“Of course not. Your other clothes have already been sent. You will find that your trunk awaits you in your bedchamber.”
“Oh.” Father—or perhaps Griselda—had thought of everything. Defeated, Abigail took her seat and read the rest of Griselda’s letter. Its contents only served to confirm what Tedric said. Abigail would be staying at the Sutton estate. For a shining moment, she considered writing Father to implore him to change his mind. Then she realized that Griselda’s hold upon him was much too strong. She was doomed.
“I realize that to remain here is not your wish,” Tedric told her. “But I hope you will look upon your stay as an opportunity.”
“An opportunity?”
“Yes. You will soon be mistress of this estate. While no one would expect you to begin any of your duties in that capacity while you are ill, your prolonged stay does present a unique situation. You will have a chance to become acquainted with the estate, a chance that otherwise would not have been afforded to a respectable lady such as yourself.”
Abigail held back the urge to cringe. Her recent attempts to elope with a man who proved himself a liar were certain to feed the local gossip mill for months, if not years. Was Tedric conveying a hidden message to humiliate her? She narrowed her eyes at her captor.
Tedric cleared his throat. “Since Father was reclusive for such a long time, I am quite sure you know nothing about this property. Why, I doubt before your illness that you had even set foot upon it for many years.”
She thought back and discovered her recollections confirmed his speculation. “True. And even so, my memories of that one time are dim. I was still a child. I venture that you and I did not even meet.”
“Much to my regret.”
His gallant quip caused her anger to evaporate like steam escaping a cup of fresh hot tea. Why did a normal pleasantry cause her to feel so delicious?
“I am just now getting reacquainted with the place myself.” He glanced about the room. “I am afraid the years of neglect have taken their toll.” Tedric lifted his stare to a chipped piece of crown molding, a look of distress crossing his face. When he sighed and returned his attention to her, Abigail almost felt sorry for him. “You might be aware that illness caused my father to be a recluse during the last years of his life,” Tedric informed her. “In his weakened physical condition, he relied on servants to take care of the upkeep. As you can see, their skills and loyalties were limited.”
“On the contrary,” Abigail interjected, “I found my room quite opulent.”
“You are kind.” A sad little smile touched his lips. “Now that I am home to stay, I am eager to see the estate returned to its former status.” Though the sun had set, Tedric lifted green velvet draperies aside and looked out the window. “You would not remember the gardens.”
“What do you mean? There are plenty of gardens here. Missy constantly spoke of all the healing herbs she gathered from them, nursing me when I was sick.”
“Yes, we have healing herbs, a few flowers, and fruit trees. And, of course, we have vegetables in summer. But those are necessities. No, what I mean are gardens. Real gardens that would have put Caesar to shame.” Tedric returned his stare to the window and began talking, not to Abigail, but to some invisible audience. “When we were boys, my brother and I would run through the maze, playing hide and seek.” He paused, a trancelike state suggesting he had ventured well into the past. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “And later, in those gardens, promenades under the moonlight. . .”
Moonlight promenades? Images of all sorts of beautiful women flooded Abigail’s mind. She felt a flush of heat rise from her neck, to her cheeks, to her forehead. Embarrassment had a way of making her turn sanguine. To her further chagrin, she realized that jealousy tempered her emotion. The wretched feeling was most unwelcome.
As though he suddenly realized he had hinted at too much, Tedric spun around and faced Abigail. “In its glory, the Sutton estate was known as a place for conviviality.”
“Oh.” Whenever she passed the Sutton estate, the house had appeared more intimidating and eerie than hospitable. At that moment, she recalled a legend that the elderly Lord Sutton lived among ghosts who moaned and rattled chains at night. A slight shiver shot up her spine, making her glad she hadn’t remembered the ridiculous fable until that moment. She decided not to share the story with her host.
“As you can imagine,” he said, “I would like to see our reputation restored.”
Abigail nodded despite the fact she couldn’t imagine the gloomy old place rocking with laughter, violins playing sprightly music, or the scent of fresh flowers decorating the air.
“I am pleased that you agree,” Tedric commented, obviously misinterpreting her nod. “This estate has needed the loving hand of a woman for quite some time. And I have a positive sentiment that you, Miss Pettigrew, will be instrumental in bringing my childhood home back to life.”
❧
Tedric watched Abigail as she exited his study. He was grateful that she seemed more reluctant to leave his presence than she had in the first few moments after receiving the letter from her stepmother. Tedric had only briefly met Griselda Pettigrew, and he did not anticipate the inevitable second encounter with pleasure. Rumor had it that she was a woman of questionable pedigree. Her reputation was that of a woman who sought to climb the social ladder and to meet her objective. She was not above enchanting an aging, if somewhat impoverished, member of the aristocracy into marriage.
His thoughts turned, as they so often did, to Abigail. Her honey blond loveliness surely was more than enough to stir insecurities in a confident woman of the world, let alone a woman with such a tenuous hold on her place in society. No wonder Griselda had such little regard for Abigail’s feelings. Had he realized the extent of her animosity toward Abigail when he took her to the Pettigrew estate that rainy night, Tedric would have insisted upon seeing Abigail’s father rather than following Griselda’s counsel.
Somehow, Tedric didn’t regret Abigail’s time at the estate. As for Cecil, he would be pleased to find his betrothed ready to become mistress of the manor upon their wedding day. “Perhaps,” Tedric muttered, “the Lord in heaven works in mysterious ways.”
Nine
A fortnight later, Abigail sailed into the library without knocking. She was too frustrated to wait for a better time to speak with Lord Sutton. Each turn of responsibility at the estate presented a new problem. As their first encounter had promised, the housekeeper proved a hard and difficult woman. The conflict with Mrs. Farnsworth caused the rest of the staff to fall into slovenliness. The situation had become too urgent to wait.
Upon entering, she saw Tedric at his desk, poring over a large book. After she reached the halfway mark across the expansive library, she paused in wonder. The book looked much like one her family kept in a treasured place at home. She looked again.
Was Tedric reading his Bible?
She observed him as he read, his study so intent that his lips moved with the words, though she heard no sound. Abigail shook her head in amazement. How could a cad like Tedric be interested in the Bible?
Still, she doubted anyone who gave Christianity only lip service would take time to read the Word, at least not without an audience to appreciate it.
Loathe to interrupt his study, Abigail had just about decided to turn on her heel when he looked up at her. His mouth slackened open upon discovering his visitor, but his eyes held a soft light.
“Abigail.” The way his voice brushed over her name sent a wave of pleasure through her.
“Yes,” she answered, wishing she could think of a more intriguing answer.
“How long have you been standing there?”
She hesitated. “Less than a moment.”
“I beg your pardon.” Tedric rose. “Apparently I was so absorbed in my reading that I didn’t realize you had entered.” His mouth twitched into a frustrated line as he glanced at the open door. “Where is Ralph, I wonder?”
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��You gave him the night off. His mother is ill. Remember?”
“Oh yes.” He nodded with a few slow motions, a sure indication he barely remembered granting the butler’s request. “How does the poor soul fare?”
“She is improving, from what I understand.”
“Good. But where is Mrs. Farnsworth?” Tedric looked about the room as though he expected her to materialize.
“Taking her nightly tea, by my leave,” Abigail answered. “So.” She paused. “Are you reading Scripture?”
He looked down at the book, which was still open on his desk. “Yes. I read it each night about this time.”
To her surprise, his voice was soft, as though he were revealing a deep secret. His eyes failed to meet hers.
“I must say I am quite surprised.”
He looked up. “Surprised? Pray tell, why?”
“I thought a man like you would have no interest in God’s Word.”
As soon as her words registered, Tedric winced. She blurted an apology. “I beg your pardon.”
“That is quite all right.” His lips pouted ever so slightly, and a stricken light entered his eyes, but he didn’t prod Abigail for an explanation. “I suppose you could tell from my absorption in my reading that I find the Proverbs fascinating.”
“Oh? So do I. What passage are you studying?”
“Are you sincere in your query?”
“I am.”
“Very well.” Tedric picked up the Bible and read. “Proverbs, the twenty-second chapter, verse twenty-nine. ‘Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not stand before mean men.’ ”
Abigail waited for him to continue reading, but he stopped and shut the book with a soft thud. “That is all? That is the passage you were contemplating so deeply?”
“Is that not enough?”
She thought for a moment, then realized the words were indeed meaty. “Yes, it is.”
Abigail restrained herself from leaping with excitement. So, he was interested in the admonitions of Scripture. The man she had been led to believe was a cad, a rake, and a rogue consulted Scripture every night. Her chest heaved once, a natural reaction to the softening of her heart. Perhaps marriage to Tedric wouldn’t be such an ordeal after all.
He motioned for her to sit in the stiff chair across from his desk. “What prompts your visit?” His voice was not unkind.
She shook her head. “There is no need to bother you now. What I have to say can wait.”
“No. I want to hear you.”
Surrendering, Abigail took her seat.
Tedric sat back down and placed his silk-clad elbows on the polished wood. “What brings you to see me at this late hour?”
“Your staff,” she informed him.
“My staff?” His dark eyebrows shot up as he set his back against the chair. “Indeed? Are they not satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory? I should say not. They are impossible!” One quick look around the library incited her to further ire. “It is no wonder this place is in a state of disrepair.” Abigail wanted to clench her hand into a fist and beat it on the desk, but considering his past observations about her maturity—or lack thereof—she crossed her arms once more, stiffened them across her chest for emphasis, and settled for exhaling with a loud huff.
“I can see they have vexed you greatly. So what is the quandary now, Abigail?” Instead of sharing her irritation, Tedric looked as though he could barely contain a grin.
“Tedric, I do believe you enjoy my misery.”
“ ‘Enjoy’ is too strong a word. I do find your antics quite entertaining, however.” This time, he didn’t bother to conceal his real feelings.
Oh, why did the smile that lined his face have to be so devastating?
She swallowed. Maybe she should reconsider bothering Tedric with all her problems. This was not the first time she had asked him to address a conflict between herself and the servants. Each time she approached Tedric, she sensed she only appeared to be more helpless.
In truth, Abigail was helpless, or at least hapless. Griselda had taught her most of the essentials the position as mistress of a manor held, but her stepmother’s skill made the execution of each task seem effortless. Griselda issued a command, and the proper servant rushed to please her. Why couldn’t Abigail garner the same response at the Sutton estate?
“The servants just do not seem to listen to me,” Abigail confessed.
“How strange.” Tedric touched his forefinger to his chin. “I instructed them that they are to carry out your orders. They are fully aware that they can be dismissed if they disobey.”
“Not all of them are difficult. Certainly Missy is doing her best,” Abigail rushed to clarify. She would always remain loyal to the one maid who had shown faithfulness to her throughout her ordeal. “It is just that, well, Cook does not like the menus I propose, the chambermaid is always late because she persists in flirting with the footman, and the housekeeper refuses to discipline her staff.”
Amusement no longer showed itself on Tedric’s face. “She has been running the house without interference for so long, I am afraid your presence has caused her not a small amount of resentment. That shall not be tolerated. I will have a talk with her.”
“Oh, please do not dismiss her! Why, I have not the faintest idea where I would be without her.”
“Bad help is better than no help, then?” he asked.
Abigail sent her gaze to the leather-clad toes just visible beyond the hem of her skirt. “I suppose.”
“Well, then. That explains your problem. I think Mrs. Farnsworth senses your feelings. She believes she will keep her job whether she listens to you or not.”
She looked up at Tedric. “Will she?”
“That is for you to decide.” He leaned more closely toward Abigail. “Are you certain you would not like to dismiss her?”
She gasped. “Why, I could not possibly.”
The shadow of a smile touched his countenance. “Surely you are not afraid of your own housekeeper.”
“My housekeeper? On the contrary, she is your housekeeper.”
He lifted a forefinger. “She is the Sutton housekeeper. And in only a short while,” Tedric added, pointing at her, “you shall be Lady Sutton.”
Abigail suddenly became aware of her beating heart. Lady Sutton! The words that once had filled her with dread now held the power to spark happy anticipation.
She let her gaze dart to and from Tedric in a few brief spurts, aware that gazing straight into his eyes would be too bold for a lady. How had she come to this juncture, the point where she looked upon her wedding day with wild anticipation? How had she grown eager to wed a man known to be a cad, a rake, or worse?
Even during the dark hours when she had hated him most, Abigail had always thought Tedric handsome. Even then, when he entered a room, she found herself eager to see him. Now that she had been at the estate for awhile, Abigail’s opinion had changed, inch by inch. Lord Sutton was reputed to spend months at a time away on murky business in London. Yet since her arrival, he had not left the estate for any prolonged period of time. Not for business, not for pleasure.
She had been warned that Lord Sutton was bound to take advantage of his betrothed, yet Tedric had never attempted any liberties, a fact that left Abigail feeling a hint of disappointment.
The man in question interrupted her meandering thoughts. “Perhaps after you become Lady Sutton, you shall enjoy the respect you deserve.”
“Respect is often given to those not deserving of it. Griselda warranted no respect, yet she commanded absolute obedience.” As soon as the words snapped from her lips, Abigail felt the color empty from her face. “Forgive me. I did not mean those words.”
“I know you did not mean to say that.” Tedric’s emphasis on the word say showed her that he realized her true meaning. “I met your stepmother once, only briefly. I assure you, her stature and presence are quite imposing. Methinks I would be afraid of her myself.”<
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Relieved that Tedric was unwilling to upbraid her, Abigail allowed a giggle to escape her lips. “Indeed?” she teased. “Methinks you should be afraid of no one.”
“I am certainly not afraid of the housekeeper. I shall dismiss her on a moment’s notice if you ask.”
“But then we would have no housekeeper at all.” Fear showed itself in her shaking voice.
Tedric reached his hands over the desk. Without thinking, Abigail reached for them and allowed Tedric to hold her hands in his. “My dear, sweet Abigail. You need not be so afraid.”
Abigail permitted her eyes to fix upon his. For a shining moment, she looked closely enough to observe the gold flecks in his blue irises. Not for the first time, she noticed his smooth face, dotted by miniscule whiskers making their reappearance after a close morning shave. The scent of clean masculine skin dashed with a few sprinkles of bay rum lured her to draw as closely as the large desk allowed. She leaned against it with a vigor that pained her, but she didn’t care. Her only desire was to be closer to him.
Obviously sensing her emotions, Tedric leaned in toward her. She found herself wishing she weren’t a lady, that she could stand up and lean over the desk, moving her mouth close enough to let him kiss her. These strange emotions, unknown to her before that moment, left her as exhilarated as a long ride on a galloping steed. No wonder so many women had fallen for him.
The thought caused her to jump back. “No!” she shouted.
Tedric’s eyes widened to their full extent. His body flinched. He disconnected his hands from hers with such force that his fingernails made light contact with her skin. “Excusez moi!” he murmured.
His French, so popular among the smart set, only served to remind her how much Tedric enjoyed his role as a man of the world. Her anger grew. “Do not touch me ever again!”
She expected him to retort that once they were man and wife, she would not be permitted to issue such edicts. Abigail wasn’t sure about the mysteries of marriage. She had only heard whispers about what was expected of a wife. Once, she had eavesdropped on Griselda and one of her older friends. Lady Edith remarked that she survived her wifely obligation by following her own mother’s advice to think of one’s duty to the Church. What did that mean? Both women turned sanguine and clapped their mouths shut as soon as they realized Abigail had overheard their words.
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