My Brother's Bride

by Rachael Anderson

  Her words, spoken with warmth and sincerity, stirred something within Morgan. Despite what his solicitor had cautioned him against and what his bailiff would undoubtedly say, he’d done the right thing. Jasper’s debts would cost him dearly and set him back for a time, but at least he could move forward with a clear conscience.

  “It is my pleasure, Abby,” he said. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to ask Smithson to summon my bailiff, I’d appreciate it.”

  She rose to do as he bid, but before she quit the room, Morgan added, “Please think about what we discussed. I would truly be sorry to see you go.”

  She smiled a little before walking out the door, leaving Morgan feeling unsettled and nervous. By restoring funds to her, he’d given her the means to live in comfort independently of him and everyone else.

  How strange it felt to grant her freedom while hoping she would not take it.

  THE SKIES DARKENED to dusk as Morgan ascended the small rise to the churchyard’s burial plot. It was a peaceful spot—the old stone chapel surrounded by buckthorn, aspen, and beech trees. Over the past few years, he’d come to his father’s grave every now and again, whenever he’d had a troubling decision to make. At first, he’d come to express frustration. His father hadn’t left Oakley in the best state, and Morgan had several choice words to say to his sire. But as he began to set Oakley to rights, he no longer felt the need to lecture and came instead to work through various problems. It helped, somehow.

  Today, however, Morgan had come to speak to his brother.

  Jasper’s grave marker was tall and rectangular, with a decorative arch across the top. The design was simple but still in good taste. Jasper probably would have chosen something more elaborate, but as soon as Morgan had set eyes on this stone, he knew it was the one. It reminded him of the old Jasper, the unassuming and authentic brother from his youth.

  Morgan removed his hat, clutching it in his hands as he read the words engraved on the stone.

  IN MEMORY OF A BELOVED SON,

  BROTHER, HUSBAND, AND FATHER.

  JASPER ARCHER CAMPBELL

  3 MARCH 1792 – 17 AUGUST 1817

  Morgan gave a wry smile at the word father. “You always did like to take credit for things not of your making. Remember when I carved an owl for that pretty farmer’s daughter and left it on a stump in the meadow where we used to play? You found it first and waited for her to come along, then accepted her embrace of thanks without explaining who really carved it. I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

  He could almost hear Jasper’s teasing answer. “I was saving you from yourself, idiot. She was only a farmer’s daughter, and you were an earl.”

  Morgan liked remembering the Jasper from long ago—his brother, his friend, his partner in crime. How he missed that Jasper.

  “Who were you, really?” Morgan asked quietly. He used to think he’d always have to look into the past to remember his brother fondly, but after Abby’s confession, he had to wonder if that youthful Jasper was not as lost as Morgan had thought.

  “It seems I’ve misjudged you, brother. You’re probably looking down on me in triumph right now, so I will not pamper your vanity too much. Though you were a frivolous spendthrift until the day you died, you did well by Abby. It couldn’t have been easy to sacrifice your freedom, but I commend you for doing so. As far as I’m concerned, you have earned the title of father. I only wish you could have stayed around long enough to show us the sort of father you could have become.”

  Morgan ran his finger across the top of the headstone. For a moment, he caught a whiff of orange that smelled like the traditional cologne his brother often wore, but then it was gone, floating away with the breeze.

  He swallowed and gave the stone a final pat. “Farewell, brother. You will be missed. Rest assured that your child will be raised with every opportunity possible, and know that Abby will carry your name with grace, dignity, and spirit.”

  He waited a few seconds longer, then replaced his hat and walked away, feeling lighter than he had in years.

  ABBY STOOD IN front of the window in her bedchamber and peered out at the gray skies, lush grounds, and sea in the distance. After Jasper had left for that ill-fated hunting party, she had felt something awaken inside her—a longing to make the most of her marriage and a determination to set her life to rights. When Lady Brigston began to soften towards her, it was like an extra spoonful of cream. Her hope had sparked strong and bright.

  Now, all that wonderful hope had been snuffed out, leaving Abby beaten and defeated. She should have made the most of her marriage when she’d had the chance. She should have given Jasper a reason to stay instead of encouraging him to go. She should have cared for him as he had her.

  Abby closed her eyes, reminding herself that it did no good to dwell on things that couldn’t be altered. No matter how much she might wish for another chance, Jasper was gone.

  She shivered and stepped away from the window. Her expansive bedchamber looked lovely and bright. A wooden four-poster bed gleamed against the cream walls, with peach and gold accents throughout. As soon as she’d walked into this room, it had become her haven, as had the rest of Oakley. But now, everywhere she went, the walls, the grounds, even the sea felt like an enclosure. She no longer felt peaceful here, only a growing anxiousness to rid herself of the mournful quiet.

  Abby rarely saw Brigston, and her mother-in-law kept to her bedchamber, choosing to mourn behind her thick, wooden door. Even the servants were quieter than usual, tiptoeing from room to room as though any noise would upset the precarious feeling that hovered over the house. Sometimes Abby wanted to shout loudly from the great hall, just to hear something besides the quiet.

  Though she had little experience with death, Abby understood loneliness, sadness, and even loss to a certain extent. She’d learned that if she let those feelings take hold, as she had of late, her existence became dark indeed. If she didn’t find some reprieve soon, she feared the oppression would swallow her up. Every day that passed, her soul wilted and withered a little more.

  Abby inhaled deeply and told herself that as soon as she signed whatever papers needed signing, she would go. It was the only choice she could make.

  The muffled sound of hoof beats captured her attention, and she peered out her window to see Brigston gallop away from the stables at a fast clip. She felt envious, wishing she could mount a horse and race across the countryside as well—away from this house and the morbid feelings inside her.

  Why don’t you?

  The thought entered her mind with such vigor that she couldn’t dismiss it. Although her belly bulged a little, it wasn’t large enough to be a problem. She would still be able to ride without difficulty or discomfort, and Brigston had said she should make herself at home.

  Perhaps a long, hard ride would save her from certain madness.

  Yes, why not?

  Abby strode to her closet to retrieve a habit, only to realize the red and gold colors staring back at her would never do for mourning apparel. For a brief moment, the disappointment weighed her down, but as she considered the black gown she wore, she had the rebellious thought that the dress would suit her as well as any habit.

  Abby donned her pelisse, gloves, bonnet, and riding boots, then strode from the room before she could talk herself out of it.

  In the stables, a groom attempted to dissuade her, but Abby remained firm. He finally relented, insisting she take the gentlest mare, and Abby soon found herself seated on a lovely chestnut horse, flying towards the sea.

  The rush of speed and freedom whipped around her, bolstering her spirits and making her believe she could outrun the misery. She hadn’t ridden this hard or fast in a long while, and it felt wonderful. Why hadn’t she done this before now?

  She rode up and down the beach, slowing the mare to a trot through a large copse of trees, then picked up the pace on the beach once more. After another lengthy canter across the shoreline, she pulled the mare to a halt and breathed in the salty
air while admiring the Isle of Wight in the distance.

  This was her escape—her only escape—and how desperately she’d needed it. Tomorrow, she would ride again, along with the next day and the day after that, for as long as it took to sign those papers.

  When she became aware of another horse approaching from behind, she glanced back to see Brigston coming her way. This time, the sight of him didn’t make her at all nervous or uncomfortable. On the contrary, she was pleased to see him. As he neared, however, he did not seem nearly as pleased to see her. In fact, he looked downright grim.

  “What the devil are you doing?” he demanded.

  Refusing to be cowed, Abby returned his glare with a raised brow. “Enjoying the view, obviously. Isn’t the Isle of Wight inspiring? We should secure a boat and go there.”

  “Abby, you were racing across the beach on the back of a horse.”

  She chuckled lightly. “If you call that racing, you are in need of spectacles, my lord. I was merely strolling.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Strolling is something you do with your feet, not a horse.”

  Abby leaned forward and patted the animal’s neck. “Her name is Sunshine, and she has the sweetest temperament.”

  “Sweet or not, you shouldn’t—”

  “Riding is a perfectly acceptable pastime for a woman,” said Abby.

  “Not if that woman happens to be… in a certain condition.” He stumbled over the words, appearing uncomfortable and frustrated. Abby had to admit she rather liked watching him squirm.

  “You’re increasing, Abby,” he said more firmly. “You shouldn’t be riding at all, regardless of the pace.”

  “Why is that?” she challenged, ready for an argument. It felt good to speak forcefully. It felt good to speak at all.

  “What if you suffered a fall? Surely the doctor has advised you against such exercise.”

  Abby waved the concern aside with a flip of her wrist. “Psh. He has never carried a child. How can he possibly know what I should or shouldn’t be doing? I’m an adept rider, sir, and I have not increased too large as of yet.”

  Brigston seemed to consider her argument before dismissing it with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but I must insist on this. I have already given an order to the grooms that you are not to ride again until the doctor deems you able to do so.”

  Nothing he said could have injured Abby more. He’d taken a mallet to her spirits, crushing them with one painful whack. Could he not see how much she needed this? Could he not trust that she knew what she was doing? If she had felt the least bit unstable or uncomfortable, she would have refrained. She would never put the well-being of her unborn child at risk.

  Abby swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat as the feeling of entrapment returned with a vengeance. “I’m afraid I must leave Oakley,” she blurted.

  Her words sobered him instantly, and his brow furrowed. “Now?”

  She hesitated. He’d made it plain he’d like her to stay, and for his sake, she wished she could acquiesce, but she needed to move forward with her life, and she didn’t see how she could accomplish that while at Oakley. “I feel it’s the path I should take. I find myself without purpose of late, and it makes me anxious.”

  He cocked his head to the side and examined her. “What are you searching for, Abby? You are to be a mother soon. Is that not purpose enough? Do you feel you can better perform that role elsewhere?”

  Abby ought to have known he wouldn’t be satisfied with a vague answer. Jasper probably would have, or at least he wouldn’t have questioned her further. Brigston, on the other hand, wanted to understand. It was a trait she liked about him because it encouraged her to speak freely.

  “I’m lonely, Brigston,” she admitted. “It’s become too solemn for my peace of mind. If I stay much longer, I fear I will go mad. Can you understand? Are you not also in desperate need of conversation, laughter, and something more than silence? My world has been dark for so long. I don’t think I can bear anymore.”

  Her words seemed to sadden him. “You are anxious to leave.”

  She nodded. “I can’t decide if it’s an act of cowardice or bravery. Perhaps I should take to my bedchamber and bury my sorrow with tears, but what good will that do? Sorrow and regret will not bring my husband back. Nothing will. So why not seek joy instead? It has been too elusive of late, but I must find it soon or perish myself.”

  He appeared troubled, but instead of voicing his thoughts aloud, he swung down from his horse, walked to her side, and peered up at her beneath the brim of his beaver.

  “Walk with me?” he asked.

  She eyed his gloved fingers with both longing and trepidation. A few months ago, she didn’t think she’d ever desire a man’s touch again. At first, Jasper’s attempts to comfort her had caused her to recoil, but after several weeks, she’d grown accustomed to him taking her hand and kissing her cheek. In time, she would have become accustomed to more, but that time had been stolen from her.

  Brigston, on the other hand, had never made her recoil. Was it because he posed no threat? He was her brother, after all, and had never tried to be anything more, nor would he. Perhaps that was the reason.

  She at last conceded with a nod, but as soon as his hands touched her waist, a delicious warmth traveled up her back and radiated through her limbs. His touch felt marvelous. Safe. As he set her on the ground, she breathed in the scents of leather, horse, citrus, and a tantalizing spice she couldn’t describe. For a moment, Abby thought she felt her babe move within her, but she couldn’t be sure if it was the babe or Brigston that made her insides flutter.

  I’m healing, she thought with a start. For a moment she basked in that knowledge until the gravity of the situation made her step free from his grasp. What was wrong with her? Brigston was the last person she should feel an attraction for. He was her brother.

  Abby waited while he gathered both sets of reigns in his hands, then walked beside him across the pebbly beach.

  He spoke first. “It will not always be this way. We are in mourning.” An underlying question of Do you not intend to mourn my brother? accompanied his words, or perhaps Abby only thought she detected it.

  She peered off into the distance, choosing her words carefully. “I would give anything to see Jasper’s smile or hear his laughter again. I feel cheated that our time together was so brief and sad that this child will never know him. It would be an easy thing to capitulate to the grief and guilt that plagues me, but Jasper would have despised being mourned in that way. He would not wish his memory to be tucked away in some dark recess because we find it too painful to speak of him. He would want to be the center of our conversations, the subject of stories and recollections. He’d want us to relive his life over and over again, laughing at his antics and remembering the good and cheerful person he was. This melancholy that abounds—it doesn’t feel right to me.”

  Brigston nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. After a minute or two, he said, “I think you’d find that many people share your feelings, but it is easier said than done, is it not? There is so much sorrow that accompanies loss. I fear mother cannot see the sun through the clouds, at least not yet. It’s hard to speak of Jasper when doing so brings more pain than laughter.”

  Abby felt instantly humbled. He was right, of course. Who was she to tell him and his mother how to mourn? Who was she to have an opinion on anything? “Forgive my impertinence, Brigston. I cannot comprehend the extent of your mother’s suffering—or yours, for that matter. I didn’t know Jasper as well as you and have no idea what it must feel like to lose a child or a sibling, nor do I wish to know. Perhaps that makes me unfeeling.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Abby. I have always appreciated your honesty and hope you will continue to be direct with me. I also believe you knew Jasper better than you think. He loathed melancholy and would prefer to be at the heart of our conversations. Perhaps it would do us good to speak of him more.”

  Abby smiled
a little, grateful he didn’t dismiss her feelings outright. “When we were traveling to Gretna, I was lost to a darkness of my own making, and it was Jasper who helped me see light again. He tried various antics to encourage a smile, and when nothing worked, he finally took me by the hand and said, ‘You’re only as happy as you believe you can be, Abby. Hope comes from looking ahead, not behind.’

  “I told him that looking ahead only caused me to worry, to which he replied, ‘Then you must choose what to worry about. In my case, I’m concerned only about the weather during a hunt or a race. Rain is my greatest nemesis. But it is not raining now, is it? I think that gives us more than enough reason to hope.’”

  Brigston chuckled. “That sounds like Jasper and doesn’t at the same time. He was never one for serious reflection.”

  “Perhaps he just wanted people to think that,” Abby said, smiling at the memory. It was one of the few times when Jasper’s words had comforted her, one of the times she’d actually felt hope that something good could come from the bad.

  Once they had stated their vows, however, Jasper buried himself behind flippancy once more, remarking on the dusty state of his chaise and how unfit it was for his bride, the esteemed Lady Jasper. From that point on, he never called her anything else. He probably wanted her to know that he would always think of her as a lady despite what happened to her, but the title made her feel like a charlatan. She would have liked it more had he called her my darling, my dear, or simply Abby.

  “I like how you remember Jasper.” Brigston’s voice broke through her reverie. “My more recent memories of him are less rosy.”

  Abby might have asked him to explain, but something in his tone made her swallow the question. “There is good and bad in us all, isn’t there. When it comes to Jasper, I cannot tell you how much was good and how much was not. He often hid his true self from me.”

  Brigston nodded. “From me as well. I could never understand why. He didn’t used to.”

  “Perhaps he feared showing weakness.”