The room fell quiet, the only sound the pelting of the rain on the window and the light snap of the candles as wicks burned. The smile Richard wore faded, and his eyes filled with pain. “You said you always loved me,” he said, “and would forever. Unless I misheard you in some way?”
Abigail reached out and took his hands in hers. “I did say those words, but they were to appease your mother. The truth is I do not care for you as a wife should care for her husband. I do care for you, but as a dear friend. If you would give me time…”
He pulled his hand from hers, cutting off her words. “This is all a lie,” he said incredulously. “I knew it was, but I chose to believe it as truth. Why was I such a fool?” He turned his back on her and poured himself another glass of wine.
“You are not a fool,” Abigail said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He pulled away from her touch as if burned. “I am!” he said. “We both came into this because of our cowardice with our parents. I knew it was a lie, yet that night, when we stood together, I somehow took your words as true.”
“They are,” Abigail said as she wiped at the tears that rolled down her face. “I love you as a friend. A dear, dear friend…”
“Do not say that!” he said as he spun around, causing Abigail to take a fearful step back. Never had she seen such anger on his face. “Once again you have shown strength where I showed weakness.”
“How can you say such a thing?” she demanded. “You are not weak.”
He snorted. “I am. I thought that this,” he waved his arm around the room, “the letter, sharing my heart, all of it, would somehow convince you of my love that you would return. Now, I realize it cannot be returned. It was a marriage of convenience and nothing more.”
The tears of seeing him hurt rolled down her face faster than the rain outside poured down the windows. “In time, I can love you,” she said. “I need your patience in this.”
“No!”
Abigail stepped back from the anger that now flared up before her. She had known the truth would disappoint him, but anger? That she had not expected.
He finished off the remainder of his wine and set the now empty glass back on the table. “Our original arrangement will continue. You shall do your painting and pretend to care for me in public. When that is not needed, we shall live apart.” He turned and stomped toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To be alone,” he replied without turning. “I will see to a room of my own tonight.”
“Richard!” she cried. “Do not leave. We can come to an understanding.”
He spun around and glared down at her. “No. There is no need. You have made yourself perfectly clear, so I understand all too well.”
The slamming of the door startled her, bringing forth new tears as Abigail walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed, wondering what she had done. The first true night of her honeymoon, she destroyed a marriage that held some promise, even if that promise would not be fulfilled that night. And worse, she had destroyed a longstanding friendship. How cruel it was that the only time in her life she found the courage to speak her heart, her words broke the heart another.
***
Abigail paced the floor for an hour after Richard had stormed from the room. She hoped to hear the door open again, for Richard to return. Yet, as each minute passed, she feared he would keep his promise and find other accommodations for the night.
Frustrated and riddled with guilt, she could no longer take waiting, so she made her way downstairs to the dining area. Most of the tables sat empty at this late hour, but she had hoped he would be at one, perhaps nursing an ale.
A door she had not noticed before rattled on the far side of the room, the sounds from behind it loud.
Stopping a serving woman who was passing with plates left by a couple who had just exited the room, Abigail asked, “Excuse me. The noise through that door. Where does it lead?”
“Oh, that,” the woman replied. “That’s the pub.”
“Pub?”
“Yes, the public house. It’s where the men go to drink.” She rolled her eyes, and Abigail had to stifle a giggle. “Ladies are welcome there, but you’d have to sit by yourself. Apparently, it’s a grievance if we hear their tales of hunting and debauchery.”
“Thank you,” Abigail said with a smile, watching as the woman made her way to the door Abigail assumed was the kitchen.
She had never been to a pub before, and though she was a bit frightened, she moved herself toward the door. When she touched the cool handle, she considered returning to the room and donning her gloves, but decided it was not important. Finding Richard was what mattered at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open, and what had been muted noise was now loud laughter and talking. The room was maybe half the size of the dining area with a large bar along the far wall. All sorts of men sat at tables or on tall stools in front of the bar, some in fine clothing, others less fine. She scanned the room hoping for a sign of Richard, but with so many backs to her, she could not be certain if he was there or not.
“Your Grace,” the barman said as she approached. “Such an establishment is not worthy of your presence.” How strange that he knew who she was.
At his words, a few of the men close enough to hear turned and glanced at her curiously, but they returned to their drinks almost immediately.
“You are kind, sir,” Abigail said. Then she leaned in and whispered, “I do not wish to embarrass him, but have you seen my husband?”
The barman scrunched his brow. “‘Fraid not,” he replied before thinking again. “No, I certainly haven’t seen him.”
Abigail sighed. “Thank you.”
“If I can do anything for ya, let me know.”
“I will,” Abigail assured the man. She should return to her room to wait for Richard there, but she did not want to be alone. Therefore, she found a table, the only one that was empty, as she scanned the room once more in hopes of seeing Richard. Yet, once again, she did not see him.
Then her eyes fell on the young boy who had helped ‘guard’ their luggage when they had arrived the day before. He sat warming himself by the fire, and when he turned and caught her eye, his young face lit up. Thinking quickly, Abigail motioned for the boy to come over, which he did at once.
“My Lady,” he said, removing his cap to reveal dirty blond curls. “Are ya in need of my services? Do ya want me to stand guard and protect ya from any ruffians in this place?”
Abigail stifled a giggle. “No, brave sir,” she said. Then she leaned over and lowered her voice, though she doubted it would carry over the noise of the other patrons. “Have you seen my husband by chance?”
The boy shook his head. “No, ‘fraid not.”
She sighed. “I thought he would have come for a drink, yet it seems no one has seen hide nor hair of him since dinner.”
Returning his cap to his head, the boy placed a hand on his chin. “Maybe he’s in another pub,” he said after a few moments of deep thought. “There’re a few of ‘em, you know.”
“Are there?” she asked.
“Yep. But the likes of you can’t go in them.”
She sat up straight. “And why is that?”
“Well, you’re a proper Lady,” he said with a kind smile, as if to console her. “Ladies like you can’t go into places like those. No, that wouldn’t be good at all.” He glanced around them and when his gazed returned to her, his eyes glittered. “Beggin’ your pardon, but you’re too nice to be in here, too. I can go and look for him. If I find him, I’ll come to your room and tell you where if I can’t get him to come back with me.”
Abigail smiled. “I would very much appreciate your help,” she said. “However, if you do find him, please do not speak to him. Simply return and tell me where to find him. My room is at the top of the stairs to the left; the last door at the end of the hall.”
The boy bowed again
. “Have no fear,” he said gallantly, “I will find him for you.”
Before she could say another word, he turned and hurried through the crowd to a door that led straight out into the street. When Abigail looked around once more, she realized that she had drawn the attention of several unsavory characters at the bar, their grins not offering friendship. The boy was right; a lady like herself should not be in a place such as this, so she returned to her room to await word from the boy.
Chapter Fourteen
A sound woke Abigail with a start. The last of the candlelight flickered beside the bed; she had blown out the others once Richard had stormed from the room. There was no sense in allowing them to burn down once he had gone.
As her mind raced and her heart thumped in her chest, she cursed herself for falling asleep. She had planned to remain awake until Richard returned, but she was unaccustomed to the amount of exercise she had done. Plus, the fact she and Richard had argued had left her more exhausted than the walking and climbing she had done earlier.
Another short rasp on the door had her sitting upright as lightening sent a glow in the room. Still in her dress from earlier, she went to the door and opened it, praying it was Richard, that he had come to his senses and returned so they could decide how to continue on in their marriage.
However, it was not Richard waiting when she opened the door but rather the young boy drenched to the bone.
“Oh, no,” she gasped, pulling him into the room. “You are soaked.”
“It’s raining.”
She chuckled at the obviousness of the statement. “And did you find him?”
The boy shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said with a sad expression. “And I looked everywhere.”
Abigail pulled a chair close to the dying fire. “Come. Sit here.” She added several logs to the fire and stoked it until it was roaring brightly once again. “And there is no need to apologize for not finding him. He might not wish to be found.” She grabbed a towel from the wash basin, took off the boy’s dilapidated hat, and began to pat away the water. “Your mother will be angry to know I sent you out in such weather.”
The boy’s expression saddened even more. “My mum is dead.” He said the words in such a matter-of-fact way, Abigail was taken aback.
“Well, your father, then.”
The boy shook his head. “My father is gone, too.”
Abigail clicked her tongue. “Then, who cares for you? Who do you live with?”
He shrugged. “Just me,” he said, offering her a grin. “I look after myself.”
Hearing such words brought tears to her eyes, though she tried to hide them.
However, her attempt failed, and the boy stood up and took her hand in his. “No lady like you should cry,” he said. Before Abigail knew what had happened, she found herself in the chair and the boy consoling her! “Don’t ya worry none. I’m fine. I sent a search party to find your husband already.”
Abigail stared at the boy. “You did?” she asked, wiping a handkerchief across her eyes.
The boy nodded. “I did. I told the men that you’d pay them. I hope you’re not mad at me.”
Overcome by his innocence, Abigail pulled the boy into her arms and kissed the top of his head. “Never,” she replied. Then she looked down at him. “What is your name?”
“Patrick,” he said. “Patrick Winstop.”
“Well, Master Winstop, it is a pleasure to know your name. And perhaps a search party will find him.” Thunder shook the windows and Abigail ran over to peer outside. She could see nothing in the bleak darkness. “I do worry.”
“Fear not,” Patrick said. She did not realize she had spoken the words aloud. “Men have a tendency to drink, and I bet he’s found more gentlemen like himself.”
“Do you believe so?” Abigail asked.
The boy nodded. “I do. My father liked the drink, so much that it was what caused his dying.” The boy bit at his quivering lip, the pain from the loss of his father obviously great. “But your husband wouldn’t be like that. I can tell he’s a good man.”
“He is a very good man,” Abigail said as she ruffled Patrick’s hair. The boy shivered, and she said, “I was just going to have some tea brought to the room. Would you like some?”
He eyed her for a moment before replying. “Yeah, that’d be nice, but do ya think they’d bring some food? I’m a bit hungry.”
“You may have whatever you desire,” she said. After pulling the bell chord and giving her order to the maid who came to answer the call, she closed the door and looked at Patrick, who was bouncing from foot to foot.
“Um, My Lady?” he said.
“Yes, Patrick. What is it?”
“I…um…need to go take care of my business, if you know what I mean.” He turned a deep red, and Abigail had to hold back a laugh.
“Of course, but you come right back here when you’re done.”
He smiled broadly. “I will,” he said and then closed the door behind him.
Abigail turned to stare out into the darkness once again. Had Richard left her there and returned to Helmsford Castle without her? “Abigail,” she whispered to herself, “you are a fool. He would never do such a thing no matter how badly you hurt him.”
It was she who had broken his heart and caused him to leave into the storm at night. Whether he had drunk too much, had gotten into some sort of altercation with a dangerous character, or was in the company of an unsavory woman, it was her fault. She would not blame him and would take responsibility for whatever happened, if, indeed, something had happened.
***
A tray laden with all the necessities for tea as well as a hearty bowl of stew and a chunk of bread had been delivered to the room. Patrick now had clean hands and cheeks, for Abigail had insisted he wash up before he was allowed even a bit of food. Though he had fussed a bit, he did as he was told, eying the food greedily. And he had been truthful about how hungry he was, for the young boy seemed to inhale the food.
Abigail sipped at her tea as Patrick dunked a portion of bread into the bowl, his lips smacking.
“I’ve never spent time with a lady before,” he said, his mouth full of bread. “My father used to say you were mean to our kind.”
“Your kind?” Abigail asked, setting her teacup on the table. “What do you mean?”
The boy reached for his glass of water and took a drink. “You know, common people like me.”
She reached across and brushed back a lock of his blond hair. “Common or not, I try to be nice to all.”
“That’s why I like you,” he said. “You’re a good woman. It’s why your husband loves you.”
Abigail paused for a moment. How could a boy so young be so intelligent? “You are both brave and smart,” she said. “Where do you sleep at night?”
He tapped the table with a finger as he swallowed this time before speaking. “Here at the stables most nights. Sometimes, when it’s hot, it stinks too bad, so then I sleep under a bush. I have a few no one else knows about.”
Abigail’s heart went out to the boy as he finished his food and then let out a big yawn.
“I ‘spose I better go.” He grabbed his cap and placed it on his head. “Thanks for the food.”
“Wait,” Abigail said, rising from the chair. “Would you like to stay here for the night?” she asked. She could not bear thinking of him sleeping in the rain or in the stables. “You have been a wonderful help, so it is the least I can do.”
The boy frowned for a moment. “I will stand guard,” he said, motioning toward the door. “In case any scoundrels try to rob you.”
“That is kind of you,” Abigail said with a smile. She went to the bed and removed the top blanket and a pillow. “Shall I make you a pallet?”
He nodded. “Close to the door so I can hear if anyone tries to sneak in.”
Abigail found an extra blanket on top of the wardrobe and placed it beside the wall next to the door. Patrick lay down and she covered him with the oth
er blanket, pulling it up to his chin. His clothes were still damp, and she decided to buy him new clothes when Richard returned, and perhaps help him find a home that would take him in.
“Good night, Patrick,” she whispered as she brushed his hair from his forehead.
“Good night, Miss…” He tilted his head. “What’s your name?”
“Abigail.”
He yawned. “Good night, Miss Abigail,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep.
Abigail returned to the table and prepared another cup of tea. She had fallen asleep earlier, but now she vowed not to sleep until Richard returned.
***
The first rays of sun peered through the window as Abigail stared off at the ocean, her heavy eyes filled with grit. She still had received no word on Richard, and she feared that something terrible had happened to him. He was still angry with her, and for that she could not blame him; however, he had no right to frighten her so deeply!
Patrick slept soundly on his pallet, having not moved since his eyes closed late the night before. Though her eyes burned from lack of sleep, she refused to rest. It had not been easy, but she kept her promise to not sleep until Richard returned to her.
A knock at the door made her turn with a start, and her heart leaped with joy. Finally, Richard had returned! Even if he was drunk, she would not admonish him, for all that was important to her was that he was safe.
She pulled the door open. “Richard!” she said with her most welcoming smile.
However, it was not her husband who stood in the hallway, but rather a man in his middle years, hat in his hand. “Your Grace,” he said with a deep bow. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such horrible news.”
Abigail began to shake, and she felt as if her body would topple over. “Richard? Is he…?” She could not say the word.
“He’s alive,” the man said, “but I’m afraid he’s badly injured.”
“I do not understand,” Abigail said, catching her hand on the frame of the door to keep from falling. “Injured how?”
Rescued by the Duke: Delicate Hearts Book 2 Page 10