“I thought I saw him walk around the back of the orangery. I assumed he had gone to the shed. When I got there, the door was open, so I called to him from outside. When he didn’t answer, I went inside and called him again.”
“Did you take the lantern that hung outside the garden shed so you could see better?”
“No.” She furrowed her brow. “I wasn’t even aware one hung there. I could see far enough in with the light from the open door. I took several steps inside, looked around and then the door slammed behind me.” She paled, no doubt at the memory of being enclosed in darkness.
Abigail took a deep breath. “I then found it hard to see, so I turned in what I hoped was the right direction to the door. I tried to open it, but it became apparent that when it had slammed shut, the latch had engaged.” She looked down at their joined hands. “It was when I shouted for help that I smelled the smoke.”
Without conscious thought he encircled her waist with his hands and pulled her onto his lap. At first, she stiffened, and then relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, inhaling her scent, feeling her softness. His gut twisted at how close he’d come to losing her.
Quite possibly the slamming of the door had caused the lantern to fall and spill oil onto the door. But the question remained as to how the oil had been ignited. Unwilling to distress her further, Joseph just held her, running his palm up and down her arm, wishing to never let her go.
…
The next afternoon they arrived at the outskirts of London, passing through the worst parts of the city. The housing was poor and bursting with criminals and diseased prostitutes. The effect was one of a densely populated area of gloomy, narrow streets and stark ugliness.
Abigail shivered, hating this part of the trip when returning from the country. Her heart began to thump wildly when a man approached the carriage, running alongside it, begging for money. Joseph snapped the curtain closed and reached under the seat for his pistol.
“Heavens, you won’t shoot the man?”
Joseph used his finger to hold part of the curtain open, keeping his eye on their surroundings. “Not as long as he keeps his distance.”
She shivered, wishing herself through the streets as quickly as possible. The carriage seemed to speed up, their driver apparently as anxious to leave the area as they were. Within ten minutes they’d left the sordid world behind and had entered the shopping district.
Fashionable ladies strolled along, their maids and footmen following behind, carrying boxes and bundles. Abigail smiled at the familiar scene, feeling as though she’d been away for months instead of only several weeks.
Soon most of the ton would be leaving the stench and heat of the city and heading to their summer homes. Had she not accepted Joseph’s offer, she would be returning to Manchester Manor as an unwed and abandoned woman—very close to being on the shelf.
Her gaze slid toward him. More at ease now, since they’d entered the business part of town, he’d returned his pistol to its place. The sun peeking between the clouds streamed through the windows of the carriage, bathing his face in sunlight. His hair needed a trim, the dark ends curling over the back of his cravat. He rested his chin on his index finger and thumb, staring out the window, apparently deep in thought.
Her husband.
The man who had saved her from yet another Season. Who had promised from the Book of Common Prayer to love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health; forsaking all other…
How many weddings had she attended and heard the same words repeated? And so few of the matches had involved love. Yet everyone sat in still quietude and listened to the bride and groom promise to do such before God, when most marriages were merely a convenience. Like hers.
It hurt to think that Joseph might regret the hurried wedding. Not that he’d ever given her any reason to believe so. As a true gentleman, he wouldn’t. But she had been so focused on what she would and would not grant him as his wife, she’d never thought to ask if he’d had someone in mind to make an offer for. The thought of her selfishness horrified her.
“Joseph, I know it is a bit late to ask this, but had you someone already in mind to marry before my brother talked you into this arrangement?”
He graced her with that slow half smile that always went directly to her middle. “Indeed, it is a bit too late to ask that question.” His eyelids grew heavy and he reached his hand out. “Come here.” She rose from her seat and settled on his lap. He brushed back an errant curl that had escaped her bonnet. His deep brown eyes appeared to look right into her soul. “Nowhere on this earth is there anyone else to whom I would prefer to be married.”
Slowly his head descended, his lips covering hers. The kiss was long and thorough, his tongue teasing her lips until she opened and he swept in. Small butterflies took flight in her stomach, spreading upward, setting her heart to thumping, and her breathing to hitch.
Joseph slid his hand down and covered her breast, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb circling her nipple until it hardened, causing a slight moan to escape her lips. He released her mouth and scattered kisses along her jaw, moving to the soft skin behind her ear where he nibbled, then soothed.
Abigail lost all appreciation for time and place, her senses alive with longing, wanting more of Joseph’s touches, his clever hands, his talented mouth.
He pulled back, his eyes darkened with passion, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over her swollen lips. “We must stop. Soon we will be at Manchester House. It would not do well for Manchester to see his sister arrive disheveled and breathless.” He winked at her as he righted her clothing, then drew her to him. She curled into his body, resting her head on his chest.
As she lay cuddled in his arms, she realized he hadn’t answered her question.
Chapter Twelve
They had barely alighted from the carriage when her sister-in-law, Penelope, hurried down the stairs, her arms outstretched. “How wonderful of you to visit.” She hugged Abigail, then turned to Joseph. “We were so happy to get your note that you were arriving today.”
Joseph bowed and took Penelope’s hand. “Your Grace, you are looking splendid as always.”
Penelope beamed at them both, then looped her arm through Abigail’s and walked her up the steps. Joseph followed, both anxious and relieved to be able to discuss his concerns with Drake. “Is His Grace at home?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Abigail said, turning toward him. “You and Drake were in leading strings together. If you refer to him as ‘His Grace’ his head will get bigger than it already is.”
She laughed and leaned close to Penelope. “Has Drake ever told you about the time he and Joseph tied me to a tree to keep me from following them?”
“Yes, he did. And I told him what I thought of that.”
Abigail laughed. “I’m embarrassed to say it was well deserved. I used to traipse behind them everywhere they went.”
Penelope looked at Joseph. “To answer your question, yes, Drake is at home, and will join us in the drawing room as soon as he finishes with his secretary, Miles.” She released Abigail’s arm to allow the butler to relieve them of their hats and gloves.
“First, I imagine you would like to refresh yourselves in your room.”
“Yes, I believe I would.” Abigail and Joseph followed Penelope up the stairs. She chatted the entire way, mostly about her son and the amazing progress he was making each day. Joseph was thrilled to know the smartest child ever born resided at Manchester House. With all the babe had accomplished in his short life, he would no doubt be speaking at the House of Lords before he was out of nappies. Joseph grabbed Penelope’s elbow as she stumbled on the last step.
She shook her head. “I must speak to Stevens about having these steps repaired.”
Joseph and Abigail grinned at each other.
They wandered down the corridor past several rooms until Penelope opened the door to a bedchamber. “I know
this is a bit fancy for a gentleman, but I hope you don’t mind staying in Abigail’s bedchamber.”
“Not at all, Your Grace. This is fine.”
“Oh please, Joseph. Let us refrain from all formality. We are family. And you certainly know my name.”
She fussed for a bit, making sure everything was suitable, and then left them with instructions to join her and Drake for tea. Once the door closed on the whirlwind that was Penelope, Abigail and Joseph looked at each other and burst into laughter.
Abigail circled the room, dragging her fingers over the furniture, ending at the window where she rested her palm on the window frame and gazed out. “It seems as though I have been away for a very long time.”
Joseph came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, then settled his chin on her shoulder. “Is that good or bad?”
She shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t know.” Twisting her neck, she looked at him, her lips close enough to reach his. “The last few weeks in this room were miserable ones, for sure. However…”
He kissed her briefly on her lips. “Life hasn’t been much better since then?”
She turned in his arms, her eyes filled with tears. “For the first time in my life I’m afraid.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” His stomach muscles tightened as though he’d received a punch to the gut. Leaning his forehead against hers, he used his thumbs to wipe the two tears that had escaped and rolled down her cheeks to puddle in her lips. At that moment he was prepared to abandon his parish, forget the school, sell his house, and move as far away from Addysby End as he could get. Cornwall, perhaps.
“You can stay here with your family. I will return home and investigate these matters.”
She pulled back and frowned. “What matters?”
Joseph shook his head in confusion. “The accidents you’ve been having. Isn’t that why you say you’re afraid?”
“I don’t believe the accidents are anything to investigate. I merely feel unsettled and fearful of small spaces and the dark. Things I’ve never been afraid of before.” She swiped at the remaining tears and rested her palms on his chest. “Why would you think an investigation is necessary?”
He didn’t know whether to be relieved that she didn’t connect the gunshot with the gardener’s shed fire, or amazed that she hadn’t. Torn between revealing his fears, which might make her more anxious, or keeping them close to his chest which might not be in her best interest, he studied her beautiful face. Which would it be: ignorance or added distress?
It was his responsibility to protect her, although he’d done a poor job of it thus far. No purpose would be served in frightening her further. He would talk with Drake and get his thoughts on it. Perhaps she was right, and there was no reason to assume these were not accidents.
He decided on ignorance.
…
Arms linked, Abigail and Penelope strolled in the garden behind Manchester House. With Drake’s sisters and the dowager duchess attending a house party in Cheshire, the unfamiliar quiet was both soothing and unnerving. Abigail welcomed the tranquility, but the distraction of her sisters’ chatter would have settled her, given her something else to ponder besides her new found fears.
Deciding instead to ask her sister-in-law’s advice on another troubling topic, she steered them to the stone bench warmed from the sun. They settled side by side under the shady coolness of a large oak tree. Fragrant honeysuckle and aromatic summer roses from the well-tended garden mixed with a faint breeze to effect a perfect summer afternoon. Two honeybees battled for nectar, drifting from flower to flower, sucking up the sweetness.
The sun on her face and the familiar sights and sounds of summer calmed her. For the first time in days, Abigail felt peace descend. No darkness here, no enclosing walls to cause her breathing to speed up. She sighed with contentment.
“I am so glad to see you relax,” Penelope said, also raising her face up to the sun. “I love this garden. Well, actually, I love the outdoors.”
“This was always my favorite spot when my family spent time in Town.” Abigail glanced over at Penelope and chuckled.
“What?” Penelope said, opening her eyes.
“I’m thinking if Mother saw us both out without our bonnets, and actually encouraging the sun to bathe our faces, we would be dragged back into the house and not allowed out until dark.”
Penelope giggled. “Yes, indeed. She is forever admonishing me about the sun. But I’m afraid all my years of wallowing around in the dirt, digging for plant specimens, have already ruined my skin.”
“Not at all. Your complexion is lovely.”
After a few minutes of silence, Abigail turned to Penelope. “Would it be much too forward of me to ask when you knew you loved my brother?”
Penelope stilled, then slanted a glance at her. “Not an easy answer, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“Because there was no moment in time when I said, ‘I love this man.’ You may recall I was quite unsettled during our betrothal.” She smiled at the memory. “I was absolutely certain that Drake would soon come to regret his decision to marry me.”
“If memory serves, he really had no choice.”
“Yes, there is that. But even though we had been caught in a . . . Well, he felt marriage was the only way to salvage the situation. I pleaded with him to cry off, and allow me to return to the country.”
“Yet it is obvious to any observer that you adore each other.”
A slight blush colored Penelope’s cheeks. “Yes.”
“Were you ever afraid?”
“Oh, goodness, all the time. I was afraid I would make a cake of myself and embarrass him and your entire family.” She raised her chin. “You may not have noticed, but I tend to have unfortunate things happen to me. You know, little mistakes and such.”
Abigail struggled to not laugh at her sister-in-law’s description of her many stumbles and mishaps. The poor woman could hardly get through a day without some sort of blunder. As frustrated as Drake had been with her at the beginning, he now regarded her with such love that it made Abigail’s heart ache to witness it.
“What I meant, though, were you ever afraid of…” She licked her lips. “That is, did it worry you…?”
Penelope took her hand, frowning. “What is it, Abigail?”
“You know I fancied myself in love with Redgrave.”
“If that is how you see it. I know you claimed to be in love with him.”
“Well, perhaps I was not. Perhaps I don’t know what love is. Perhaps I am some foolish dreamer who thinks she is in love when she isn’t and−”
“And you think you’re in love with Joseph, but are afraid?”
Abigail pulled back, started to shake her head in denial, and then slumped. “Yes.”
“Ah. What are you afraid of?”
“It is confusing. Suppose I was not in love with Redgrave, but only thought I was? And then he ran off with Lady Priscilla, and I was heartbroken, I believed. But I seemed to recover rather quickly. Is love so fleeting then?”
“No, I don’t believe it is. If Drake ran off with someone else—well he wouldn’t be Drake, then, would he?” She pondered for a moment, and then added, “I don’t suppose that helped you a great deal, did it?”
Abigail reached out and pulled Penelope into a hug. “Yes. Actually you did help. If Redgrave had truly loved me, he wouldn’t have run off, and if I had truly loved him, I believe it would have taken me a lot longer to mend.”
“Did I say all that?”
“Yes. You did. And now I believe it’s time to dress for dinner.”
Once more with arms linked, they strolled back to the house. Abigail certainly didn’t know why, but she felt better.
…
“Can I pour you a brandy?” Drake asked from the sideboard in the drawing room. Joseph nodded and settled on a chair next to a window with a spectacular view of the gardens. He had just left Abigail in their bedchamber, dressing for dinner.
> Drake handed him the drink and took the seat next to him, crossing a booted foot over his knee. “Now that the ladies are otherwise occupied, perhaps you will tell me the real reason for this trip.”
Joseph swirled the brown liquid in his glass and studied its movement. They’d been at Manchester House all afternoon. He had hoped to speak to Drake while the ladies had fussed in the nursery, and then when they had taken a leisurely stroll in the garden. But his brother-in-law had been tied up with estate business. Joseph had spent the time making notes on his concerns. Eventually frustrated at how little he knew, he had torn up the paper and fed it to the fireplace.
After leaning against the mantle shelf, watching the notes disappear into ash, he had pulled on his jacket and left the room. A brisk ride on one of Drake’s magnificent stallions had left him no more insightful, but less tense.
“I am concerned for Abigail’s safety.”
A slight hesitation as Drake raised his glass for a sip of his brandy was the only reaction to Joseph’s statement. In true Manchester form, he swallowed, then nodded. “Go on.”
Joseph laid his glass on a table and stood, the tension he’d lived with the past few days hitting him full force. He ran stiff fingers through his hair, then settled his hands on his hips. “There have been accidents. Two.”
“Penelope has ‘accidents’ all the time.” Despite Joseph’s anxiety, he was immediately struck by the softening of Manchester’s face, and twinkle in his eyes when he spoke of his wife. A longing he’d pushed to the back of his mind rose to the forefront, strengthening his resolve to spend more time wooing his wife once the mystery of her accidents was cleared up.
“Serious accidents,” he clarified.
Manchester set his drink down, and leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning.”
Joseph paced as he related the events since he and Abigail had arrived in Addysby End. His gut clenched as he again relived the discovery of the bullet wound and the horror of watching the garden shed go up in flames, certain that Abigail was locked inside. He wiped beads of perspiration from his brow, his agitation growing as he spoke.
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