My Brother's Bride

by Rachael Anderson

  A bath. How heavenly that sounded.

  Abby considered the couple across from her with fondness. How well they looked together— Prudence, with her silky dark locks and chocolate eyes, and Knave, with his blue eyes, chestnut hair, and devilish smile. Both handsome, both happy. Theirs had been a tale for a romance novel, the sort of books Prudence enjoyed writing.

  “How is Sophia?” Abby asked, inquiring after Prudence’s sister.

  Her friend’s smile wilted into a frown. “The same, I’m afraid.”

  Abby laughed. “Isn’t that a good thing? Sophia has always been kind and cheerful. Surely you wouldn’t want her to change.”

  “By the same,” inserted Knave with a wry grin, “she means that Sophia is still unmarried.”

  Abby assumed as much. Prudence had always been a matchmaker at heart. The fact that Sophia had made it through an entire London season unattached was probably the bane of her sister’s existence. She’d been so sure she would find the perfect match for Sophia.

  “We were sorry to hear about Lord Jasper,” said Knave with a look of sympathy. “I did not know him well, but he seemed like a good man.”

  Prudence nodded her agreement, and although her expression contained the same sympathy, questions swarmed in her eyes. Abby couldn’t blame her. Prudence still didn’t know why Abby had eloped or what had occurred that horrible night of the ball. Over the past several months, she’d begun many letters to her friend, only to crumple and toss them into the fire. Abby finally realized she could never explain in a letter. She needed to do it in person, only not here at a busy inn with a servant lingering in the corner. There would be time for a long chat later, preferably when Sophia was present.

  “Tell me,” said Abby with forced brightness, “is Sophia still working with animals?”

  “Yes,” said Prudence with an eye roll. “Word of her talent has spread, and people bring their troubled animals from all over Oxfordshire. It’s ridiculous. One man even arrived with a goat tied to his gig. Can you believe it? He complained that the wretched beast would eat all his wife’s dahlias, and he wanted Sophia to fix the problem.”

  Abby chuckled. “What did she say?”

  “She reminded him that goats are known to eat flowers, or anything, really, and that if he didn’t want the animal dining on his wife’s garden he should erect a fence around either the goat or the flowers.”

  “Did she manage a straight face?”

  “Almost entirely,” said Prudence, “though I did see her lips twitch a time or two when the man asked if there was something she could do to change the goat’s appetite. Poor man. He drove for hours only to be disappointed that my sister could not charm his goat.”

  “Prudence thinks she should start requiring a fee for her services,” said Knave.

  “She never would,” added his wife. “But I find it ludicrous that people expect her to spend so much of her time fixing their animals without any sort of compensation, although one man did attempt to thank her with a marriage proposal.” Prudence made a face to show what she’d thought of that. “He was bald, portly, and twice her age. But he had a great many problematic animals and was certain a union between them would benefit both parties.”

  “How would it have benefited Sophia, exactly?” asked Abby.

  “He could provide all the animals she could ever want to help,” said Knave dryly.

  In that moment Abby knew she’d come to the right place. She’d missed her friends, their humor, their laughter, and the wonderful way they viewed the world. If she was going to make it through the next several months with her optimism intact, she would need them at her side.

  I have been blessed, she thought.

  “If those are the sorts of proposals she’s receiving, I can understand why she has not married,” said Abby.

  “Not for lack of us trying.” Worried lines appeared across Prudence’s brow. She probably still held herself to blame for stealing the affections of her sister’s intended the previous year. Lord Knave had been meant to marry Sophia so they might join the two family’s properties together, but when he fell in love with Prudence instead, it upset those plans. Prudence wouldn’t rest until she saw her sister as happily situated.

  “Did she receive no offers last season?” asked Abby. From what she could remember, Sophia had several men buzzing around her. Abby had been certain at least one of them would come up to scratch.

  “Yes, but she didn’t trust any of them to be sincere in their affections,” said Prudence. “And frankly, neither did I. They all valued her dowry more than her.”

  “I can understand that feeling.” Abby had also gone to London with a sizable dowry, and she’d felt that same concern with a number of men. In a way, Prudence had been lucky not to be an heiress. She never had a reason to question Lord Knave’s sincerity, not that anyone would question it. One only had to see the pair look at each other to know they were in love.

  Abby caught Prudence watching her again—her expression thoughtful, curious… worried. It was only a matter of time before the questioning began.

  She leaned forward and clutched her friend’s hand. “We shall talk after we return to Radbourne Abbey. Perhaps we can stop and collect Sophia from Talford Hall on our way?”

  Prudence brightened and nodded. “I think we can arrange that. Shall we be off then?” she asked her husband.

  “Now? The refreshment we ordered has not yet arrived.”

  Prudence waved her hand dismissively. “The tea at the Abbey will taste infinitely better.”

  Knave cast his wife a look of forbearance, tossed some coins on the table, and called for the carriage. As they drove from the innyard, Abby wondered if there would ever be a place she would permanently call home.

  THE DAYS BECAME shorter and chillier as October trickled into November and November became December. Each morning, rain or shine, wind or still, Morgan cantered his horse down the same stretch of beach where he’d stumbled upon Abby.

  Anyone who knew the extent of his feelings might call him mad for intentionally taking a route that made him think of her. He often wondered the same, but he’d remind himself that thinking and speaking of Jasper had eased the loss of his brother, and so he continued riding to the beach and thinking of her.

  Unfortunately, it only made him miss her more. He wanted to see her walking, or even riding. He wanted to offer his elbow and walk with her, hear her laugh, see her smile, and feel the delights of her embrace.

  He and his mother were now in half-mourning, but other than the color of their clothes, not much had changed. They still didn’t attend soirées or dances, and the Christmas Eve party they had hosted every year since Morgan could remember, with the exception of the year his father had died, had not been discussed. Morgan could only assume his mother had no plans to host it this year either.

  Friends called on them and invitations arrived almost weekly, but none had been accepted. Apparently, his mother had no wish to socialize, and Morgan didn’t either. But he needed to do something. With his estate’s renovations on hold, he spent too much time thinking about Abby. What was she doing? How was she faring? When would her child arrive?

  Out of desperation, he accepted an invitation to a winter’s ball. His mother didn’t want to accompany him, so he went alone. The moment he entered the ballroom, however, all he could think about was the day he and Abby had played shuttlecock. He even glanced up at the chandelier, hoping to see a racket and a shuttlecock hanging there. It was ludicrous. He forced himself through a dance or two, a few discussions with some neighbors, and an introduction to a young, pretty chit, but she didn’t make him smile, laugh, or yearn for more. As soon as he could, Morgan made his excuses and went out into the cold, December night.

  This would never do. He needed to get his mind off Abby or he’d go mad.

  Perhaps he already had.

  By the time Christmas Eve arrived, Morgan knew he couldn’t stay at Oakley any longer. He needed a change, he needed distance,
and he needed air to breathe that didn’t always seem to smell like apples. Parliament wouldn’t be back in session for over a month, but it might be better if he left for London early and found something there to preoccupy him. His family’s townhouse held precious few memories of Abby.

  As he and his mother dined on Yorkshire Christmas pie, Morgan decided to broach the subject. He set down his fork, rested his elbows on the table, and interlocked his fingers under his chin.

  “I was thinking we should go to London after the first of the year.”

  Her fork hovered over her plate as she considered him. Though she still appeared worn, her lavender gown gave her complexion some color, and she’d returned to her more fashionable hair styles which softened her features.

  “So soon?” she asked.

  “I need a change. I need to be somewhere that…” doesn’t constantly remind me of Abby. “Somewhere else.”

  His mother dismissed the servants in the room, then slowly lowered her fork to her plate and her gaze with it. “I miss her, too.”

  Her confession surprised Morgan. She hadn’t spoken of Abby since she’d left. Then again, she rarely spoke of those she missed, so perhaps that should have given him some indication as to her feelings. Perhaps he’d been too busy blaming her to take note of that.

  “It’s become as dull as dishwater around here, hasn’t it?” she asked.

  “It’s… quieter.” Lonelier, he added to himself. Interesting how loneliness had never bothered him before.

  “I finished the christening gown,” she said. “I’m not sure why, but I did. Now I’m at a loss as to what to do with it. Should I send it to her? Should I put it away with Jasper‘s old things? I feel like that child should be mine, yet it isn’t. How silly is that?”

  “It is yours,” said Morgan. “Jasper made it so when he married Abby. Do you not see? The best parts of him live on in her. She’s cheerful and amusing, and her memories of Jasper are more generous than mine. She saw the good in him and reminded me of it as well. The child she now carries may not be of your flesh and blood, but if she raises him as Jasper’s son, there will be a part of him in that boy even if they don’t share a likeness.”

  “Boy?” His mother’s smile vanished, and she leaned forward. “Have you been in communication with her? Has the child arrived early?”

  Morgan berated himself for his slip of the tongue. He wanted the child to be a boy so badly he’d begun to think of it as such.

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” he said, tossing his napkin on the table.

  His mother watched him closely for a few moments before speaking. “A boy would become your heir.”

  She had always been too perceptive. “Yes.”

  Silence followed—a long, accusatory silence where Morgan felt as though he were on trial and would soon be found guilty.

  “You love her.” It was a statement, not a question, so Morgan didn’t bother answering. She had to see the truth in his eyes.

  His mother nodded slowly, worriedly.

  Morgan wanted to groan. Was he really considering a forbidden marriage and risking his family’s holdings? He had always been responsible and duty-bound, but now… now he didn’t care as much.

  “You’d have to marry in a parish where you are not known,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Your marriage could be voided, your future children declared illegitimate.”

  “Only if someone contests it.”

  “Are you willing to take that chance, to live with that concern the rest of your life?”

  Morgan pushed his plate aside and massaged his temples with one hand, hating the black mood that threatened to suffocate him. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

  If only Jasper hadn’t married her. If only Morgan had made more of an effort socially and met her first. If only he’d been the one to escort her to Vauxhall Gardens. That filthy cur wouldn’t have had the opportunity to defile her. Morgan wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes off her the entire evening. He would have been but a few steps behind and could have protected her.

  Why weren’t you there, Jasper? Why didn’t you see him?

  Morgan dropped his head into his hands with a groan. “I know I should look elsewhere for a wife, but…” He shook his head, unable to finish. His mother knew what he was thinking. How could she not? Her eyes mirrored the worry and fear he felt.

  She removed the napkin from her lap and tossed it onto the table. “I don’t know what the answer is, Morgan, but I think you are correct in one thing. We should go to London after the first of the year. Perhaps the foul-smelling air will clear our senses.”

  He could only pray she was right.

  ABBY BLINKED AT the light filtering through the crack in her drapes with relief. Good. Morning had finally come. One more long and tedious night was behind her, and, according to her doctor, she should only have about a handful more to go.

  She struggled to prop herself up, her large belly making it a chore. Everywhere hurt. Her back was the worst, with her legs and feet not far behind. She lifted the covers and frowned at her ever-fattening ankles. The doctor assured her it was normal, but they didn’t look normal to her, and she certainly didn’t feel normal. She felt miserable.

  It was no wonder women hid themselves away during this wretched time.

  She stretched her arms high overhead, trying to work out some of the aches in her shoulders. When she dropped them back down, her fingers grazed something that crinkled. She looked over to see the package that had arrived yesterday. Inside, she’d found a white muslin christening gown, with perfect stitches, intricate embroidery, and delicate lace. There had been no card or note enclosed, only the gown.

  Abby still didn’t know what to make of it. Was it an apology? A peace offering? A goodbye? Or was it merely Lady Brigston’s way of saying, I purchased this fabric for a christening gown for your child. You may as well put it to use since I have no need of it.

  “Would it have been so hard to include a note?” Abby asked to no one in particular. She sighed and rang for her maid, wishing for all the world that Brigston would appear on the doorstep. He would explain. He would bolster her spirits. He would make her smile and forget her discomfort.

  How easy it was to envision him lying here next to her with his hand on her stomach, chuckling every time her child’s foot or elbow protruded.

  She drew in a breath and reaffirmed her resolve not to think about him for at least one day.

  Beginning now.

  “I hold you mostly to blame for the way I feel,” she said, tapping on her stomach. In response, the baby’s foot or elbow dug into her, producing a lump on her midsection.

  “You have to be a boy,” she said. “A girl wouldn’t be nearly as troublesome.” When something jabbed at her stomach again, Abby smiled. Apparently her little one was ready for morning as well.

  With the help of Evie, Abby dressed and tried to ignore her reflection in the looking glass. One more month, and she could stop wearing black. She might have felt guilty for such selfish thoughts, but Jasper wouldn’t have liked seeing her in this color either.

  She could almost hear him say, You should have mourned wearing the color of a blue sky on a clear day as a tribute to me. I would have liked that infinitely better.

  Me too, thought Abby, deciding that the first gown she’d order out of mourning would be a pale blue in honor of her late husband.

  She found Prudence and Sophia in the drawing room, sipping tea. Sophia came to call most mornings, hoping for news of the babe. Prudence’s dog, Scamp, was curled up on her lap, enjoying a nice rub.

  “Any pains yet?” Prudence asked when she spied Abby.

  Abby shook her head, then smiled when Prudence clucked in disappointment.

  Sophia rolled her eyes, her red ringlets bouncing softly against her cheeks. “You sound as though you’d like her to be in pain, Pru.”

  “I would,” she said, making Abby laugh.

  “I would as
well,” said Abby. “If that’s what it will take to breathe deeply again, I shall gladly submit to it. Well, perhaps not too gladly.”

  Prudence patted the settee at her side. “Come join us. We were just discussing how soon the doctor will allow you to go with us to London.”

  Abby stifled a yawn as she sank down next to her friend. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be tired. “Will you never give up?”

  “Never.”

  Whether or not Abby would go with them to London had been a highly debated discussion over the past few months. Prudence and Sophia wanted her to travel with them, and Abby insisted that as soon as she recovered, she should begin her search for a cottage.

  Over the passing months, however, Abby’s convictions grew weaker and weaker. Oh, she needed to move on with her life and locating a cottage would be the next step, but now that she’d grown accustomed to the companionship, friendship, and support of her two friends, she was loathe to give that up. The moment she started thinking that the season’s end might be a better time to make the transition, she knew she was going to relent. Prudence was too stubborn and her arguments too alluring.

  It didn’t help that Brigston would be in London as well. He might already be there, as parliament would open again in a few days. How Abby longed to see him again, if only from a distance. She shouldn’t long for it, but she did. It was the most vexing aspect of being human.

  “Your energies would be better spent helping me locate a cottage,” said Abby, not ready to give Prudence the satisfaction of winning the argument just yet.

  As always, her friend was ready to counter. She grinned slyly. “If you come to London with us, perhaps you won’t need a cottage in the end.”

  Abby didn’t appreciate the implication. In fact, it was the only aspect of going to London that still made her hesitate. Prudence would do her best to find Abby a new husband, even though Abby had pointed out a number of times that she would still be in mourning and had no interest in marrying again anytime soon. Now that she knew what it felt like to really connect with someone, she could never settle for anything less.