Regency Romances

by Grace Fletcher

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Arabella reached out for Hamilton and curled her fingers around his arm. “You’ve made him mad.”

  “It does not matter,” Hamilton said, sighing. “He will inherit everything at the turn of the year. I wish for the children’s Christmas to be as good as it can be.”

  He sat back down, gathering up his documents. He expected Arabella to leave, but she took the seat next to him, turning the paper in her hands. He could not see what was written on it.

  “Do you wish you had asked her to stay?”

  Hamilton was not expecting the question, would not have answered at all if it hadn’t been for the pained look on Arabella’s face. He did not know why she was so invested in his happiness. “I do not think she would have.”

  “You’re wrong,” Arabella said. “I told her about Catherine, how you were before you met her.”

  Hamilton pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

  “She wished to know why you were acting the way you were.” Arabella did not look contrite. She settled back on the chair. “I did not mean to make things worse between you. I just wanted her to know that you were capable of falling in love.”

  “Arabella,” Hamilton said, throat thick with emotion. He did not know how to answer that. It was touching.

  “I could see that you cared for her.”

  There was some truth in that, but Hamilton could barely admit it to himself, let alone confess it to someone else. It felt like too much of a betrayal towards Catherine. He did not want to be alone forever, and he would not believe that Catherine wanted that for him either, but adjusting to that frame of mind was still difficult.

  “I hope,” Arabella said carefully. “That this party gives you the opportunity to find someone who would like to be around you.”

  They both knew she meant for more than just that, but Hamilton dared not hope for such an outcome. It wasn’t until later that night, looking in on his children and seeing their sleeping faces full of innocence that they might not have once they left the safety of the estate, did he give in to the overwhelming sadness crushing his chest. His eyes were burning with tears at the lost opportunity, at the reminder of Miss Stewart all around, and sat on the chair next to Lottie’s bed.

  “My children,” he whispered. “What have I done?”

  Chapter 10

  Returning to the Estate

  Abigail had settled back into life at home with surprising ease.

  Her parents had been glad to meet up with her. They had been terrified that something had happened to her during the storm but hoped that she had found shelter. Abigail had never hidden anything from her parents and told them about Hamilton, the estate, the children, and how happy she had been. She left out the unsavoury parts, unwilling to tarnish her own happiness about the time spent with Hamilton’s family. But in the quiet of the night, she let herself dwell on it, wondering what could have been if she had stayed.

  Those thoughts dissipated quickly when she heard about the ball Arabella was throwing for Christmas. Her heart ached, and she spent the evening in her room, trying not to think about how quickly Arabella had told her Hamilton liked to move from woman to woman before he had taken up with Catherine.

  Perhaps the feelings between them weren’t as real as she liked to think they were. The moments where it had seemed they were so close to a kiss, to something meaningful.

  At service with her father that Sunday, Abigail resolved to move on from her time with Hamilton and his family. There were many things she had to be thankful for, and as much as she would miss the children, she had a life to build for herself.

  “Are you certain you are happy?” her father asked her as they were heading back home.

  Abigail had her arm in his and gave it a squeeze. “I am not unhappy.”

  “Those are not the same thing,” her father said, with a kind smile. “Your mother and I worry.”

  “Please do not,” Abigail implored. “I will be fine. I’m readjusting.”

  Her father did not question her further. She appreciated his concern, however misplaced now that she had made her decision. She could not help but think that he did not believe her though.

  The day of the ball, Abigail had tried to find things to do around the town in an effort to distract herself from thoughts of being with the family, of celebrating Christmas with a ball and then presents and laughter with the children. That was not her life to live.

  She was just collecting a basket and a list from her mother for shopping when there was a knock at the door. Her father was in his study, and she heard him move to open it, so she gathered the last of her things and headed for the hall. She froze at the sight on the doorstep, her father’s surprised face as he called for her.

  Daisy and Louis were on the doorstep, Lottie on Daisy’s hip. A woman stood behind them that Abigail vaguely recognised from the staff on the estate. All the children were dressed up warmly with mittens and scarves, but their cheeks were still red.

  “Children,” Abigail said immediately. “Does your father know you are here?”

  “Miss Stewart,” Daisy said, stepping forward. She glanced quickly at Abigail’s father and then back again. “Arabella helped us.”

  Abigail sighed, looking to her father.

  “Come in,” her father said, urging the children and the maid into the house. There was a carriage outside, and the driver waved off the invitation to enter the house. The children hovered in the hallway, Louis sticking close to his sisters, though he tried to appear in control. The maid stayed close to the door, uncomfortable, and Abigail could only imagine what Arabella had told her to convince her to come. She would no doubt be in trouble when Hamilton discovered what had occurred.

  “Why are you all here? Is there something wrong with your father?”

  “A great many things,” Louis said in a low tone, frowning when Daisy nudged him.

  Daisy took a deep breath, only to have Lottie speak over her, calling for Abigail. Abigail placed the basket on the cabinet in the hall and took Lottie. The girl immediately clutched at Abigail’s coat. “Home.”

  “I cannot,” Abigail began.

  “Please, Miss Stewart,” Daisy began. She shifted on her feet and clutched at the ends of her sleeves, a habit her father had been trying to break her of. “You have to come home. Father is miserable without you, and Uncle is scary. He keeps talking about changes he’s going to make to the estate when he thinks we’re not listening, and I am afraid something bad will happen to Father.”

  Abigail’s heart sank. She did not know how to tell the children that she could not return with them that Hamilton did not want her there. It was still cold outside, and she would worry about them travelling back to the estate on their own with only a driver and a maid. She would not be responsible for any harm coming to them.

  “Father,” she said slowly. “I must accompany them home. I will worry.”

  “You’ll come?” Daisy said, sounding too hopeful.

  “To see you home,” Abigail stressed, but Daisy and Louis were exchanging smiles and holding hands. She did not think they understood her intentions. Before she could reiterate them, her father clapped his hands together.

  “Who would like some cake for the road?”

  The children immediately followed her father into the kitchen and Abigail trailed after them, Lottie calling for her own piece. Her father gave her an affectionate smile and held onto her arm as Abigail’s mother set about feeding the children.

  “I will accompany you to the estate,” her father said. “It will be a tight fit in the carriage, but we will manage.”

  “Why?” Abigail asked quietly. “Father, it’s too cold.”

  “Nonsense,” her father said. “I wish to thank Lord Hamilton for taking care of you.”

  It was foolish to argue with her father when he had made his mind up, but that did not stop Abigail from trying. She would already worry about the children on the journey, she did not want to have to w
orry about him as well. Still, he clambered into the carriage with them, another box of cake from Abigail’s mother on his lap, and the carriage set off for the estate. Abigail’s chest was tight with apprehension. She did not want to see Hamilton again, did not want to be near him when there was a ball in progress.

  The journey itself was fairly uneventful. Lottie fell asleep a half hour in, curled up in Abigail’s lap. Louis and Daisy passed the time listening to Abigail’s father’s stories and some prayers and sermons. Daisy asked a few questions, confirming what Abigail had told her about her mother watching down on them.

  “My daughter seems to have taken very good care of you,” her father said to Daisy with a kind smile. “You have learned much.”

  “She helped me with my studies,” Louis said, in the manner of boys who want to be listened to. “When I go to school, I’m going to be very good.”

  “I have no doubt,” Abigail’s father said, rubbing at the hat on Louis’s head so much that he had to right it again.

  Daisy coughed politely. She waited until Abigail’s father was looking at her and then ducked her head. Abigail could see the pink hue to her cheeks that did not come from the snow. “She treated us like Mother used to.”

  Abigail’s heart clenched painfully, though she did not know if it was from sorrow or happiness. Perhaps a mix of both. She had hoped that she was taking good care of the children, but she knew that a parent’s death could cause resentment to grow.

  “Well,” Abigail’s father said with a wide smile. “Your father is definitely going to be worried about you. Why don’t you two tell me when we’re getting closer?”

  They passed the rest of the journey that way, with Daisy and Louis pointing out landmarks, and Lottie asleep against Abigail. Her father was studying her closely, but Abigail did not know what he was looking for, or if he had found it by the time the carriage was taking the path to the estate. There were a few already winding up the road, people arriving for the ball, and Abigail was afraid of being seen.

  Thankfully, the driver pulled them closer to the servants’ entrance, where the maid hurried down, exchanging words with the driver and then running through the small door. The driver helped Abigail’s father down then Daisy. Louis gestured for her to go first, and she was proud of him for the forethought. As she dropped to the ground, Arabella came out of the side entrance with a maid, looking harried but pleased.

  “Abigail! I had hoped they would bring you.”

  “How could you let them come?” Abigail said immediately, aware that Arabella was a lady, and she was being disrespectful and rude, but she couldn’t help herself. “Anything could have happened!”

  “There was no other way,” Arabella pressed. “I would not have sent them if I thought Maggie and Harold incapable of caring for them. I had to get you here.”

  Abigail’s father coughed politely and inclined his head. “You are Miss Douglas?”

  “You are Mister Stewart?” Arabella seemed relieved at the nod Abigail’s father gave her.

  “What is happening?” Abigail asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “Abigail,” her father said. “I will explain everything once we are inside. Please, it is cold, and we have to find you something to wear.”

  Wanting to protest that she didn’t need something to wear, that she wanted to go home, Abigail watched helplessly as her father seemed keen to follow Arabella inside. Laden with Lottie, Abigail sighed, kissed the top of Lottie’s head, and followed them into the house.

  Chapter 11

  The Truth Revealed

  Hamilton did not want to be part of the ball.

  Arabella had disappeared somewhere after his third dance with a woman Hamilton did not know. He appreciated what his cousin was trying to do, but it was not helping as much as she was hoping for. Instead of giving him people who could potentially save his children from a life of struggle and strife, he was reminded of the one woman who could have changed all of their lives – and for the better.

  Douglas was at the ball, lingering on the fringes, smiling as if everything had worked out for the better. With every woman Hamilton turned away, his eagerness only grew.

  Hamilton had resigned himself to his fate, to dancing with an endless parade of ladies until Arabella deemed it polite enough that he could take his leave. After another few dances, he was reluctant to take a drink, aware that there were a few women hovering on the fringes who had yet to approach him.

  “Cousin,” Arabella said, appearing at his elbow. “Apologies for my absence.”

  “Where have you been?” Hamilton asked. “Where are the children?”

  “Upstairs.” Pulling on his arm, Arabella guided him over to an elderly gentleman and his daughter. “This is Randolph Stewart.”

  The name immediately caught his attention. Hamilton hesitated, looking from Mr Stewart to Arabella and then to Mr Stewart’s daughter. His words lodged in his throat. Miss Stewart looked beautiful in a gown he was sure belonged to Arabella, but her hair rivalled that of any woman’s in the room. “Miss Stewart.”

  Miss Stewart looked embarrassed, almost self-conscious in her gown, but her father prompted her forward. “My lord.”

  “Please,” Hamilton said, desperate for this last chance. “Would you like to dance?”

  With a nod, Miss Stewart – perhaps he had the opportunity to call her Abigail in the privacy of his mind, at least for now – took his hand and followed him onto the ballroom floor.

  “I feel I must apologise,” Abigail said immediately, keeping her eyes to the floor. “I came here tonight to return your children.”

  Hamilton was stunned, kept his feet moving as he drew her closer. “They left the house?”

  Abigail’s cheeks were flushed. “They came to find me. Convinced me that I needed to be here.”

  “I don’t understand.” Hamilton was confused. He could see Arabella and Mr Stewart standing together, staring. Along the back wall, Douglas was watching them, fury etched on his face.

  “I know you think my mother disgraced,” Abigail admitted quietly. She looked upset and furious in equal measure. “The rumours were untrue. Your uncle made them up to manipulate you.”

  The room felt too hot all of a sudden. “Miss Stewart –”

  “It is not proper to say,” Abigail continued hurriedly, still not looking at him. “But I love you, and I would not see you forced into a life you do not deserve.”

  “Abigail.”

  Abigail paused, looking him in the eye.

  “I must know what you are saying.”

  “I love you,” Abigail said again, her voice strong.

  Hamilton was silently furious – with Douglas for his machinations, with himself for believing the lies despite his cousin convincing him otherwise. As soon as Douglas revealed his contempt, he should have ridden out to find Abigail and bring her home. “I have failed you.”

  “No.” Abigail gave up the pretence of their dance, gripped Hamilton’s hands in her own. “There is still time.”

  There didn’t seem to be enough time, but Hamilton had stood beneath his uncle’s boot for long enough. “Come.”

  The two of them weaved through the attendees, drawing Arabella and Mr Stewart into their wake. Douglas caught them approaching and had the foresight to retreat to the next room where they would not be disturbed.

  “You lied to me,” Hamilton said, drawing himself up and standing tall. “Convinced me that Missus Stewart was disgraced.” Nothing about Mr Stewart’s face changed, and Hamilton wondered if he had known.

  “It had to be done,” Douglas said, unrepentant. “You would squander the fortune on a nobody, take away a good role model for your children.”

  “Do not,” Hamilton said, furious, “claim to have my children’s best interests in mind. You wished to have the fortune for yourself.”

  Douglas’s smile was unkind, even as he looked upon his daughter. “You are responsible for this, daughter. You have created the atmosphere of a party when the
re will be none for you.”

  “I beg to differ,” Mr Stewart said. He was a small man, a head shorter than his daughter, but Hamilton understood why he was a respected clergyman, why Abigail spoke so highly of his teachings.

  “Who are you?” Douglas asked dismissively.

  “Randolph Stewart, Abigail’s father.” Mr Stewart seemed unimpressed. “You wish to retain the Hamilton fortune for yourself.”

  “I am the beneficiary,” Douglas said, narrowing his eyes.

  Hamilton frowned. “Only if I do not marry before the end of the year. Then the fortune reverts to you.”

  Douglas laughed, eyes mocking. “Do not fool yourself into thinking you stand a chance of marrying before the turn of the year.”

  Mr Stewart once again drew attention back to him, touching his daughter’s arm. “I will marry them.”

  Again, it felt as if the very ground Hamilton was standing on was moving. He did not know what to say, could barely breathe. Abigail was still holding onto his arm, and he drew courage from her strength.

  “Then it shall be done,” Hamilton said. “On the morrow.”

  “Impossible,” Douglas scoffed, but he was looking less certain, fear and anger warring on his face. “You cannot –”

  “I wish you to leave the estate,” Hamilton said, his tone low and hard. “You are hereby banished from this family. You are to stay away from this estate and everyone on it. I will be in touch with Father’s lawyers once we are married.”

  Douglas drew himself up, face red and furious, but Hamilton did not back down. There was a long moment where Hamilton feared it would end in a fight, but it did not. Douglas stormed out of the room, leaving the four of them staring at each other in disbelief.

  “I am so sorry,” Hamilton said, drawing Abigail closer to him. “I should not have believed him.”

  “It does not matter,” Abigail said seriously. Then, hopeful, she added, “Did you mean what you said?”

  “I would marry you right now,” Hamilton assured her. “I love you, Miss Abigail Stewart, and I would have the whole world now it. But,” he added, with a quick glance at her father, who was smiling and clutching Arabella’s arm to his, “I would see you married properly.”