My Brother's Bride

by Rachael Anderson

  Morgan smiled, mustered the energy to move, and drew himself up. He held a hand out to his mother. “I will do as you suggest in time. For now, I think we should take ourselves off to bed, or you are likely to suffer an apoplexy from too much amusement.”

  She tucked her arm through his and allowed him to lead her from the room, but when they reached the staircase, she stopped him. “I suddenly feel famished and can’t stop thinking about the chocolate cake Cook served for dessert. I am going to indulge in another slice before bed.”

  The mention of cake made Morgan hesitate as well. He glanced up the stairs, weighing his options, before grinning at his mother. “I believe I will join you.”

  ABBY PLACED ANNE in Brigston’s arms and nervously watched his face, searching for any signs of discomfort. It had only been a few days since their morning ride through the park, but he had finally called and asked to see the baby. She’d excitedly led him up to the nursery, but now that he awkwardly cradled her little girl, she realized just how much she wanted him to love Anne.

  He looked so masculine in his dark tailored coat and pristine white shirt, but with her baby in his arms, he appeared fatherly as well. The sight might have melted her heart if he didn’t also appear so anxious.

  Goodness, what was the matter with him? One would think he’d never held an infant before. Hmm… perhaps he hadn’t.

  “She takes after her mother,” he said, his voice unnaturally bright.

  Abby looked at him strangely, wishing he would say what was truly on his mind. “She has my disposition as well—sweet unless provoked.”

  He chuckled and shifted Anne from one arm to the other, looking ill at ease. Abby could only imagine what he might be thinking, all of which caused her to snicker.

  He frowned at her. “What do you find so amusing?”

  “You, or rather your expressions,” she said. “It’s as though you’ve been given a foreign object and have no idea what to do with it.”

  He smiled a little. “She’s peering up at me as though she knows something I do not. It’s disconcerting.”

  Abby laughed. “She would never presume to know more than a marquess.”

  He examined Anne once more. “Something tells me she presumes a great deal. I should be grateful she hasn’t learned how to speak.”

  As if in protest, Anne began to fuss and squirm. Brigston was quick to pass her to Nurse Lovell, who sat in the rocking chair not far from them. The nurse coddled and cooed, and Anne soon quieted.

  Abby tried not to feel too disheartened. After all, she couldn’t expect everyone to take to Anne the way her mother had done, but Brigston’s opinion mattered more to her than anyone else’s, and she wanted him to adore her baby as much as she did.

  Give it time, she told herself firmly.

  As they exited the nursery, Brigston stopped her in the hall with a hand on her arm. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” His gaze bounced from left to right as though he was nervous about something.

  Her arm burned where his hand rested, but despite her best efforts to stamp it down, hope flared. She could only think of one reason he would asked to speak privately, and the thought sent a flurry of butterflies through her stomach.

  You’re wrong, she told herself. Nothing has changed. The Marriage Act had not been repealed, Anne had not been born a boy, and Brigston’s cousin was still at liberty to contest a marriage between them. Abby had absolutely no reason to hope for anything in that quarter, but how could she not? He’d danced the waltz with her, taken her riding, asked to see Anne, and now wanted a tête-à-tête. What did it mean?

  Abby led him into the breakfast parlor, which had been cleared of people and food hours before. She waited nervously, clenching her fingers. Say you love me and cannot live without me. Say you want to marry me in spite of that fool law. Say you’ve found a way to make it happen.

  “We need to talk about William Penroth.”

  Abby felt the blood drain from her face. William? She hadn’t heard or spoken that name in months and had no desire to speak it now. Why would Brigston feel the need to discuss him?

  “What about him?” Her voice was cold and not the least bit pleased.

  He pulled a chair out and gestured for her to take a seat. When she declined, he pushed it back into place and rested his elbows on the back of it.

  “Last September, I secured the services of a Bow Street Runner, one Mr. Dyer. At my bequest, he’s been investigating Penroth for months now and has finally built a case that has brought about his arrest. Dyer has discovered two other women who have suffered similarly to you, but only one is willing to tell her story to the magistrate. She’s a farmer’s daughter, a tenant of Penroth’s current employer.”

  Abby felt bushwhacked. Brigston had secured a Runner? Why hadn’t he told her? Why was he explaining all this to her now? Did he think she’d wish to know? Because she didn’t. She never wanted to hear that man’s name again.

  “Abby, a statement from a farmer’s daughter will probably not be enough to convict him. Mr. Dyer is hoping that you will be willing to share your experience with the magistrate as well. You can write it all down in a letter, or I can take you to him. It’s your choice.”

  She stared at him even as her heart puddled at her feet. This was what he’d needed to talk to her privately about? Where was his confession of love, his solution to their impossible situation?

  She closed her eyes and gulped in air, her ire rising with each and every breath. How could he ask this of her? Did he truly expect her to face William again or recount the details of that dreadful night to some unknown magistrate? What of Anne? Would it come to light that William had fathered a child?

  The thought sickened her. She would rather walk across hot coals then make him privy to that knowledge.

  Abby looked at the man who had held her trust so completely only minutes before. Why had he not spoken of this before now? Why had she not heard of this Mr. Dyer? Why had he not asked for her opinion on the matter? She had trusted him with her story, only to discover that he had passed it along to at least one other without her consent. How could he?

  Light fell across the corner of the gleaming, wooden table, highlighting a smudge. There had been a time when she’d felt like that spot—unclean and blemished. She used to wake up in a cold panic, with William’s face at the forefront of her mind, but it had been a long while since that had happened. She’d thought that was a good sign, that she’d finally put it behind her, but the mere mention of his name brought those horrible feelings back again.

  Once again, Abby felt like that smudge. She shuddered at the thought of William, what he’d done to her, what he could still do to her—what he could do to Anne.

  She set her jaw and lifted her chin. “The other woman’s explanation will have to be enough. I will not face him again, I will not speak of him, and I would die before I make him aware of Anne’s existence. Good day to you, sir.”

  “Abby, you don’t need to see him, and he need never know about—”

  Abby was through listening. She brushed past him and strode from the room. He called after her, but she ignored him and quickened into a run, racing to her bedchamber as though the devil was after her. Only after she had closed and bolted the door did she drop to the floor, tuck her knees to her chest, and let the tears come.

  ABBY LAY ON her bed, curled into a ball, when the door opened and Prudence and Sophia entered. Prudence flopped down on her stomach next to Abby and propped her chin up with her palms while Sophia took up a more ladylike position at the foot of the bed.

  Prudence studied Abby for a moment before speaking. “An hour ago, Lord Brigston quit the house like a man spurned, and now we find you here, looking so puffy and swollen. What has occurred? Did he make you an offer? Never say you have refused him or I shall beat you with a fire poker.”

  Abby closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was relive that horrible scene, but if there was one thing she knew, her friends would no
t rest until she confided in them.

  Doing her best to keep the emotion from her voice, she said, “Brigston has hired a Runner and found two other women William took advantage of as well. He wants me to speak to a magistrate.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened, while Prudence lifted her head in surprise—pleased surprise, from the looks of it. “He did all that on your behalf? Mercy, he really does care for you.”

  For a moment, Abby had no words, then her anger came spilling out like a downpour. “He did all of that without my knowledge, Pru, without my consent. Not only did he break a confidence, but he ambushed me with the news, when I was so sure that…” She closed her eyes to fight the fresh onslaught of tears. “It took months for the nightmares to subside, several months more for the anger to go with it. But now it has all come back, plaguing me as it did in the past. How can you possibly say those are the actions of a caring man?”

  That was the hardest part for Abby. He’d danced and romanced and flattered her, letting her believe one thing, then dropped her on her head the next.

  “Because they are the actions of a caring man,” Prudence insisted.

  Sophia’s response was more sympathetic. “I’m sure he didn’t want to elevate your hopes should nothing come of the investigation.”

  “Do not speak to me of hope,” said Abby. “It has let me down more times than I can count.”

  Prudence may have rolled her eyes. Abby couldn’t quite tell. “I’m certain you haven’t had your hopes dashed that many times,” she said wryly.

  “Pru,” her sister chided.

  Prudence had the grace to look abashed. “Forgive me, Abby. I simply see things differently. Perhaps Lord Brigston should have asked for your consent, but would you have given it? Even if you had, what if, as Sophia said, nothing came of the investigation? You would have been made to worry and wonder all this time—something Lord Brigston saved you from doing. He even hired a Runner. Do you honestly believe he did that for himself? William Penroth did not violate Lord Brigston. He violated you in the most despicable way possible and should be made to pay for his crimes. I can only applaud Lord Brigston for making sure that he does.”

  “You mentioned he has injured at least two others,” added Sophia gently. “Would you wish your fate upon even more women?”

  Abby scooted to the head of her bed and pulled her knees to her chest. Of course she didn’t want that. “I just want him out of my life.”

  “Then speak to the magistrate,” said Sophia. “Tell him what William did to you, and see to it that he can never harm you or another woman again.”

  “We will go with you,” added Prudence. “We will stand at your side, hold your hand if we must, and see you through this. Do not let him go free, Abby.”

  In her heart, Abby knew they were right. Speaking out would be the only way to ensure William never hurt another, and hadn’t Brigston said she wouldn’t have to face him again? Abby had been so angry, she hadn’t paid him much heed. If only he’d been upfront with her in the beginning.

  She finally nodded. “I will go.”

  Prudence grinned and rolled off the bed. “I will send word to Brigston that we will be ready as soon as possible.”

  Abby opened her mouth to waylay her friend, but Prudence was already out the door. Abby turned to Sophia instead. “As soon as possible?” For all Abby knew, that could mean tomorrow, and would she truly be ready by then? Would she ever be ready?

  Sophia clasped her hand. “The sooner we go, the sooner you can be done with this thing.”

  The wise words echoed through Abby’s mind. All these months she thought she had been done with William Penroth, but she hadn’t, not really. She could see that now. Every now and again, a worry would nip at her heels. Would he appear out of the blue at some social function? Would he discover Anne was his child? Would he try to take her away? Would he do the same to another woman?

  Abby already knew the answer to that one. It sickened her.

  If only she’d been the one to go to a Runner in the weeks following the incident. If she had, could she have prevented the suffering of those other women?

  She didn’t know. What she did know was that there was something she could do about it now.

  THREE DAYS LATER, Abby found herself en route to Danset. She’d been told the journey would take over two hours, but it seemed as though she only just climbed into the carriage when it stopped at their destination. Brigston opened the door, holding out his hand to help her down. He and Knave had ridden alongside the carriage while the ladies kept each other company.

  Abby hesitated taking his hand. Other than a quick good morning, she hadn’t spoken to him since the day he’d broken the news to her. She wasn’t sure if she’d forgiven him, but the sight of him still made her heart skip and her breath catch. It was vastly annoying.

  “Thank you for coming, Abby,” he said. “The magistrate is waiting for us inside.”

  Her stomach tossed and turned, reminding her of the early days of her confinement when mild bouts of sickness would strike her at random intervals.

  “Only a few more steps to go,” prodded Prudence, who was seated at her side. Sophia offered an encouraging smile as well.

  Abby inhaled deeply and took Brigston’s hand, drawing strength from all those who’d come to support her as she descended the steps. Danset was a quaint village surrounded by rolling hills and dense pockets of wilderness. There was a strange smell in the air, a mixture of florals and unique spices. Separately, the scents would have been pleasant, but together they wrinkled Abby’s nose.

  Brigston nodded at the adjacent building. “That shop sells very strong perfumes.”

  “Let us hope it wafts into the room where William is being held. He never cared for perfumes.”

  Brigston smiled. “Shall I purchase several of the more toxic scents and asked that they be left outside his cell?”

  “I would like that.”

  “I might purchase a bottle as well,” added Sophia. “It might come in handy when I do not wish to dance with certain men.”

  “And risk repelling the charming ones as well?” asked her sister. “I will not let you.”

  Abby was grateful for the banter. It helped to settle her nerves, but she was also anxious to get on with it. Brigston must have sensed her anxiety because he ushered everyone inside.

  The first room they entered was dark, dank, and had a dreary quality about it. The windows were too small for a grown person to fit through, and several cracks ran up the stone walls. A young woman sat on a chair in the far shadows, but Abby didn’t give her more than a second glance. She was too focused on following Brigston down a narrow hallway. Near the end, he rapped on a closed, wooden door.

  A man in dark, nondescript clothes opened it. He had the look of a person who’d seen the worst in mankind yet still believed in the good. Mr. Dyer, Abby assumed before Brigston formally introduced them. The group was directed into a room, where a magistrate sat behind a large, oak desk. He looked like his desk—old and worn, with lines etched into his face and imperfections scattered about. The white powdered wig he wore sat askew, not quite covering the edges of his gray-streaked hair beneath.

  He squinted at the group through gold-rimmed spectacles. “Which of you is…” He glanced down at his paper. “Lady Jasper?”

  Abby stepped forward. “I am.” Sophia and Prudence stepped up as well, one on either side, while Brigston and Knave remained behind. Abby appreciated the gesture, though now that she was finally here, she felt perfectly fine. She was ready to tell her story.

  The magistrate made sure the three women were comfortably situated on chairs before the questions began. When did you first meet William Penroth? What was your opinion of him at that time? Did he strike you as dangerous in any way?

  Looking back, Abby could see so clearly now. His outbursts of temper, his jealousy of other men, his desire to control her. She hadn’t noticed any of those things at the time. She’d merely seen an attractive man w
ho’d made her life less lonely.

  The magistrate continued questioning her, slowly piecing together her interactions with William. He listened, scribbled, and nodded, and Abby found it surprisingly easy to explain the events leading up to her elopement with Jasper. She wouldn’t describe the magistrate as sympathetic, but he wasn’t brusque either. He was honest.

  When she finally told him all she knew, he peered across his desk at her.

  “Do you have any sort of proof of your accusations? Did you happen to keep the letters Penroth sent you?”

  Abby reached inside her reticule and pulled out a handful of notes tied with a string. On first glance they probably looked like cherished letters from a loved one, but if one were to examine them closely, they’d see only crisp pages. Abby had read each missive once before shoving them into an old hat box, never to be looked at again.

  “I saved every one,” she said. “I’m not sure why. I wanted to toss them into the fire, but something kept me from doing that. Intuition, perhaps?”

  The magistrate took them from her, saying in a kind voice, “You were wise to keep them. I thank you for coming all this way to explain in person, Lady Jasper. I will be in touch through Dyer should I require anything more from you.”

  Abby nodded, feeling a heavy weight lift from her shoulders. As she followed the others from the office, she got a better look at the girl in the corner. Beleaguered straw bonnet, dirty and torn dress, large dark eyes, and an even larger belly.

  As soon as the woman caught Abby’s eye, she sprang to her feet and approached. “Are you Lady Jasper?”

  “Yes,” said Abby, recognizing the same wearied and haunted look she’d seen in her own eyes many times before. “You must be Theodosia.”

  “Aye, milady. Theodosia Green, but most call me Theo. I spoke with the magistrate this mornin’ but asked Mr. Dyer if I could wait ’ere for you.” Her lips trembled and tears sparkled in her eyes. “I wanted to thank you, milady. For comin’. After Will was finished with me, he turned his sights on my sister. She’s only fourteen, but prettier than me, and I knew ’twas only a matter of time before—” She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob. Then she quickly curtsied again. “Thank you ever so much, milady.”