Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2

by Catherine Mayfair

  “Yes?” he said, setting his mug on the table after taking a sip. It was strange to see a man of his station drinking ale, but she found it somehow endearing.

  “You claim to have been reading,” she said. “Tell me about one of the most current books you have read.”

  He chuckled. “I see you do not believe me,” he teased as another couple walked past them to a table further into the room. “Very well, I shall give you my full report.”

  He spoke until the food arrived, and the conversation was like times before. This time, however, Richard was able to share his love for the stories he had read, just as Abigail had done with him all those years ago.

  Somehow, Abigail realized they still had much in common, and though she still could not force herself to love him at that moment, she began to believe that one day she just might find a bit of love in her heart for him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Had the sun ever been brighter? Or the sky bluer? Richard did not think so, for the following morning the world was a better place. He was now a man of confidence, a man whose future lay ahead of him and he would remain strong for the woman beside him. The woman was perfect, her red hair flowing around her, consuming him with her beauty. Her elegance, her laugh, everything about her caused a man to strive to be the very best he could be.

  He had to admit he could not help but feel disappointment when Abigail had fallen ill with pains in her stomach, which forced them to sleep in different beds; however, he did not allow it to take away his elation, for they were now one under God and the law. Together they would adventure unlike any other couple in England before them or ever to come. Their love was as bright as the sun that was now peeking into the carriage as it ambled along the road.

  The road was relatively quiet in the early morning hours, but by mid-afternoon—after stopping for a light midday meal of crusty bread and a lovely cheese packed by Mrs. Hinkle as a way to ease the refusal of her duck recipe—they encountered a high number of carriages and carts as well as people on foot as it seemed every person in the south of England was also making their way to Brighton.

  “We are nearly there,” Richard said as he sat back down after leaning out the window. “I must admit, I feel like a child yearning to see the coast.”

  “I expect proper behavior,” Abigail said with a teasing smile. “I will not have your suit ruined because you have gotten too close to the water. Salt would not do well with that silk.”

  This made them both laugh, and he reached out and took her hand in his. “Once we arrive, I will take you to one of my favorite places.”

  “Do we not need to check in first with the landlord?”

  “No,” he replied smugly. “My driver has been instructed to do so in our name. This is a time of leisure, and more importantly, love.”

  Though she smiled, he thought her eyes seemed pained, but he dismissed the idea. She was on her honeymoon; it was silly to believe she was hurting in some way.

  “I look forward to seeing it,” she said. “Though I do hope you realize that there is no more need to impress me. I am your wife now.”

  He gave a hearty laugh as a carriage from the opposite direction passed by. The driver of that carriage made a glance in their direction but otherwise ignored them. “I must always impress a woman of such beauty,” he said, raising her hand and kissing it ever so lightly. “In fact, it is something to which I look forward.”

  “Oh, Richard!” Abigail exclaimed. “Look! The ocean!”

  The carriage had rounded a bend, and they were entering the town of Brighton. Richard had been so engrossed in studying his wife, he had not even noticed.

  “And so many shops!” she added, her face filled with awe. She moved closer to him in order to peer out the window, and he reveled in the feel of her body pressing against him.

  He smiled, for indeed it was a sight to behold. To their left, the sand glistened in the sunlight as large waves crested and then rolled in the length of the beach. A few piers reached out at the far end as though tempting to cross the large body of water. Several boats were docked in various places along the pier, and a single ship sat ready for the tide to come in order to allow it to set sail.

  To the right, the buildings melded together, each storefront a different color as people filled the footpaths, entering and exiting the various shops.

  “There are so many people!” she exclaimed, and Richard saw she was right. Husbands and wives with children at their side. An image he knew one day he would share with Abigail.

  The carriage came to a stop at the far end of the row of shops where the hotel sat, regal and majestic, as it had for so many years.

  “The Brighton Hotel,” Abigail whispered. “I have heard of this place, but never imagined I would be able to stay there.”

  “It is of the greatest luxury,” he said as the carriage rocked with the driver jumping from his seat. “A place where you are able to view the ocean at midnight while the moon reflects off the water. And there you will be, drinking the finest wines as you gaze out at your leisure.”

  Her smile showed her excitement, and when the driver opened the door, Richard alighted to hand down Abigail.

  A young boy of perhaps eight walked by, his clothes tattered and cheeks covered in dirt. “Did you need help with your belongings, My Lord?” he asked with an awkward bow. “Or maybe a tour of the city?”

  “I’m sorry, young sir,” Richard replied, “but our belongings have already been cared for, and I know this place quite well.”

  The disappointment in the boy’s face was evident, and Richard felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Perhaps this brave boy can stand guard as our belongings are removed?” Abigail said and then gave Richard a wink.”

  The boy stood taller, an eager nod to his head.

  “Very well,” Richard said as the driver placed one of the many trunks on the footpath. “My wife and I shall stand in the shade. If any ruffian dares to take any of our things, you will let our driver know, won’t you?”

  “Do not worry, My Lord,” the boy said, raising a threateningly gripped hand. “I’ve trained in the art of warfare with my fist!”

  Richard held back his laughter and then offered Abigail his arm. “Then I’m sure my items will be in the best of hands.” He led Abigail to an overhang near the entrance.

  Once they were in the shade, Abigail began to giggle. “Oh, Richard, look at him,” she whispered. “He is a darling.”

  Richard chuckled. “That he is.”

  The boy stood with both hands on his hips, legs wide, and his posture leaning forward as his eyes dared every passerby to chance taking their things.

  “We must give him a few coins,” Abigail said. “I fear he more than likely provides for his family this way.”

  “Your kindness knows no bounds,” Richard said as he gazed down at his wife. “It is why I love you.”

  She smiled and then looked back at the boy.

  Richard laughed. “Do you think our son will be as brave as that young boy?”

  Abigail’s smile disappeared. “We should keep our focus on our excursion today and think of the future later,” she said.

  He nodded in agreement, though he thought her words odd. Well, they had only been wedded for one day; they had their whole life ahead of them to discuss their children.

  It was not long after when the driver informed Richard that all had been attended to, and Richard and Abigail went up to the boy.

  “I have never met such a brave boy in all of England,” Abigail said. The boy offered up a cheeky grin. “Your reward shall be great for such a hero.”

  Reaching into his pocket, Richard produced a silver coin. It was excessive for the amount of work the boy had done—which was to say he had not done much at all—but as Abigail had stated, Richard feared the boy was looking after his family, a horrible burden at such a young age.

  The boy’s eyes went wide as Richard placed the coin in his hand.

  “Spend it well, young
man,” Richard said.

  The boy looked up and smiled. “Oh, I will, My Lord, I promise!” He offered another bow, which Richard returned with a respectful nod. “Thank you!” The youngster put the coin in his trouser pocket, removed his cap, and gave them a sweeping bow. “May you and your Lady live a thousand years!” Then as quick as the words left his mouth, he turned and hurried away.

  “You are a good man, Richard Seton, Duke of Rellingstone,” Abigail said as she reached up and straightened his cravat. “Confident, kind, and brave.”

  For the first time, Richard saw himself as she had said, and it was a wondrous feeling indeed.

  ***

  “Be careful,” Richard cautioned as he gripped Abigail by the arm and led her to the top of the last large boulder. They had left the main beach filled with a large number of people taking in the sun and made their way over a mound of massive rocks, many larger than twice the height of Richard. He could barely contain his excitement at sharing this secret with her, and he watched her reaction as she crested the rocks and looked down at a secluded beach, significantly smaller than that which the other beachgoers were enjoying at the moment. “This is a secret place I found many years ago. I always found it beautiful; therefore, I wanted to share it with you.”

  Abigail’s sudden intake of breath was satisfying. “Beautiful does not describe it!” she said in awe. “I cannot find words which can.”

  He sighed as he gazed over the empty beach. “You are right,” he said as he helped her down onto the sand. Together, they walked out to the middle of the beach, where they stopped to watch the waves roll up and back, leaving bits of seaweed and shells behind.

  Richard closed his eyes and smiled.

  “Why do you smile so?” Abigail asked.

  He turned to his wife, resplendent in her green dress that matched the wide-brimmed hat she wore, and could not believe how beautiful she was. “I always wanted to share this beach with you,” he said. “Even as a child, I thought that one day I would bring you here. How would I have known that when I did, you would come as my wife?” He was rewarded by a small smile.

  “I am glad you showed it to me,” she whispered, sounding choked with emotion.

  He closed his eyes again. “The breeze,” he said in a low voice as he felt the motion of his hair fluttering in the movement of the air. “The sound of the waves. It is all so calming.” He opened his eyes and gazed down at Abigail. “Try it. Close your eyes and listen, then tell me what you hear.”

  Abigail nodded and closed her eyes. A few moments passed, and then she grinned. “How lovely! I hear the waves on the sand.” She paused. “Are there trees behind us? For I hear the rustling of the leaves.”

  Richard glanced up at the cliff behind them and saw that there were indeed several trees growing from the rocks, though they were stunted by the lack of soil. “Yes, I see the trees. Strange I never noticed them before.”

  When he turned back to Abigail, she was smiling up at him. It was such a charming smile, and he could have stared at her all day, every day, for the remainder of his life.

  “Thank you for sharing this secret place with me,” she whispered.

  “There is nothing I will hide from you, Abigail,” he replied. “My heart, my soul, even a location such as this.” She went to speak, but his love for her was so strong he could not stop himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

  And what a kiss they shared! It was better than he ever imagined such a kiss with her to be. It was filled with passion and longing, and he wanted it to go on forever.

  Yet, it did not. When the kiss broke, he took her hand in his. “We have more to explore,” he said, trying to lessen the huskiness in his voice. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “I am.” Then she turned and gave the cliff a skeptical look. “Is there more climbing involved?”

  This made him laugh. “No. This is the last. Come, I will show you another favorite place.”

  Richard gripped Abigail’s hand as they left the beach, and he could not have been happier. To be allowed to be in her presence was a gift in itself, and he pictured their days being much like this—happy and together. Forever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  he dinner Abigail ate with her new husband the first night in Brighton was one she would remember for years to come. They had been placed at a table with another couple, a Mr. And Mrs. Williamson from Newcastle in the North who informed Abigail and Richard that they had come to Brighten to celebrate forty years of marriage.

  “Forty long years,” Mrs. Williamson whispered to Abigail, who could not help but giggle.

  “What was that, my dear?” Mr. Williamson asked.

  His wife gave him a small smile. “Nothing, dear.”

  In a tiny corner of the dining room sat three musicians, each with a stringed instrument from which arose the most beautiful of music to complement the meal and conversation.

  And the meal! Abigail had never had anything so wonderful in her life! The first course consisted of the most decadent soup she had ever eaten—a creamy seafood chowder with bits of potato and peas—followed by tender glazed lamb chops. For dessert, she was treated with a peach compote. By the end of the meal, she was as stuffed as the partridge Mr. Williamson had ordered for his main course.

  “I believe I am off to bed,” Mr. Williamson said as he pushed his chair back. “I’m getting much too old for late nights in Brighton. Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”

  His wife stifled a yawn before laughing. “I suppose that is answer enough for us all.”

  Once the Williamsons were gone, Richard sat back in his seat and patted his stomach. “That was heavenly,” he said with a sated smile. Then he glanced toward the window. “I wish that rain had not come in.”

  Abigail could not agree more. They had been forced to cut short their exploration when heavy clouds rolled in, bringing with them heavy rains. They had been lucky enough to make it back to the hotel just as the downpour began, leaving them only slightly wet rather than drenched if they had waited even one minute more to return. Richard had promised Abigail they would resume their excursion the following day, if the good weather returned, that is.

  The excitement Richard had expressed upon arriving at the hidden beach had not waned as he led her to other hidden treasures in the area. A cave he informed her filled with water when the tide came in. A trail once used by smugglers to bring in goods from France.

  “I’d bet my left shoe it still is used,” he had said with bright eyes that reminded Abigail of a young boy imagining great tales of pirates and adventure.

  She had enjoyed herself, for the most part, but she continued to fret over the amount of love he showed to her. Guilt ate at her as she thought on the kiss they had shared on the beach, an unfamiliar heat rushing through her when their lips had met and their bodies had pressed together. However, from what little she knew of intimacy between a man and a woman, much of what occurred happened on a physical level. Yet, was there not a chance that the love he had for her would come to reside in her heart, as well? Most good things did not happen suddenly, and perhaps, in time, she would grow to have great affection for him as he did for her.

  Yet now, as they stood before the door of their rooms, the lovely meal she had eaten earlier threatened to return. Deep inside, she knew her caring for him was nowhere near the love he had for her. At some point, she would need to tell him the truth, for keeping something as important as her feelings from him was a travesty. He would be hurt hearing the truth, but she believed he would understand. He had to understand.

  “Please,” Richard said with a bow after opening the door. “After you.”

  He wore a mischievous smile, and Abigail hesitated before entering the room. The room glowed with the lights of numerous candles, and the large windows facing the ocean plucked a tune with the driving rain. At the foot of the bed sat a small table that held a bottle of wine and two glasses with a letter leaning against them.

  “The letter is
for you,” he whispered.

  She smiled weakly and walked over, taking the letter in her hands as Richard came to stand beside her.

  “If you do not mind, please, read it aloud.”

  “Of course,” Abigail said. Then she swallowed as she unfolded the paper and began to read. “My Dearest Abigail, For many years, I loved you, and my only regret in life before we were married was never telling you. Now, as your husband, I am thankful to say it every day.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes as she placed the letter back on the table. “Richard,” she whispered, “it is beyond beautiful. I do not know how to thank you.”

  “My wife owes me no thanks,” he said, handing her a glass of wine. Then he raised his glass. “To us.”

  Abigail raised her own glass, her guilt now heavier than she could handle. “To us,” she managed to choke. Taking a sip of the wine, she found the flavor bold and comforting. When she returned the glass to the table, Richard reached up and stroked her cheek and then wrapped a strand of hair around his finger.

  “Your hair is so soft, it consumes my soul,” he whispered. Then he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers. “I love you.” He kissed her forehead, cheek, chin, nose and then moved to her neck, and she could not hold back the tears that filled her eyes.

  “Richard,” she whispered, no longer able to carry the guilt. When he did not respond, she repeated herself. “Richard.” It was as if the man could not hear her as his hands moved across her back, his fingers trying to undo the buttons that held the fabric closed.

  Panic welled up inside her, and she pushed at his chest. “Richard, I cannot!”

  He took a step back, hurt and confusion on his face. “There is nothing to fear,” he said. “I would never hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said as she stared at the floor. “And that is what pains me, for I know what I must say will hurt you.”

  He shook his head. “I do not understand. What is it you must tell me?”

  “I…” Terror gripped her. The words needed to be said, but she found herself choking on them. No, they had to be said! “I do not love you.”