My Brother's Bride

by Rachael Anderson

  “I’m beginning to think you are a spoilsport,” she at last, neither confirming nor quieting his concerns. But at least she’d made a valiant attempt to sound unaffected by his… caress.

  Good gads, that’s what he’d done, wasn’t it? Caressed his brother’s wife.

  Widow, he quickly amended, as though that somehow made it better.

  “I think the fire is well stoked, my lord,” Abby said, her tone hinting at amusement.

  Belatedly, Morgan realized he’d tossed in several logs. The fire practically roared, sending billows of heat into the room. At this rate, he’d have to open a window soon. He set aside the log he’d been about to throw in and brushed his hands together to remove the debris.

  “That ought to warm you up,” he said.

  Her eyes danced with merriment as she watched him. “That was most thoughtful of you.”

  “We can’t have you taking a chill, now can we?” The moment the words left his mouth, Morgan berated himself for behaving like a fool. One would think he’d never been around an attractive woman.

  “Well,” said Abby, her lips pressed together in thought. “Since Snapdragon is apparently too dangerous, what about Spillikins? Or are you concerned I’ll stab myself with one of the sticks?”

  “I’m a little concerned you’ll stab me with one,” he said.

  She laughed, and Morgan realized just how much he loved that sound. It brightened his world and made him want to join in, or at least say something to make her giggle again.

  As he moved to collect the game, he decided she should definitely not feel guilty about laughing. It would do his mother good to laugh as well.

  Later, when they took turns extracting individual sticks from a mound, they exchanged more stories, teased, and talked. Morgan could have stayed in that room all night, but once he caught Abby covering her mouth with her palm in an effort to stifle a yawn, he became a spoilsport again and insisted she take herself off to bed.

  Only after she’d gone did he realize he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much joy.

  ABBY JERKED AWAKE to a loud clap of thunder. She blinked a moment or two to orient herself, then threw off her bed clothes and ran to the window, smiling when she saw lightning streak through the morning sky. As a child, thunderstorms had always frightened her, but she’d overcome those fears at some point and now enjoyed the fascinating display of lights and rumbles of thunder.

  Beautiful.

  A pair of blue-gray eyes the exact shade of the sky had a lot to do with her current mood, but so did Jasper. They may not have grown as close as she would have wished, but he’d taught her about the power of optimism, and she would always be grateful for the lesson.

  It had been a little over a fortnight since her husband’s body had been put to rest, yet how different she felt from those difficult days. Hope and peace filled her heart, and when another bolt of lightning lit the sky, a thrill as well.

  Brigston hadn’t mentioned the paperwork again, and Abby no longer felt anxious to sign anything. Her desire to leave dwindled more every day while her attachment to Brigston, Oakley, and even Jasper, odd as it sounded, increased. She’d enjoyed learning more about her late husband through the eyes of his brother and planned to pass the information along to her child someday. It was something she looked forward to, and how long had it been since she’d looked forward to anything?

  Too long.

  Abby rang for her maid and dressed quickly, anxious to get on with her day. Time with Brigston had become precious. Every day this past week, he’d planned something memorable. They’d played parlor games each evening, picnicked on a small rise overlooking the sea, and read passages from various books in the library. He’d taken her on a boat ride in the Solent, taught her to fish, and instructed her on estate enclosures and their benefits. Abby learned that he sincerely cared for his tenants and those he employed, took his responsibilities in parliament seriously, even though he despised London, and hated the feel of fish in his hands. Just thinking about the look of disgust on his face as he pried the hook from the mouth of the small mackerel made her giggle.

  He was thoughtful, compassionate, amusing, and interesting, and she dreaded the day their time together would come to an end.

  Thankfully, that day was not today.

  Abby hummed quietly as she left her room behind. At the top of the stairs, she paused and peered down the long hallway towards Lady Brigston’s bedchamber. Would her mother-in-law come out earlier than usual? She usually dined with them, but she never ate much and spoke hardly at all. The moment the servants removed their plates, she would make her excuses and return to her room. It was heartbreaking to see her looking so frail, worn, and miserable.

  Abby realized she was gnawing on a fingernail, so she pulled if from her mouth and strode down the hall, stopping in front of the large, wooden door. She leaned an ear against it, listening for any sounds. There was nothing. No hushed voices, no quiet weeping, no clattering of a teacup. Only silence.

  Was Lady Brigston still asleep, or was she listening to the storm rage outside, forlorn and alone?

  Abby knocked quietly and practically jumped when she heard the woman’s voice. “You may enter.”

  Nervously, Abby pushed open the door and walked inside, hoping her mother-in-law wouldn’t take offense to the unexpected intrusion.

  Lady Brigston sat in a gold-upholstered armchair by the fireplace, still in her dressing gown, though her hair had been combed, plaited, and twisted into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. It was a dreary sight. The heavy, rose-colored drapes were still drawn, and the only light in the room came from the fire crackling in the grate.

  Lady Brigston glanced briefly at Abby before returning her gaze to the fire, not appearing the least bit surprised to see her daughter-in-law. She looked almost relieved. A rug covered her lap even though the room felt too warm. Abby wanted to douse the fire and open a window.

  Instead, she sat down and clutched her fingers in her lap. She had no idea why she’d come. What words of comfort could she possibly have to ay?

  “I despise thunderstorms,” said Lady Brigston quietly.

  The comment surprised Abby. Before she could rethink her reply, she blurted, “Jasper hated them as well,” then grimaced and bit down hard on her tongue. She should have kept well enough alone.

  Lady Brigston flinched a little, but to Abby’s surprise, she asked, “Why do you say that?”

  At least she didn’t ask Abby to leave. That had to be a positive sign. “Rain got in the way of his pursuits. He once told me that mud brought ruin upon everything from wheels and horses to boots and clothes. He called it, er… a dratted nuisance.”

  “That sounds like Jasper—all but dratted, that is,” she added.

  Abby smiled a little. “I may have tempered his language a little.”

  Lady Brigston emitted a noise that sounded like a rusty chuckle—a pained, rusty chuckle. “He had quite the tongue on him at times, didn’t he?”

  This was the most her mother-in-law had spoken in weeks, and the only time Abby had heard her mention Jasper. She could hardly believe it. “I wouldn’t know. He rarely used strong language around me—only when it came to rain.”

  Lady Brigston’s eyes clouded over, and her lips pressed into a thin, shaky line. “I miss him.” The words were said so quietly, Abby could hardly hear them. “I’ve missed him since the day he left for school and made it clear he preferred the company of friends to his family’s. I thought things would change when he brought you here. I thought…” Tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head.

  She looked so broken. It tore at Abby’s heart, but what could she say to ease the pain? One wrong word, and Abby could ruin the tentative friendship they’d developed.

  “I want my son back,” croaked Lady Brigston. “I want my husband back. I want life to feel happy and full again. And I want this horrid thunderstorm to subside.”

  Abby reached forward and placed her hand over La
dy Brigston’s, giving it a squeeze. “I used to hate thunderstorms as well, but not for the same reasons as Jasper. They frightened me.”

  “Not anymore?” Lady Brigston looked intrigued, and Abby shook her head.

  “When I was eleven, a particularly bad storm brewed over Chillhorne House. I ran to the kitchen to cower with the servants until the worst of it had passed. My father was away at the time and my guardian slumbered in her favorite chair, oblivious to my fears. The thunder was so loud. It rattled the windows, and I was sure lightning would strike the house any moment. But in the kitchen, surrounded by bustling servants, I felt safer. Mrs. Wood gave me a large serving of apple pie and asked me about my lessons. Not long after the storm passed, a maid rushed in, exclaiming for us to come and see. We followed her outside, and I saw the most glorious rainbow I have ever seen. The colors were vivid and radiant. I couldn’t look away. In that moment, Mrs. Wood whispered something I’ll never forget. She said, ‘Rainbows only come after storms, you know.’”

  Abby smiled at the memory. “After that, storms didn’t scare me as much. They became the maker of rainbows.” She paused before adding, “Your rainbow is on its way, my lady, I know it.”

  Lady Brigston smiled through her tears. “I hope you are right, my dear. Would you be so kind as to open my drapes?”

  Happy to comply, Abby went to the window, praying a vibrant rainbow would be waiting on the other side of the curtains. But as soon as she pushed one aside, a lightning bolt split the sky, followed by an incredible clap of thunder.

  Abby jumped before twisting back to her mother-in-law. “I’m sure it’s a spectacular rainbow in the making.”

  Lady Brigston chuckled again, only this time it didn’t sound quite as rusty or pained. “I shall hold you to that, my dear.”

  Not knowing what else to say, Abby looked around the room. A large, still-life painting of roses hung above the mantle and gold paper covered the walls, but that was all. There were no brushes or combs on the dressing table, no miniatures of her late husband or family, and no books to be found anywhere. Only the small bouquet of wildflowers that Abby had picked the previous morning sat on her bedside table. She’d asked a maid to bring it up with her mother-in-law’s breakfast tray and was glad to see that it was still here.

  “Would you like for me to stay a while longer, my lady?” Abby asked.

  “I’m sure you have better things to do than keep an old woman company.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” said Abby, even as her stomach rumbled from hunger. Embarrassed, she placed her hand over top, and as she did so, felt something move within her.

  She froze and waited for more. When another prod came, she grinned. “I think I just felt my child move. Oh, there it goes again. Would you like to feel?” Abby wanted to share this with someone, and Lady Brigston seemed the perfect choice. As soon as the lady’s eyes widened, however, Abby knew she shouldn’t have asked. Good grief, would she never learn?

  In that moment, Abby missed Prudence dreadfully. Her friend would have been overjoyed to feel a babe squirm.

  “Perhaps another time,” said Lady Brigston. She must have noticed the disappointment in Abby’s expression because she added, “It’s an interesting sensation, is it not? Enjoy it while you can. In a few months the child’s movements will become much more bothersome.”

  Abby wasn’t sure how she could ever think of this feeling as bothersome, but she didn’t argue. Her stomach rumbled again, sounding like distant thunder.

  Lady Brigston waved Abby away with a flip of her wrist. “Go and feed my grandchild, Abby. I am going to rest for now, but perhaps I’ll join you for luncheon later.”

  Abby hesitated, not wanting to leave Lady Brigston alone while the storm continued to rage outside, but what other choice did she have? She’d been dismissed.

  “I shall hope to see you at luncheon then,” Abby said.

  As she walked down the hall, she rested her hand over her stomach, hoping to feel her child move again. Before today, there had only been light fluttering, and she could never be sure if it was movement or not. Now, she knew with certainty. Her babe was alive and well and growing inside of her.

  Brigston was already in the breakfast parlor, looking far too handsome as he studied some papers on the table in front of him. For a moment, Abby worried he finally had the document ready for her to sign, but as soon as he spotted her, he slid the papers aside and stood, greeting her with a smile. “I was wondering when you’d finally make it down, though how anyone could sleep through this storm is beyond me.”

  That smile. It wobbled her knees and stole her breath every time. Abby walked to the sideboard and began filling a plate, trying to think of something else. But it was no use. Thoughts of him came like the waves upon the sea.

  She glanced down at her plate and frowned when she spotted a poached egg. For pity’s sake. She despised poached eggs. Why had she taken that? Abby nearly returned it to the serving dish when she spied a footman watching her.

  Stop behaving like a peagoose, she thought as she slathered apricot preserves on a scone, added a few slices of bacon to her plate, and tried to calm her racing pulse.

  She took a seat across from Brigston and made the mistake of glancing at the small stack of papers on the table near his elbow.

  He must’ve noticed because he said, “Just some mundane estate business.” He cleared his throat and added in a careful tone, “My solicitor informed me this morning that he should have the final draft of the annuity agreement ready for you to sign tomorrow.”

  “He’s finished already?” Abby tried to sound properly surprised, but her voice came out unnaturally high. What was the matter with her? Only a week prior, she would have signed her name and gathered her belongings with all possible speed. What had changed? Was it Brigston? His mother? Jasper? Her?

  Everything, she realized. She didn’t want to part with Brigston, his mother, or Jasper’s memories. She wanted to belong here at Oakley. She wanted her child to belong. But how could she remain when she was on the brink of losing her heart to her brother-in-law?

  “He would have been finished sooner, but I discovered a few errors in earlier drafts that needed to be altered.”

  Abby had no idea what sort of alterations he’d felt the need to make. Marriage contracts could take days or even weeks to negotiate, but what was there to negotiate now? She’d gratefully accept whatever sum Brigston saw fit to bestow upon her.

  “How can I thank you for your generosity?” she asked.

  “By agreeing to stay at Oakley, at least until your confinement comes to an end. I still owe you that game of Snapdragon, remember.” He smiled to show he was teasing, but there was a hint of truth in his eyes. Or perhaps she only imagined it.

  Abby turned her attention to her plate, surprised to see that only the poached egg remained. She set her fork down and swallowed. The time had come for her to make a decision. What should she choose? What would be best for everyone involved?

  Abby thought of her mother-in-law and the conversation they’d had that morning. She remembered her smile, chuckle, and the hope that had flitted across her features, along with the look of shock at Abby’s suggestion to feel her child move. It hadn’t been the desired response, but it had been a response. Would she continue responding with only Brigston here?

  Somehow, Abby doubted it. Perhaps her mother-in-law needed her. Perhaps Abby needed her mother-in-law.

  “I was only teasing, Abby. You need not feel—”

  “I’d like to stay,” she blurted. “At least for a little longer. It feels wrong to leave Lady Brigston in such a state, especially if there is something I can do to ease her sorrow. I would like to try to help her, at least for another few weeks.”

  Brigston rested his elbows on the table. His hair fell across his forehead in that dashing way she was growing to love. She wanted to rest her cheek against his and smell that citrus and spice that had become so familiar to her. Tell me you want me to stay forever, and
I’ll do it, she thought.

  “You’ve cheered me a great deal, and I believe you can help Mother as well, but I worry that you will make her more attached to you, and it will be harder on her in the end. As much as I hate to say it, if you only plan to remain with us another fortnight, perhaps it would be best if you left now.”

  Those were not the words Abby had expected or wanted him to say. They caused her pain and sorrow, mostly because she knew he was right. The attachment went both ways. As difficult as it would be to leave now, another fortnight would be dreadful.

  But she wasn’t ready to say goodbye either.

  Brigston’s warm hand captured hers, sending shivers of delight up her arms. When she lifted her gaze, his eyes were warm as well.

  “Stay,” he said quietly. “At least until March.”

  Abby felt herself nodding even before she had made up her mind. It was a strange sensation—her body responding one way while her mind cried out something else.

  Six months. So much could go wrong in that amount of time.

  So much could go right.

  “March it is,” said Abby quietly. It was the only choice she could make. She just prayed it wouldn’t be a mistake.

  Brigston’s answering grin lightened her concerns and made her believe, even for a moment, that it had been the right choice—at the very least, the happier one.

  He relinquished her hand and relaxed against the back of his seat, draping one arm over the chair adjacent to him. His casual demeanor was disappointing in a way. Did he not fear becoming too attached to her as well?

  Apparently not.

  “I propose a game of shuttlecock,” he said suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts.

  Abby blinked, sure she’d heard wrong. Shuttlecock? Today? Was he in earnest? Although the thunder had subsided, the rain had not. The window pane behind him still bled with constant droplets of water.

  “Are you suggesting we play in the rain?” she asked, ready to feel his forehead for a fever.

  His answering smile was both devilish and mischievous. “I’m suggesting we play in the ballroom.”