I cannot explain, I find I cannot defend myself.”
Abigail reached out and grabbed his hand to give it a gentle squeeze, which he returned with a weak smile. “It is the burden you bear since the passing of your father,” she said. “You care for her as you should, though I believe she takes advantage of your caring heart.” He flinched, and Abigail worried she had said too much. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to speak ill of her.”
Richard released her hand and leaned against a post. “You are right in your words, of course. I have known this for some time.” For a few moments, he did not speak, his eyes darting around as if searching for somethi
ng. “I am a duke, a title that carries with it not only prestige, but power. Yet, I cannot execute it in the most intimate of relationships.” His lips pressed together for a moment. “I blame my father for this travesty.” He threw the now mangled straw to the ground.
Abigail placed a hand on his arm. “You speak as though you are a failure in all things. Again, I urge you to reconsider your words, for I do not believe them to be true.”
He laughed. It was a bitter sound that echoed against the stable doors. “Oh, you find me to be the Duke who is strong? Brave?” He shook his head in clear anger. “No. I do not believe that. I doubt I have met a more cowardly man than myself.”
She gave him a smile. “Do you recall the time we took your horse out without permission?” she asked. “The first time my family called? I believe we were maybe eight at the time?”
“I do.”
“The confidence you showed that day was not that of a coward. The manner in which you showed me the grounds was pleasant and friendly. How easily you could have brushed me off because I was a girl! When we returned to the house, your father admonished you for leaving without permission, yet I did not see you flinch! And you were but a child.”
He snorted. “That was because I did not want to appear weak in your presence,” he said as he turned toward her. “I must be honest, and I suppose it does not matter, but I do find courage when I am with you.”
Abigail smiled as her heart warmed. “I must admit that I find my own courage strengthened while in your company, as well.” It was as though her heart was being pulled by him, for an odd warming sensation moved through her as she gazed into his eyes. “Even as a child, I knew that one day you would become a strong duke, but regardless of the title, I thought you brave.”
“Me?” he said with a mocking laugh.
“Yes, you,” she replied in a firm tone. “That is why I taught you that signal, for I wanted it to be you who rescued me when the time came. I knew you would be the perfect man for the job.” Her cheeks burned when she realized what she had just admitted. Thankfully, he did not push the issue further. “And now we find ourselves in a situation from which we both need rescuing.”
Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2 Page 6