To make matters worse, her mother added, “You have done well in allowing the Duke’s eyes to fall upon you.”
Turning toward her mother, Abigail wanted to rebuke the woman. Yet, as she stood gaping, the words would not come. How it saddened her that, no matter what she told her mother, her words would not be accepted. Her mother cared nothing for the truth unless it fit her ideal. Otherwise, what she had to say would be left ignored. The truth was her mother believed in things material in nature. Fine dresses and gowns. The largest of jewels. The most expensive of perfumes. Never had the woman spoken of love, as if such emotion did not exist.
“Oh, but how could a man such as the Duke choose otherwise?” her mother continued without pause as she picked at Abigail’s hair without making any real changes to it. “To have a beautiful wife is a luxury for which any man in his position would do anything.”
Abigail felt her jaw clench. She might not love Richard, but she did respect him, and she would not allow anyone to speak of him in such a degrading manner. “He loves me,” she said, wondering where this sudden burst of bravado originated. “A beautiful word that has captured my heart.”
Her mother offered a smile and took Abigail’s hands in hers. “Today, you become a duchess. Your life, my life, is going to change. I will continue to be here for you, and unlike the Dowager, I will not interfere.”
Abigail stared at her mother, her previous bravado gone. “Thank you,” she whispered, though she believed her mother would not fulfill that promise. At that moment, Abigail wanted nothing more than to run away, to make her way to the ruins in which she and Richard had played as children, if only to be left alone. However, she did not run away, and the ruins remained empty as she said, “We should leave now, or the guests will think I have changed my mind.”
Her mother opened the door, and Abigail stepped past her into the hallway, her head feeling as if it held feathers and her thoughts jumbled, as if she was in the middle of a dream. The walls rippled around her, and it took every muscle in her body to not faint. They walked through Helmsford Castle, Abigail carrying a lovely bouquet of pink roses, their stems wrapped in pink ribbon, and she tightened her grip to keep her wits about her.
At the bottom of the stairs, Yeats waited to guide the way. He smiled at her and bowed deeply. “A beautiful Duchess as such the ton has never seen!” he said, and Abigail thought her ears would burst with how loudly he spoke. Even the guests would have heard his words, and they were not in the room!
“Thank you,” Abigail replied, though he did not seem to hear as he led her down a long hallway to the ballroom where she and Richard had suddenly found themselves engaged not a fortnight ago. Her father waited beside the closed doors, a wide smile on his face.
“You look lovely,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek. When he offered his arm, tears filled his eyes.
With a nod from Abigail’s father, Yeats pushed open the double doors, and Abigail walked through to see perhaps a dozen guests rising from their chairs and turn toward her, and at the far end of the ballroom stood Richard, proud and dapper in his dark-blue tailcoat, white lace showing at the cuffs and beneath his waistcoat and reaching up to his perfectly tied cravat.
She was standing beside Richard before she realized what had happened, even turning to look behind her as she tried to remember making the short trek from one end of the room to the other.
“You look beautiful,” Richard whispered, and she stared up at him, making every attempt to break through the fog that filled her vision. “I love you.”
The guilt inside her boiled over, and the fog broke as if the morning sun had pushed it away, the reality of what was taking place terrifying her beyond belief. Without warning, tears coursed down her face, and she could not have stopped them even if she had tried.
***
When Abigail walked through the doors of the ballroom, Richard thought his heart would burst. She looked so beautiful in the wedding gown, and he could not have been more pleased. The manner in which she glided down the long runner that had been placed between the chairs was nothing less than majestic; she was everything a duchess should be—graceful, beautiful, and wonderful. For so long, he had dreamed of this day; now, it was finally here, and he could barely contain himself.
As Lord Linton placed Abigail’s hand in Richard’s, Richard gazed down at the woman he had loved for most of his life. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “I love you.”
He wanted to weep as she was now, for that indicated that she was as happy as he. It was as though they had never drifted apart, their bond was that great. He would be her husband, friend, and confidante. Together, there was nothing they could not do nor any challenge that could best them. Their marriage would be the praise of the ton, not for titles or position but rather for their love for one another.
Time had escaped him as he soaked in her beauty, and when it was his turn to say the words that would bind them together forever, he spoke from his heart, and before he knew it, people were beside them offering words of praise and congratulations. He placed an arm around Abigail’s waist and found he could not stop the smile that crossed his lips. It was strange, but he wondered if it would ever disappear after today.
“Your tears warm my soul,” he said as he wiped the wetness from her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Now, we shall celebrate with our guests, for tomorrow, we leave for our honeymoon.”
It took several moments for Abigail to speak, and when she did, her voice was overwhelmed with emotion. “I would like that,” she whispered. Oh, how those words warmed his heart! He would do whatever he could to keep this happiness she emanated at this moment.
The newlywed couple led the procession of guests to the dining hall, where the table had been set and plates piled high with every sort of food sat in the middle of the table. Everyone took their places, and soon the room echoed with laughter as the guests ate and drank to their hearts’ content. In the corner, a four-piece quartet played soft music to complement the exuberant conversation.
He had allowed his mother the benefit of choosing the flowers, lilacs and daisies mixed with a lovely variety of green accents that were a welcoming touch. Even Lady Linton had helped in the overall planning, and he was pleased with how well the two women were getting along. They had kept their promise to be cordial, and he had not heard one word of complaint from his mother, which was a rarity in his experience.
If today was any indication, his marriage would be the best anyone had seen in a very long time, and his life held the promise of wondrous days ahead.
Chapter Eleven
The day had moved by so quickly, Abigail wondered if it had even taken place. However, with the set of rings on her finger and the smiling Duke at her side in the carriage, she had no doubt that it had. They had left nearly an hour earlier and would spend their first night as a married couple at an inn before arriving the following day in Brighten. There they would spend the next week at the seaside taking in the sun and allowing the stress over the past few weeks leave them.
Abigail was surprised at the few numbers of travelers they encountered on the road. At one point a young boy passed them, his body leaned over the horse’s neck as a jockey in a race indicating the urgency of his mission. Several farmers ambled along, their carts filled with anything from hay to crates of chickens, most moving off to the side to allow the carriages to pass, oftentimes giving awkward bows toward the fancier vehicles in a show of diffidence to those of the higher class.
Rolling hills with grassy fields dotted with patches of wildflowers and small copses of trees flew by and villages moved past at a slower pace as the driver changed speed to accommodate the heavier traffic where more people were congregated.
Pressure on her hand caused Abigail to pull it back before realizing it had come from Richard.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I only meant to hold your hand.” He wore a look of sadness, and Abigail offered him a smile.
“I must admit that I am not accus
tomed to having my hand held,” she said.
This caused his smile to return, and he reached out and took her hand in his. Surprisingly, she found comfort in his grip.
“I understand,” he said. “We have many things to which we both must become accustomed. It will take time.” When she gave him a polite smile, he turned toward her. “We both have a lot to learn about one another, such as our likes and dislikes.”
“This is true,” Abigail replied. “Though, if I recall, you do not like to read.”
He shook his head and laughed. “No, I did not when I was younger. Being forced to do something as a child makes that activity less appealing. However, I have taken up reading for enjoyment in recent years, for which I have you to thank.”
“Oh?” Abigail asked, a smile forming—a true smile. “How is it that I came to help in this matter?”
He released her hand, and for a moment she found she missed it. “It would be rude to criticize my wife on her wedding day, so I shall remain silent.” He gave a firm nod to punctuate his words, but that only led to both of them laughing. “Oh, very well, if you insist, I shall tell you.”
Abigail laughed. “I insisted nothing!” she argued playfully.
The carriage jostled, and Richard let out a long sigh. “When you used to tell me of the books you read, the adventures you encountered…” He paused as if in thought. “I suppose I could say that I grew jealous.”
“Jealous?” she asked, shocked by this admission. “Why in the world would you ever be jealous?” This was the first time she had ever encountered anyone envious over one reading a book.
“You spoke of these adventures as if you had taken them yourself,” he replied earnestly. “And not being there with you to enjoy them, I felt…left out.” She went to speak, but he reached over and gave her hand a gentle, but firm, squeeze. “No longer will you adventure out on your own. As we do now, we will embark together on journeys. In years to come, our children will join us in those journeys.”
With a thumping heart and dry mouth, Abigail whispered, “Children? Richard, I…”
“Do not be afraid,” he reassured her. “We shall only have two, perhaps three at most. Imagine! Dresses of the latest fashion for the girls and suits for the boys.”
“Dresses,” Abigail repeated weakly, her mind reeling. To have children meant that one must lie with a man as a wife would. Yet, how could she question this? She was his wife now, and as she gazed at the exuberance in his eyes, she found she could not find the words to deny him.
“Yes,” he said with a laugh. “Dresses. I know our mothers will be ecstatic.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back. How could he show such joy while she felt such fear and anguish? No, she needed to speak up, to tell him what she thought.
“Perhaps we should…” she started to say only to be interrupted by him once again.
“Discuss names? I have already thought of a few.” His eyes gleamed for a moment before he stopped and searched her face. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I only meant them as a suggestion.”
Abigail nodded, trying to find a way to broach the subject, but he did not give her enough time to think.
“The boy shall be named Richard. Of course, our daughter will be named after you. Or your mother if you’d rather. Well, Mother would be hurt if we did that, so perhaps it would be best if we had two girls.” He laughed. “If at all possible, twin girls so neither one of our mothers complains at the eldest daughter being named after the mother-in-law.” He sighed and leaned back into the cushion, his voice dreamy. “I always wanted to name a boy after my father, as well. Then there is my Uncle Christopher, a kind soul who sadly passed away five years gone now. Did you ever meet my cousin Mildred? That is a pretty name for a girl.”
Abigail stared at him, horrified. The way the man carried on, she would bare him at least a dozen children! For a moment, her mind imagined a dozen children vying for her attention, crying and whining as they chased after her, and the thought made her stomach queasy.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, breaking Abigail from her mad thoughts.
As she turned to her husband, she tried to quell those images. What she wanted to tell him was the truth—that she was frightened above all else. However, she knew the pain it would cause, so once again, she lied. “I love all the names,” she managed through a choked throat as she blinked back tears. “All of them are beautiful.”
“That makes me so happy,” he said. “We will make sure we have them sooner rather than later. That way you can keep some of your youthfulness.”
She gaped at his horrible words, and a moment later, she was weeping as he held her close.
“I know, my love,” he whispered. “I am as excited as you.”
She cried all the harder.
***
The inn was located just off the road, surrounded by a cluster of large trees, the white paint catching the last few rays of light as the carriage came to a stop in front of the door. The driver jumped down, placed a step on the ground, and opened the door, and Abigail stared at the building with apprehension. Richard had sent ahead to have a room, the most lavish they had available, held for them, and Abigail pushed aside the thoughts of what would happen when they retired for the night. The talk of children still reeled in her mind, and she hoped he would not bring up the subject at least until this first night together was over.
“Ah, good evening, Your Grace,” the plump innkeeper said when they approached a small counter. The man placed a ledger on the counter, spun it around and offered Richard a pen and an inkwell. “There is a lovely offering of duck this evening in the dining room, as well as a celery soup about which many guests have raved. I believe you will be pleased with it.”
“Would you like to eat now?” Richard asked. “Or we can wait if you’d prefer. Perhaps you would like to rest?”
“Oh, no, I am quite famished.” She looked down at her dusty dress in dismay. “I may need to go freshen up a bit beforehand.” The thought of going to their room right away almost made her insist they go straight to the dining room; however, she could not arrive in such a state no matter how much she did not want to go to the room.
“I think that would be a lovely idea,” Richard said, and Abigail almost groaned aloud.
“I will go up and change quickly,” she said. “Would you mind getting us a table? I won’t be but a moment.” She left him gaping after her, knowing all too well that she had been overly rude. However, she did not want him in the room while she was changing, at least not yet.
She did as she promised and changed quickly. What concerned her was that he would change his mind and come upstairs while she was still in her shift, and that thought terrified her. In record time, she was walking into the dining room, donning a clean dress after a quick wash using the water in the pitcher provided in the room.
The dining room contained a handful of well-dressed patrons; however, most of the tables sat empty. Richard sat along the far wall beside an unlit fireplace, and though he had not changed for dinner, he still looked dapper in his brown coat and tan breeches.
“I hope you find this table acceptable,” he said as he stood and pulled the chair out for Abigail. He was as excited as a child as he returned to his chair.
She studied him for a moment. “Why did you choose this table?” she asked. “It looks like any other table in this place. Does it have some sort of significance?”
He gave her a wide smile. “You are most observant. As it is, this is a very special table, for it is reserved for those who are in love.”
It was a relief when a serving woman came to take their order, a young blond woman with deep blue eyes and a kind smile. “What might I get ya this evening?” she asked. “Are ya looking for food or drink?”
“I would enjoy an ale,” Richard replied. “And wine for the Lady. The innkeeper said there is duck on the menu for this evening.”
“That’s right,” the woman replied. “A lovely duck with orange s
auce, Mrs. Hinkle’s own recipe.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You’ll taste nothing like it anywhere.”
“Very well, then,” Richard replied. “We shall have Mrs. Hinkle’s orange duck, though I do have a question.”
“And what would that be?” the woman said with clear amusement.
“If it proves to be as good as you say it is, do you believe Mrs. Hinkle would be willing to sell me her recipe?”
The serving girl giggled. “No, Your Grace, I doubt she’d be willing to sell such prized information. Her mother’s mother’s mother came up with it, and no offense, but no amount of money can buy it, I promise you.”
“You sound as if this request has been made before,” Abigail said.
“Oh, on more than one occasion, I assure you,” the girl replied. “And Mrs. Hinkle, she never gives in.”
Richard sighed dramatically. “I understand. Well, I suppose we will just have to admire it while we are here.”
After the serving woman left, still looking amused, Richard shrugged. “One must try, I suppose.”
Abigail laughed as she shook her head.
“Why do you laugh?” he asked.
“It is you,” she replied. “It seems each day you grow stronger in confidence. You are the happiest I have ever seen you in some time. It reminds me of when you use to be this cheerful.”
“There is a reason for that,” he said with a smile. “It is because I am with you again.”
“Oh, Richard,” Abigail sighed, finding his words had a soothing effect on her. “You are too kind to me.”
He shook his head. “It is simply truth I speak.” He waited as the serving woman set their drinks on the table and walked away before he continued. “My happiest moments in life were when I was in your company. Perhaps it is a secret recipe, much like the cook’s here.”
Abigail felt her cheeks heat. “Again, you are too kind. Now, I must ask you something important.”
Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2 Page 8