“Would you care for tea?” Abigail said, smiling pleasantly at their guest.
“No, thank you. In fact, I’m afraid I must run off. I just now remembered an appointment.” She rose quickly and headed for the door, almost crashing into Joseph as he jumped up to pull out her chair. With a quick wave, she left the room, her hurried footsteps echoing in the hall until the sound of the door closing left them in stunned silence.
“That was strange.” Joseph continued to stare at the closed door.
…
Lady Edith Durham breezed by Manning, her insides quaking with anger. How dare Joseph return from London with a wife! That was to be her role. She’d spent numerous hours at the blasted church, attempting to gain Joseph’s favor. Her year of mourning was almost up, and she had decided to make known her intentions very soon. All her planning and plotting had come to naught.
So caught up in her internal reverie, she hadn’t even noticed where she had ended up. She’d also forgotten that she’d arrived in her coach. The devil take the man for distracting her so! She reversed her course, and headed back to the ninny driver who had seen her stomp away from the house, but never thought to follow her. If she wasn’t paying him such a low wage, she’d fire the dolt.
“Take me home,” she grumbled as she slapped at the footman who held his hand out to help her into the carriage.
Damn, damn, damn. Just the thought of the tidy income Joseph enjoyed, along with the money from his trust, made her eyes water at the loss.
Men. They were the bane of her existence. She’d thought when she escaped from the brutal clutches of her father that she would never have to worry about the vile creatures again. Except she’d soon discovered that a woman alone was a target for every sort of blackguard on God’s good earth.
After two years of being pinched, patted, and grabbed while she attempted to serve drinks at a tavern, she’d bought some fashionable clothes from her meager savings and headed to London. With fake references, she began work at a dress shop, and by mimicking the accents of the ladies who had come into the shop, she’d secured a position as a companion to the former Lady Durham.
Thankfully, the old Lord Durham hadn’t been too particular about who he hired as a companion to his wife. Within weeks, the woman had died, and Edith had been right there, ready to take her place. Who would have guessed that the old Earl was busy running his estate into the ground, so when he turned up his toes, all Edith had inherited was a small income that barely kept her alive?
When the new Lord Durham had arrived to claim his inheritance, he hadn’t been the least bit taken with her attempts at seduction. She’d been quickly removed before he’d installed his insipid wife and three brats.
She’d be damned if she was going to lose this latest opportunity, with no other promising quarry in this benighted town. No matter what, she would not go back to being poor again. Something had to be done about this wife of his. Something permanent, that would remove greedy Lady Abigail’s hands from money that should have been hers.
Tomorrow, when she wasn’t seething from anger and could think clearly, she’d come up with an idea.
Bloody hell.
…
Abigail tapped lightly on the housekeeper’s sitting room door.
“Come in,” the woman said.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Neill.”
“Oh, my lady. Please have a seat.” The housekeeper flushed and jumped up from where she sat, writing in a ledger.
“Thank you.” Abigail perched on the edge of one of the comfortable chairs in the room and adjusted her skirts. She smiled in the older woman’s direction. “I thought you might give me a tour of the house and introduce me to the staff. That is, if this is a good time for you.”
“Any time you wish, my lady. May I send for some tea before we start?”
“No, thank you. I just finished luncheon, and Mr. Fox is out of the house, meeting with the contractor for the school building. I would prefer to start on the tour, if it is all the same to you.”
“Of course.” Mrs. O’Neill closed the ledger. “Do you wish to see the kitchen?”
“Yes. Please. I’d like to see the entire house.”
“Very well, then. That is where we will start.”
The wonderful smells coming from the kitchen greeted them long before they entered the room. After being introduced to Cook, who in turned introduced her to the assistants, they made their way to the servant’s eating area, and then to the larder.
Except for the smaller size of Joseph’s house compared to Manchester Manor, things seemed to be run very much like her childhood home. Everywhere they went, Abigail saw efficiency, and cheerful, hard-working servants. Each one she’d been introduced to was polite and spoke of Joseph in a caring and respectful manner. He apparently enjoyed a great deal of regard from his staff, which was really no surprise, given everything she already knew about her husband.
“This room has not been used since Mr. Fox moved in, because until recently, there was no Mrs. Fox,” Mrs. O’Neill said as she threw open the door to the master suite.
“Were you here then when Mr. Fox bought the house?”
“Yes. Most of the staff came along with the purchase, as the prior owner, Lady Wentworth, sold it and moved to Lancashire to reside with her eldest daughter.” She lowered her voice, as if the woman could hear her miles away. “Lady Wentworth had grown somewhat forgetful, and her daughter, Mrs. Brightmore, insisted she move into her home.”
They’d entered into the suite through the sitting room door, which connected the two bed chambers. Abigail was startled to realize she’d been brought to Joseph’s bed chamber yesterday, and had spent the night there. When she’d awakened this morning, she hadn’t paid much attention once the maid had arrived to help her dress.
Married couples of her station did not generally share the same bed for sleeping purposes, although her parents had done so all the years her father had been alive. Her brother and his wife had also adopted their parents’ habit. She would have to speak with Joseph soon about the sleeping arrangements. Did he intend for them to share the same bed?
“Of course, I am sure Mr. Fox will want you to decorate your bed chamber whatever way you wish, my lady.”
Mrs. O’Neill had been speaking while Abigail pondered her husband’s preferences regarding where she would lay her head each night. “Yes, well . . . I will speak with him about that.”
As they continued the tour, Abigail listened with half an ear, caught up with thoughts of the future of her marriage. Soon she and Joseph would have to speak seriously on some issues. What exactly did he want from this marriage?
Because of her dowry and his trust fund, he now had all the money necessary to build the school, hire a teacher, and buy supplies.
Lack of cooperation by the parents was one of the pitfalls of schools for the lower classes. Most schools run by churches charged a penny a day for each student. When a parent didn’t have the penny, the child couldn’t get a lesson that day. By Joseph funding the school on his own, that obstacle to education had been removed.
What would be her place in their life? She would love to teach. She grew excited at the idea of instructing the children how to read and to write with a clear hand. It would be important for the boys to learn how to add and subtract, and the girls how to sew a neat seam. Since most of the parents in the parish worked hard each day to keep food on the table, there wasn’t time to see to a child’s education. That would be her place.
Their tour came to an end at the same time Abigail decided to seek out Joseph so they could make some plans. Her life had taken an abrupt turn by marrying a rector. Days filled with helping people live a better life would replace visits to the modiste, musicales, balls, and parties.
She couldn’t wait to start her new life.
Chapter Six
Joseph stood at the front of the assembly room and rapped on the table with a gavel. “My friends, may I have your attention, please? If you wo
uld take your seats, we can start.”
Abigail sat at the head table, feeling a tad uncomfortable as murmurs crested over the group like an ocean wave. Apparently someone—most likely Lady Durham—had passed the word that their rector had married. As men tend to do, Joseph seemed oblivious to the whispers and glances cast at her. But she wasn’t.
Slowly, those who had been standing at the back of the room took their seats and after one more rap of the gavel, the room grew silent.
“Before we begin our meeting, I would like to take this opportunity to present my wife, Lady Abigail Fox.” He held up his hand as questions rose from the crowd. “I will be happy to have you greet Lady Abigail when we are finished. I am sure you will all welcome her and make her feel at home here at St. Gertrude’s.”
Abigail’s gaze roamed the room while Joseph spoke to his parishioners about the new school, and how beneficial it would be to their children. The women seemed much more interested in the rector’s wife than the school. Most smiled shyly at her, a few of the younger ones with a bit of regret. Joseph had apparently been on several women’s list of potential husbands.
Most of the members of Joseph’s parish were hard working farmers and tradespeople. Before she and Joseph had taken their places at the head of the room, she’d been introduced to Baron Moreledge and his wife. The baron was very friendly, but the baroness took it upon herself to inform Abigail that there weren’t too many people in Abbysby End who were of their station.
Abigail had chuckled to herself since it apparently hadn’t occurred to the baroness that Joseph was not of their station, either. But aside from that remark, she seemed friendly enough, and offered to have Abigail to tea one afternoon so she could spend time with other women of the parish.
After Joseph’s talk, a few of the parishioners had questions, mostly about how many hours a day the children would need to be away from home. It also appeared the tradespeople and shopkeepers saw more of a benefit to the school than the farmers did. No surprise there.
“That is all I have to say about the school right now. If there are no further questions, then we can enjoy the punch and biscuits the ladies have prepared for us.” Joseph turned to Abigail. “Perhaps it would be best if you joined the other ladies for refreshments.”
She nodded and headed to the table where the women had gathered.
“Mrs. Fox,” one of the women greeted her, “so nice of you to join us.”
“Wilma, it is not Mrs. Fox, but Lady Abigail. Didn’t you listen when Mr. Fox introduced her?” A rotund woman did a slight curtsey to Abigail as she cast a disparaging glance at the hapless matron.
“That is quite all right. And who may you be?” Abigail asked the first woman.
“My lady, I am Mrs. Richard Steeves. My husband is a solicitor. I’m sorry to greet you incorrectly.” She blushed and wrung her hands.
“Please, do not distress yourself.” Abigail turned an inquisitive eye to the other woman.
“My lady, I am Widow Barnes. I do sewing for the village. Mr. Fox has graciously allowed me to do some tailoring for him, but I am sure your ladyship has a wonderful modiste in London.”
Abigail smiled warmly at the widow. “Indeed I do, but I doubt if I will have time to travel to London if I need any new frocks. I’m sure you will do nicely to accommodate me.”
Widow Barnes swallowed several times, appearing to almost cry with pleasure. “That is most kind of you, my lady.”
“Lady Abigail, so nice to see you again.” Lady Durham stepped to Abigail’s side and embraced her as if they were long-lost friends.
A bit surprised at the warm welcome, she murmured, “And you too, Lady Durham.”
Lady Durham faced the women in their circle. “I was honored to be introduced to Lady Abigail this morning.” She beamed at Abigail, seeming to have recovered from the shock she’d received at their breakfast table. “I am sure she will be a wonderful addition to our little group.”
“Lady Abigail, you must join us for tea one day next week,” Mrs. Steeves said. “We take turns hosting our gathering of ladies. We sew baby clothes for the poor.”
“Indeed,” Lady Durham said. “I will be happy to stop by to escort you in my carriage.”
Several women came and went to their little group, all very pleasant and welcoming. It was nice to be so quickly accepted by Joseph’s people. She’d been invited to several teas, and offers to have her and Joseph to dinner.
“My dear, I think it is time we departed.” Joseph walked up behind her and squeezed her elbow. “Ladies, if you will excuse us.”
“Certainly, Mr. Fox,” Widow Barnes said. “I imagine you are both still fatigued from your trip from London.”
“Yes, and Lady Abigail sustained an injury the day we arrived, and she should not be overtiring herself.”
“Oh, my lady, I hope you are all right.” Lady Durham was the epitome of solicitude.
“I am fine. It was a minor mishap.” She turned to Joseph. “I am tired, perhaps it is best if we take our leave.”
After a quick good-bye they withdrew, leaving Abigail with a warm feeling from the women she’d met. Life here could be very pleasant.
…
“Would you care for a sherry before bed?” Joseph asked from the sideboard where he splashed some brandy into his glass.
“Yes. Perhaps I will.”
He poured the drink and after handing it to Abigail, settled in the chair across from her.
“I received the final sketches from the contractor. They had apparently been delivered while we were at the meeting this evening.”
“Wonderful. I am anxious to see them. Did he include the suggested changes I made so there is a quiet space for the children to read? I envision some type of a small library.”
“Yes. I am very pleased with the results. And I must thank you once again for your very insightful ideas.”
A comfortable silence followed as they both sipped their drinks.
“Mrs. O’Neill was kind enough to give me a tour of the house today.”
“Ah. I hope you found everything to your liking?”
“Yes.” Her slight hesitation and then charming flush left him thinking she wanted to discuss something different. A more important topic. Hopefully she was ready to be his wife in truth, since he’d been thinking of nothing else all day.
Whatever was supposed to be occupying his thoughts had not been enough to keep his mind from drifting toward Abigail and her luscious body. He’d been embarrassed when several times the contractor had to repeat himself to get a proper answer.
The next appointment for the day had been a young couple casting each other shy and loving glances. The interview to arrange for their banns to be announced only reinforced his decision to stop this game Abigail was playing. He didn’t know how much longer he was willing to put up with it nor did he understand where her reluctance came from.
The meeting tonight had not engaged his attention fully, either. He’d watched her as she spoke with the ladies of the parish, all the time planning how he could get her away from the group and headed home. To bed.
The word bed caught his attention.
“During my time with Mrs. O’Neill today, it came to my attention that the bedchamber you brought me to yesterday was yours.”
He nodded.
Finally, a conversation I can concentrate on.
“Right. Well, I guess what I want to know is. . .” She stopped, licked her lips and started again. “I mean, is it your intention. . .”
“Out with it, Abigail. Or should I save you this unnecessary embarrassment, and tell you that yes, I do intend for my wife to sleep in my bed?”
She sniffed. “Yes. That is precisely what I wanted to know.”
“Now you have your answer.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Please don’t tell me about separate sleeping quarters being de rigueur for the ton. I am aware that your parents shared a bed—no need for you to know how I came about that informatio
n—as does your brother and his wife. Therefore, this is not a foreign concept.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Just for your information, I was not about to dispute that, or mention what is done among the members of the ton.” Then a small smile teased her lips. “How do you know the sleeping arrangements for my family members?”
“You forget that I practically lived at your house in my youth. It was well known that your parents did not sleep apart.”
“And Drake?”
He grinned. “That was a guess.”
“A good one, however.”
Joseph placed his glass next to him and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “I always expected to marry. When I first finished theology school, I was busy with my parish, getting to know the villagers and helping out where I could. The rector before me was aged, and apparently did very little in the way of ministering to his people.
“They were starved for comfort and spirituality. I like to think I helped in that way.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But I’ve known for a while now that the time was right for me to take a wife. You must understand, Abigail that I never would have looked toward you, or anyone in your station.”
“Joseph—”
“Let me finish, please.” He waited for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “When I say I would not have looked at you, I mean that despite our life-long friendship, I doubted your brother would have approved of me. Well, certainly as a friend, but not as a suitor for one of his sisters.” He winced and ran his fingers through his hair. “I have a feeling I’m making a muddle of this.”
“No, you’re not. I understand what you’re trying to say. However, you must realize that despite my ruined reputation, I still would not have consented to this marriage unless I felt we would do well together. And I am looking forward to being a rector’s wife.”
“A rector’s wife or my wife? And in all ways?” His body hummed with longing. Sitting there, her back stiff, with her hands crossed delicately in her lap, should not have made his blood boil, but boil it did.
The Lady's Disgrace Page 6