Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  If only!

  “As for offspring, there is a chance, as I said, of perhaps thirty percent that you can still be successfully brought to bed of at least one child. More than that, I would hesitate to predict.”

  “I see.” She felt numb as she took her leave, collected her maid, and returned to Lady Cirrell’s house.

  What now? Jeremy needed more than one chance in three of a child – even if it worked, what if she had a girl? She would love a baby girl, probably more than a boy, if she was to be entirely honest with herself. But from the doctor’s verdict, she could not risk it.

  Yet she could not break the engagement off before all rumours regarding Milla were entirely scotched, and the iniquitous will recovered. Should she tell Jeremy right away? If she did, would he feel as wretched as she? She felt newly violated as well, after that rough examination, though she had brought it on herself by seeking out that martinet.

  They were to attend a ball later in the evening, but she still had a little time to herself, before she would have to dress. A half-hour to grieve for what might have been, and to shed some furtive tears.

  Now she would never know if she could have overcome her fear of intimacy, if she could have learned to join with a man as other women did. Would Jeremy feel relieved that he no longer had to seduce her into accepting his caresses? She ought to have postponed the consultation with the physician until after that other experiment. She might have spared herself the indignity and expense of it, had the attempt at intimacy failed. Now she was left with nothing at all, except humiliation and anger at a dead man.

  Hold – had not Jeremy stipulated a second opinion? She need not tell him anything before she had complied with that condition, though likely it would not change anything. She would get a separate prognosis from one of the other two physicians on Milla’s list, after Jeremy had attempted to fulfil his part of the bargain. Men did not consider lying with a young woman as any kind of sacrifice, did they? She was not harming Jeremy by withholding the depressing verdict of that odious old man until it had been independently confirmed.

  Rationalize it how she might, however, Abigail could not stifle a sense of unease and guilt. When the time came to wash off the remnants of her tears, and call her maid to begin preparations for another evening as Lord Barton’s affianced bride, she felt utterly dejected. What an abject, stupid creature she was turning into … Jeremy should feel glad to be freed from her when the time came.

  Chapter 19

  Jeremy did his best to entertain and charm, but though Abigail smiled and danced and even flirted a little, there was a trace of sadness deep in her blue eyes. “You have danced every dance tonight,” he observed as he led her to supper. “Yet you look wistful rather than happy. Is it anything I have done?”

  “Of course not; you have been all that is agreeable. I cannot help contrasting my current popularity with my constant misery during that Season. It is only due to you that I have danced every dance, and I have not failed to notice that many of the men who led me out are your friends.”

  “You were just as good a dancer then, and more than one of them has remarked on your lightness on the floor tonight. But I don’t like sharing you so often. I plan to carry you off to the country for a few days of nature and relaxation, now the weather is warmer at last.” He poured champagne into her glass. “There we shall be able to proceed to the other part of our agreement, the one I had better not discuss aloud in public.” From the way Abigail blushed rosily, she caught his implication well enough.

  “It sounds delightful, and, um, suitable. Who else will be going?”

  “I would prefer to leave Aunt Penelope in town with Milla, but as long as you are unmarried we need a hostess and chaperon, so I suppose they must also come. Unless Milla prefers to stay behind and continue the chase after Chatteris.”

  “I expect she will. She is getting most impatient, and I too feel uneasy that we have not heard anything for four days now. It feels like the calm before the storm. If Chatteris needs the money so urgently, why the delay?”

  “It is strange,” Jeremy agreed, as a footman put plates of food on the table before them. “I am putting the chase in Barnaby’s hands. Did I tell you that he has spoken with at least eight of the former Lord Fenton’s schoolmates and fellow students recently? He is not only searching for Chatteris, but any kind of close associate or old friends.”

  “Did Fenton have many of those?”

  “No, from what Barnaby discovered he was arrogant from an early age and held himself apart. He had a few sycophants, but one way or the other those are out of the picture. One died, another emigrated…”

  “People who emigrate can return,” Abigail said. “And there was that long interval between Fenton’s death and the arrival of Chatteris’ first letter. What if this man was abroad in the meantime; or the letter was forwarded to him by ship to some remote spot on the other side of the world?”

  “It is a possibility.” Surely Barnaby would have considered that, but he’d give his brother the benefit of Abigail’s theory.

  “And what has Mr. Hendrickson discovered, or not discovered, since his last report?”

  “He has been scouring the sponging houses and interviewing dozens of former retainers. None could give even as much information as the valet.”

  “In such a big city, I suppose it would be easy to escape detection.”

  “No, according to Hendrickson the city is like many interwoven villages – everyone knows their own associates and neighbours to some extent. It is certainly true for the ton. If Chatteris was the fellow’s real name, we would have found him already.”

  “Maybe the very name is a clue,” Abigail suggested. “He may come from there.”

  “Hendrickson thought of that, but none of the suspects has the slightest connection to Cambridgeshire. But we really should not waste our time together on that tedious subject, Abigail. Are you looking forward to my house party?”

  Would she think better of the test she had proposed, that was causing Jeremy grave misgivings? Though he had never considered himself particularly strait-laced, under normal circumstances he would never have attempted to debauch his fiancée before the wedding. But the circumstances were anything but normal. He had to admit the logic of Abigail’s position, even if he could not like it. After all, it was to his own advantage to know ahead of time if his future wife would ever be able to consummate their relationship. To marry and find out afterwards that this essential part of their union did not work would be torture to him, more than her – because he would know what he would be missing.

  But would he succeed? His previous experiences had been with women intent on pleasuring him, women experienced enough to give clear indications what they preferred.

  Even experienced men regarded the deflowering of a virgin bride with trepidation. A girl who loathed and feared the whole business represented an even greater challenge. Was he good enough? He would just have to be. Jeremy could hardly seek advice on his amatory technique for such a case, now that they were officially engaged. That he would be able to perform his part he did not doubt for a moment, when he saw how enticingly her striped gown displayed Abigail’s lovely bosom. She was no longer plump overall, but that part of Abigail’s anatomy was if anything more prominent than it had been. He looked forward to touching, caressing, licking those enticing breasts. But would she allow it?

  “What are you thinking, Jeremy?”

  “Admiring you,” he said, “and imagining the delights in store for me.” She blinked, but did not look upset. “And hoping you will find it in you to trust me, Abigail.”

  “You know I shall try. But I can make no promises; my body seems to react independently of my mind, sometimes.” She looked around, as though casting for some more appealing subject. “Who is that fat old man glaring at us?”

  Jeremy turned, followed her glance. “That is Lord Sibury. I told you of him - he was expecting me to offer for his daughter Muriel, and is rather disappointed
that nothing came of it.”

  Abigail bit her lips in worry. “The one who threatened to cause more trouble for you? Does his daughter feel the same way?”

  “I very much doubt it. Sibury was talking of settlements rather than hurt feelings the last time he accosted me, and Muriel was furious that my name was linked with Milla’s. Matters had not progressed to the stage where I owe them any explanations.”

  “Well, I don’t like the looks of him. He watches you with such open dislike and calculation.”

  “No doubt, but since I am safely engaged to you, there is nothing he can do at this point.”

  “And if I were out of the picture? If we don’t marry in the end?”

  “I still would not marry into Sibury’s family. That was over before we became engaged, one more reason to be grateful to you, Abigail. You preserved me from what I now see would have been a bad mistake. Barnaby warned me to wait, and he was right.”

  “But why were you considering the match, if you are not in love with this girl?”

  “My father has been pressuring me to marry, for the succession. You know all about that.”

  She nodded, and looked even more depressed for a moment. Just what was the matter? “Abigail, I know you well enough to see that something is troubling you. Whatever it is, I urge you to confide in me, so we can find a solution together.”

  She regarded him doubtfully. Jeremy braced himself. But instead of speaking, she looked around the glittering room, under the warm candlelight, and only sighed. “Not here.” Her voice was low. “Some things are too private for a crowd.”

  He wanted to point out that the crowd was busy with their own food and concerns, that the steady background noise made this place as private as they could expect at this time of night – but that would not be respecting her opinion and feelings, would it? He had to get used to doing that.

  “Do you have any news of your father the Captain, when he is going to come home?”

  “If you mean, has my father written to me lately, no. I wrote to him when I settled in Dorset, to give him my new address and inform him that I was no longer staying with my stepmother. I have received two letters from him since, but the last was several months ago.”

  “It is unfortunate that he is absent so much, but inevitable given his profession.”

  “Even when he is ashore it can be difficult to find much common ground. He was gone for so much of my childhood that he persistently thought of me as younger and smaller than the reality, and regularly brought me gifts no longer suited to my age. And he had absolutely no interest in the things I thought about, or had to say; I was not a sailor, after all. While my mother was alive it did not matter so much.”

  From the change in her voice, probably unbeknownst to Abigail, Jeremy deduced that it had mattered very much; that the Captain’s lack of interest in his daughter as a person in her own right had hurt her tender feelings.

  “Is that why he left you with a woman so unsuitable, that he never truly understood you?”

  She nodded. “Is it not strange how you can love somebody and at the same time fail to know them at all? To have no idea what they think and feel?”

  “Do you know what your father feels and thinks? He sounds like one of those men who believe women and girls are inherently mysterious and unknowable. How young was he when he first shipped out with the navy?”

  “Eleven or twelve, I believe. But that does not quite explain it.”

  “When he comes to visit us, and sees you a grown woman at last, he may realize that you are no longer the little girl he left behind.”

  “I was a grown woman the last two times he came ashore.”

  “You know that, but your father may not have been able to perceive it. I feel some sympathy for him, you know. It must be hard to only see your child every few years, so changed that you cannot keep up with her development in your imagination. When I have children I plan to stay close and watch them grow into the people they were meant to become, if fate allows it.”

  She lowered her glance to the tablecloth and nervously gnawed her lips. Was it the subject of children that had elicited this reaction? He felt cold all of a sudden, and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “Abigail, can it be you have news – have you seen that specialist you were planning to?”

  She nodded slightly, her eyes bleak. “Ye-es, though this is not the place to talk of it.” She glanced at Lord Sibury, who had stopped glowering at them and was stuffing his face with quail.

  “I take it the news is not good?”

  “It is inconclusive. I am planning to get a second opinion, as you suggested.”

  So all was not lost yet. He breathed out in relief, even as he felt – disappointed? Empty? He was not sure what it was, but for an instant he felt a strong impulse to smash the champagne bottle against the table. He pulled himself together, so she would not be frightened by what she saw in his face; but Abigail was looking at her glass, avoiding his eyes.

  “Should I cancel the country house party until you know for sure? Do you still want to attempt, ah, the other?”

  Abigail winced. “I do, unless you think it would be a wasted effort? To be so fearful of something other women can do as a matter of course diminishes me. Quite apart from everything else, I need to try and get over my panic.”

  “I see. In any case, we have to continue this engagement for several more weeks at least.”

  “I know.”

  He added more champagne to both glasses and took a deep drought, regretting that there was nothing stronger at hand after the news he had just received.

  The worst was that this intolerable situation was not only that blackguard Fenton’s fault. He, Jeremy, had not taken better care of Abigail during the journey on which she had suffered the near-fatal accident. She had never reproached him with a word or glance, but facts were facts. And knowing that, how could he let her go to a loveless, uncertain future? How could he lie with her, if he was not going to marry her afterwards? Whatever the motive, that was the act of a cad. How could he live with himself, if things did not work out? And yet, how could he refuse Abigail at this point?

  He drank again, to drown out the guilt and doubt.

  Chapter 20

  The family had easily accepted Jeremy’s suggestion that they move to Rublingdon, their Kent estate, to enjoy three days of nature and fresh air. Though not the earldom’s principal seat, of their four country houses it was the closest to London.

  Barnaby had stayed behind, continuing the search for the blackmailer. Milla too had elected to remain in town, declaring that as a widow she did not need a chaperon anyway. It was a bit irregular to leave her in Aunt Penelope’s house without her hostess, but Lady Cirrell was more needed here in the country, to entertain Abigail, his fiancée … each time Jeremy considered the word, or heard wedding plans discussed, he was thrown into guilty confusion. Hardly the best way to create and maintain a romantic mood.

  Abigail had looked pretty at dinner with his father and aunt and a few hastily invited local guests earlier in the evening – or last evening, for it was after midnight already, technically a new day.

  Jeremy had given considerable thought to the logistics of their encounter, to avoid any danger of new scandal. Poor Abigail had already had enough risk of that in her young life. His spacious suite was safer than her guest room, for nobody would question him over such details as the state of the sheets. If they even got that far; he felt less certain of success with every hour.

  He was on his way to fetch Abigail now, and fresh doubts assailed him about the wisdom of his course. But Jeremy had given his word, and a Winthrop did not shy back from a challenge. Could the more pleasant experiences he hoped to provide ever supersede the memory of that brutal rape in the dark? It had come close to destroying Abigail, while Fenton had been so drunk he remained unaware of his victim’s identity.

  Jeremy could only do his best.

  He was somewhat slimmer than Fenton had been, but nearly of the s
ame height. The mere thought of Abigail confusing the two of them was odious, but she had indicated that her body’s reactions were guided by instinctive fear, and not altogether amenable to reason. He must keep absolute control of his own passions, carefully monitor her reactions and stop at the least sign of trouble.

  Abigail was waiting, clad in a blue velvet dressing gown. She looked pale and resolute, like a victim about to be carried to the guillotine.

  He hesitated for a long moment. “My dear, are you still determined to do this? It is not too late to change your mind, or wait for another opportunity.”

  She put a cold hand on top of his. “If I draw back now, I don’t know if I shall ever find the courage again.”

  He nodded mutely. What was there to say? The weight of responsibility hung like a millstone around his neck.

  When they arrived – unseen by witnesses, as was to be expected at this hour of the night – she looked around curiously. “Is this your regular room?”

  “When I am here, yes. I only spend about three weeks of every year at this estate, barring house parties like this.” It was not as personal as his bedroom in London – only a few favourite books, but he had chosen the furniture and pictures on the walls.

  “I like the colour scheme. Very masculine.”

  What a moment to discuss furniture and walls – but he would not hurry her in any way. “That was why I picked this particular suite, and the view is pleasant too. What are your own preferences?”

  “I have never yet had the chance to furnish anything to my own taste. Blue, maybe, not too dark. I also like brown and other earth and leaf tones, though they need to be accented – maybe with gold.”

  “Yes, that might be elegant.” He took her cold hand and kissed it, began to subtly rub it with his thumb. “We could just talk of decoration until you feel quite at ease.”