by Mary Balogh
His brother-in-law laughed. “I would have known even without the warning,” he said. “Clearly it is out of the question now, Severn.”
“Do you still wish to buy a commission in the army?” the earl asked. “It was your ambition, was it not? I think you are not too old. If it is what you still wish, then you will win precisely enough to pay off your father's debts and to buy a pair of colors. You will be astounded and ecstatic at your good fortune. And afterward you will make your own way in the world.”
Boris' manner had stiffened again. “This is my concern,” he said. “I will not brook interference, Severn, well-meant as I know it is. I am not your concern.”
“But Abby is,” Lord Severn said. “I am going to do this for her happiness, not for yours. And if you love her, if you wish to repay some of the love she lavished on you and your family, then you will let me do it. I know this will mean sacrificing some of your pride. But remember some of the sacrifices Abby has made in her lifetime.”
Boris clenched his teeth. “The devil!” he said.
'”Remember that your father was hers too,” Lord Severn said, “and my father-in-law.”
“You have me backed quite firmly into a corner, don't you?” Boris said, his voice revealing his frustration.
“I'm afraid so,” the earl said. “J will play quite unfairly, you see, when Abby's happiness is at stake.”
“I don't understand,” Boris said. “You have known her for less than two weeks.”
The earl smiled. “One does not have to know Abby very long to know that she is a very precious gem,” he said. “Good fortune was smiling on me when she decided to pay me a call to remind me of a very remote kinship. We have an agreement?”
“It seems so,” Boris said, “though I wish there were some other way.”
“There is not,” the earl said. “Give me your direction and I shall call on you tomorrow. I shall tell Abby that everything is set up for tomorrow evening. You will call on her the morning after to delight her with your good fortune and the grand success of her plan. Shall we rejoin the ladies?”
“I suppose so.” Boris scratched the back of his neck. “Why is it that so often one could hug Abby and shake her all at the same time?”
The earl grinned. “I am becoming familiar with the feeling,” he said.
15
“I was very vexed with Boris,” Abigail said. “But I think the picnic went well, don't you, Miles?”
The Earl of Severn sat back in his chair and twirled the stem of his empty wineglass between his fingers. “If the amount of food consumed was an indicator,” he said, “I would have to say it was a roaring success, Abby. What did Boris do to incur your wrath?”
“Oh,” she said, “he monopolized Laura's attention during tea, and then afterward, when you came back from walking with him, he took her off for a stroll. It was most provoking.”
“While the ardent lover panted in the background?” he said. “But why did Gerald not bear her off while I was talking with your brother?”
“Because Lord Darlington was discussing horses with him,” Abigail said, “at great length. I could have screamed. However, I must not be impatient. They will have the whole of the summer in which to become better acquainted. And there was a definite spark there this afternoon, was there not?”
“Abby.” The earl smiled at her. “You see Gerald womanless and at the age of thirty and you feel that you must add a woman and happiness to his life. You see Miss Seymour, pretty and alone and making a dull living as a governess, and you want to add brightness and marriage to her life. Your feelings are admirable. But you cannot live other people's lives for them, you know.”
“I don't intend to,” she said. “I just wish to give them a chance to get to know each other and to realize how very compatible they are.”
“Gerald is in love with someone else,” he said. “And I believe that Miss Seymour is soon to be in that happy state too, if she is not already.”
Abigail stared at him blankly. “Sir Gerald?” she said. “In love? And not with Laura? With whom, then?”
“With someone he has known and been fond of for more than a year,” he said. “He is only now realizing, I believe, that he cannot live without her.”
She looked searchingly into his eyes. “A mistress?” she asked.
He nodded. “A sweet girl,” he said. “Of course, he would not expect to fall in love with his mistress, and has been quite blind to his feelings. He thinks he is opposed to marriage and to women in general. He is not—only to any marriage that does not involve his Prissy.”
“Oh,” she said, “and what about Laura? Where are we to find a husband for her?”
“I would imagine that we have no responsibility to find one at all,” he said. “But I think you have done just that already, Abby.”
She frowned. “I?” she said. Her eyes blazed. “And don't go mentioning Humphrey Gill, Miles. You have not seen him. Besides, he is years younger than Laura.”
He laughed. “Abby,” he said, “is that a nose on your face? Can you see beyond the end of it?”
She looked at him in mute indignation.
“Your brother and your best friend had eyes for no one but each other this afternoon,” he said. “A blind man would have been affected by it. Indeed, they disappeared from sight for ten whole minutes after tea, and when they reappeared, her face was looking remarkably rosy—remarkably as if it had been thoroughly kissed, in fact.”
“Boris?” she said blankly. “And Laura?”
“I plan to put my disreputable cheat into action tomorrow night,” he said. “He comes highly recommended, Abby. H has never been caught in his life even by the sharpest of card sharpers. After tomorrow night your brother should be in position to offer some sort of future to a young lady who cannot have very high expectations of a great fortune.”
Abigail folded her napkin very carefully and set it beside her empty dessert dish. “Laura,” she said. “And Boris. She would be my sister-in-law. My sister-in-law.” She smiled. “Are you quite sure.”
“That she will become your sister?” he said, smiling back at her. “No. That they are starry-eyed over each other? Definitely.''
“Well,” she said. “Well.”
“Abby speechless?” he said, getting up from his place and coming around the table to hold back her chair for her. “I must have given you startling news indeed. Are you sure you do not wish to go to the Vendrys' tonight?”
“I liked your suggestion,” she said, “that we spend the evening in the library again, just the two of us. You do not find my company dull, Miles?”
“Dull?” he said, taking her hand on his arm. “If I think back on all the evenings we have spent together, Abby, the one that stands out most in my mind is the one we spent at home together. I think I enjoy being a staid old married man.”
She smiled. “Laura and Boris,” she said. “I have been remarkably foolish, haven't I?”
“Now, how can I agree with that,” he said, “without appearing quite ungallant? 'Eager,' I think, would be a better word. Eager to see to the happiness of your friend and mine.”
“Will Sir Gerald marry his mistress?” he asked. “Is it done?”
“It is not done,” he said, “though there is no law against it, as far as I know. Anyway, it may already be too late. She left him a week ago to go and marry someone else. Or perhaps the truth has still not punched him on the nose. I don't know, Abby.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “you should tell him, Miles, that—”
“No,” he said firmly.
She sighed. “I have to go upstairs for my embroidery,” she said.
“Do you?” he said. “I shall see you in the library in a few minutes' time, then.”
* * *
He was being cowardly, the Earl of Severn thought as he drew the book he was currently reading from a shelf and sat with it in his favorite chair beside the fireplace. There was a great deal of talking to be done, and he had intended t
o do it as soon as they came home. But Abigail had been happy and had disappeared into her room, humming tunelessly.
He had intended to talk to her at the dinner table, but had realized as soon as they were there together that he could not talk about such private and personal matters in the presence of servants.
He had suggested to her that they miss the evening's entertainment, intending to bring her into the library and have his talk with her. And yet he was being seduced by the memory of that one evening they had spent there together, and he was settling down to a hoped-for repetition of it. She would come in with her embroidery and seat herself opposite him, and h~ would relax with his book, concentrating on it, but feeling even so the contentment of knowing that she was there with him.
He set the book down impatiently and got to his feet. He stood with his back to the fireplace, his hands clasped behind him, and watched her when she came in a few moments later, her workbag in one hand.
“Everyone at home would have been amazed to see how dedicated a needlewoman I would become one day,” she said. “Embroidery was never one of my accomplishments.”
“I suppose,” he said, “you were too busy drying tears and soothing headaches and bandaging cuts and telling stories. And nursing your father.”
She smiled at him a little uncertainly and sat down on the chair she had occupied a few evenings before. “Life was never dull at home,” she said.
“And compensating two little girls for their mother's desertion,” he said. “And protecting them from the violent rages of a drunken father, standing in for the half-brother who might have been there to protect them himself but was away much of the time.”
“What did Boris tell you?” she said, releasing her hold on her bag, which fell with a plop to the floor.
“And taking all the burdens of the world on your own shoulders,” he said. “And looking to everyone's happiness but your own, Abby.”
“What has Boris told you?” She stared up at him from her large gray eyes.
“Enough,” he said. “Enough that I think I understand everything, Abby. Except your opinion of me. Did you really think it would make a difference to me?”
“You know about Rachel?” Her voice was a whisper.
“About Mrs. Harper?” he said. “Yes.”
“I said I was your cousin,” she said. “You married me, knowing nothing else about me. You would not have done so if you had known what a ramshackle lot we are. A drunken, violent father who shamed us in public and abused us in private and gambled away all of his son's inheritance and all of his daughters' security. A stepmother who ran away with another man and who now operates a gaming hell and a brothel in London. Even what you knew was bad enough. I had been dismissed from my job for fluting with my employer's son. Yes, Miles, I thought it would make a difference. In fact, I know it would have.”
“Abby,” he said, his head to one side.
She looked up at him, her jaw set, her face pale. “Can you tell me honestly,'' she said, ''that it would not have done? Had I told you everything on that first morning, what would you have done? Given me a letter of recommendation? I think not. Sent me on my way with a few coins? Probably. Married me? Never. And do you think I have not had that fact on my conscience?”
“And is that what the six thousand pounds was for?” he asked. “And the fifteen hundred more that you tried to borrow?”
She looked down sharply at her hands. “I thought he was a gentleman,” she said.
“He is,” he said. “He was concerned about you, Abby. First asking for the money and then rushing away without waiting for an answer. He thought I was the best person to help you. Is your stepmother blackmailing you, threatening to come to me with all these facts?”
He watched her hands twisting tightly in her lap. “She threatened to take Bea and Clara,” she said. “She said she would go away to the Continent if she had five thousand pounds. I love them, Miles. They are just little children and have already been forced to live through disturbing upheavals. It killed me—I know you will think I am dramatizing, but it is true that it killed something inside me—when I lost them the first time. But there was no possible way I could keep them with me. Then, after two whole years, hope was rekindled and she tried to dash it again in the most cruel of ways. She would have taken those little girls into that house.”
“No, she would not have.” He stooped down on his haunches and took her cold hands in his. They were rigid with tension. “She would have to spend time and money on them if she had them here with her, Abby. But she knew that you love them. She knew that you were a mother to them between the time of her leaving and your father's death. And she knew that you do not always think with your head but with your heart. She saw a sure way to a never-ending supply of money. How much have you given her?”
“Five thousand,” she said, her eyes on their clasped hands.
“And she wants fifteen hundred more?”
“Two thousand,” she said. “That will be all, Miles. She will leave as soon as she has that.”
“You do not believe that any more than I do,” he said.
There was a blank look in her eyes, and one of her fingernails dug painfully into his palm.
“But let me give it to her anyway,” she said. “Just this once, Miles, to avoid unpleasantness. I shall tell her that it will be the last. I shall tell her that you know everything and that you will see to it that Bea and Clara come to me. She will understand that there cannot possibly be more. I know it is a dreadful lot of money to ask of you, but you can take it off my allowance for next year. And indeed six thousand pounds is far too much to give me. I would not have dreamed of asking for so much if I had not needed it so desperately. I'll go tomorrow—”
“Abby,” he said, easing the cut on his palm away from her nail. “Hush, dear. You don't have to be to agitated. I shall call on Mrs. Harper myself and tell her—”
“No!” she said sharply. “No, Miles. It will be better if I go. We know each other and understand each other.”
“We will go together if you insist,” he said. “But you are not to go alone, Abby. I expressly forbid it.”
“Oh,” she said. “But, Miles, we will give her the money? Please? I promised, you see, and I cannot feel good about going back on a promise.”
There was a look of something in her eyes—terror, desperation, he was not quite sure what. He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands.
“There is really no need to do so,” he said. “Indeed, we should not do so, Abby. No one should be allowed to get away with blackmail or extortion.” He watched her face closely. “But if it will make you feel better, then perhaps we will make an exception in this case. There will be not one penny more, though.''
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I am costing you a prodigious amount of money, am I not, what with my own debts and Boris's?”
He got to his feet and drew her up with him and into his arms. “I think you are probably worth ten times more, Abby,” he said. “In fact, I think perhaps you are priceless.”
“Not plain and dull and likely to fade into the background?” she asked. “Not someone to be got with child and taken to Severn Park and left there forever after?”
He searched her eyes, a mere few inches from his own.
“I heard it from the gentlemen in the box next to ours at the theater,” she said.
He closed his eyes briefly, “Abby,” he said.
“It's all right,” she said quickly. “I know I am not lovely. You did not make any false claims when you offered for me.”
“You have felt guilt over withholding information from me?” he said. “I have felt no less guilt over choosing you so glibly to fit a cynical ideal that I thought was desirable. Shall we just forgive each other and get on with our lives?”
He saw and heard her swallow. “Yes,” she said.
“You are nothing whatsoever like the woman I thought you were that morning,” he said. “It would serve me right
if you were. As it is, I could not have chosen better if I had spent a whole year searching with my heart.” She looked at him warily.
He smiled into her eyes. “Is it all over now?” he asked. “Is everything out in the open at last? All the sordid details that we did not really wish to share with each other?”
She nodded, her eyes on his neckcloth.
“And we have survived,” he said, “and are still together. And gracious me, yes—we are actually in each other's arms. Do you think there is hope for us and our marriage, Abby?”
She nodded and leaned her forehead against his neckcloth.
“But how foolish you were,” he said, “to believe that I would think the worse of you if I had known all the truth about you. What I have heard has only deepened my affection for you. Will you lavish as much love and loyalty on me and our children as you did on your own family, I wonder.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Will you, Abby?” He tightened his arms about her.
She pushed away from him after a few moments. “Do you mind if I don't embroider tonight after all?” she asked. “The day has been a busy and an emotional one. I feel ill again.”
He looked at her in immediate concern. “The headache?” he said. “Cramps? Do you feel bilious?”
“Yes,” she said. “Don't let me disturb you, though. I see you have your book ready to read. I shall go to bed.”
“Your own?” he asked. “I hoped to have you in mine again tonight, Abby. Let me come with you now, shall I, and hold you until you sleep. The book can wait. I would rather be with you.”
She shook her head. “I will be more comfortable alone,” she said.
He drew her back into his arms and kissed her warmly on the lips. “Go on, then,” he said. “I shall have a warm drink and some laudanum sent up to you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Good night, Miles.”
“Good night,” he said. “I am glad we have had this talk, Abby, and cleared the air between us. I am just sorry that the tension of it all has made you ill again.”