The Lady's Disgrace

by Callie Hutton

  She slipped into the room after glancing up and down the corridor to assure herself no one lurked about to see her. This time of the day the servants were finished with their morning work, and should be preparing for the evening’s activities.

  Withdrawing a torn piece of vellum from under her bodice, she smiled and dropped the missive onto the floor, and with her shoe, pushed it almost underneath the settee. She moved back and tilted her head, studying the note. It had to look as though someone had dropped it accidentally. Using her toe, she shifted it a bit, then walked back to the door and turned, studying the room. Yes. When Joseph entered the room, the piece of paper would catch his eye. Now she only hoped that Abigail didn’t make a habit of popping into his study. Because the next time Joseph opened this door, he would find her little note.

  If only she could be here to see his face. Adjusting her gown, she smoothed back her hair and raised her chin. Let’s see how much of a sweetheart Lady Abigail is once Joseph sees the letter.

  Satisfied with her afternoon’s work, she checked the corridor, then stealthily closed the study door and returned to the drawing room.

  …

  The next morning Joseph and Abigail parted after breakfast, agreeing to meet in an hour to call on villagers who had young children, to announce the opening of the new school. With the warmer weather, and the children not needed at home as much, it seemed a good time to start lessons. In a few months, the youngsters would join their parents in the fields and school would go by the wayside until harvest was over.

  Joseph headed to his study to read the morning mail before they left. He shuffled the stack of missives as he entered the room. He rounded the desk and settled into his chair, dropping the pile on his desk.

  He leaned back and thought about the investigation thus far. Grundell hadn’t yet presented any further information on the person whose background he was investigating. The fall from Samara had been deemed intentional, so now he didn’t feel Abigail was safe even with a footman accompanying her.

  If the matter wasn’t settled soon, he would move his household to London. Or possibly to his Cornwall estate. He would petition the Archbishop to find a replacement for his church. Nothing was worth keeping Abigail in danger. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache coming on.

  Every day the culprit remained unknown was a chance that whoever wanted to harm her would succeed. Permanently. He pushed his chair back, no longer interested in the morning mail. A decision had to be made directly. If he didn’t hear from the investigator soon, he would make arrangements to leave Addysby End. As much as he loved the village and its people, someone here had the capability—and the intent—of ripping his life apart.

  A quick glance at his pocket watch urged him to dispense with his plans to do paperwork. It was time to meet Abigail. As he passed the settee, a paper on the floor caught his attention. The maids hadn’t been in yet to clean, so he must have dropped it yesterday. He shrugged and picked up the paper, giving it a cursory glance.

  His heart did a double beat and he came to an abrupt halt. With shaky fingers he opened it completely. The missive was a letter that had been torn in two, most likely before it would be thrown into the trash. A bold script, parts of sentences missing.

  terrible mistake. . . overjoyed to receive your letter . . . My Love Always, Redgrave.

  His feet like lead, he stepped backward and dropped into his chair, the paper clenched in his hand. Somehow he’d always expected it would come to this. Abigail could never be satisfied with marriage outside of her class. Rage battled with the fear he’d managed to bury deep inside.

  Not only did Redgrave outclass him in position, power, and money, Joseph was unable to even keep his wife safe. He ought to return her to Drake, have him watch over her. The resources of the nobility went well beyond his reach.

  Despite his love for his people, he had to face the fact that someone in this village, perhaps even in his own congregation, was trying to kill Abigail. Had she turned to Redgrave because she felt Joseph couldn’t safeguard her?

  Crushing the paper into a ball, he tossed it in the fireplace and left the room. There would be no peace for him this day.

  …

  Abigail had wanted to travel in the gig for their trip. The openness would allow the warmth of the sun and the essence of the flowers to waft over them. But Joseph was adamant they use the closed carriage. She could only conclude he thought it safer, considering someone was still on the loose with nefarious plans for her.

  Abigail breathed in the fresh country air and turned to Joseph. “Can’t you just smell the wonderful flowers?”

  Joseph grunted.

  “I hope the parents are receptive to our visit.”

  Joseph grunted.

  Frustrated, Abigail tried once more. “I wonder if it will be as warm today as it was yesterday.”

  Joseph grunted again.

  Whatever was wrong with the man? He had been fine at breakfast, excited about their visits, anxious to get the children signed up and the school opened. Now, he acted as though she’d done something terrible. Perhaps a direct question would force him to respond with more than a grumble. “Have you word yet on when the new teacher will be arriving?”

  “No.”

  Flummoxed, she leaned back against the squab. Not one to let confusing things lie, she asked, “Is something wrong, Joseph?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you not talking to me?”

  “I’m talking.”

  “That’s the first answer you’ve given me using more than one word.”

  Silence.

  Well, if he wanted to be difficult, fine. She had tried to give him the opportunity to relieve himself of whatever it was that troubled him. She shifted on the seat and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She would not cajole him into pleasantness. She could remain silent herself. Silence was good, refreshing. No need for them to be babbling all the time. Quiet gave one’s ears a rest.

  Abigail tapped her foot. She crossed and uncrossed her arms. She darted a sideways glance at Joseph. His lips were tight, he stared straight ahead. She sighed deeply, glanced at him again. Nothing. She opened her mouth to question him once more when the carriage wheel hit a rut in the road, and she was thrown from her seat. Reaching out for purchase, she grabbed for Joseph, who had moved forward to grab her. Her hand landed in his crotch, his on her breast.

  “Are you all right?” He whipped his hand back so fast she jerked and landed on the floor, her skirts sliding up to the top of her thighs.

  Blushing, she drew her skirts down. “I am fine.”

  “Good.” He extended his hand to help her up.

  “Are you all right?” She settled on the seat and smoothed her skirts, then adjusted her hat.

  “Fine.”

  She tugged on her jacket. “Splendid. I am thrilled that we are all so fine.”

  “Abigail . . .”

  Raising her chin, she assessed him coolly under lowered lids. “Yes?”

  Joseph shook his head, and gazed out the window. “Never mind.”

  …

  He was sick at heart. Although at the beginning of their marriage, he’d thought Abigail still in love with Redgrave, the last several weeks he’d put the man and their erstwhile betrothal from his mind. Things had appeared to be going very well for him and Abigail. While she no longer seemed to consider their marriage as being merely friends working together, neither had she given him a reason to believe she’d changed her mind about not wanting more from their relationship.

  He’d been a fool to think Abigail had recovered from the heartbreak of being jilted, or the sudden departure from the ton and all things familiar. But for the cad to write to her. And it appeared that she had written to him first. His muscles tightened in anger. Redgrave’s profession of love for a married woman, while he was a married man, was abhorrent to Joseph’s way of thinking.

  But what of Abigail? The note seemed to be in response to a missive she’d s
ent to him. Were they planning a lovers tryst? But everything he knew of Abigail cried out that she was much too honorable for deception. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. A headache was definitely on its way.

  The afternoon passed with stilted conversation between the two of them when they were alone, and cheerfulness as they visited the families. He ached to mention the letter, but was deathly fearful of the conversation that would result. Sometimes ignorance was preferable.

  If I don’t cease this ruminating I will surely be a candidate for Bedlam.

  Later that afternoon, completely exhausted, he and Abigail alighted the carriage in front of the house and ambled up the stairs. The strain of the day had indeed, resulted in a rather brutal headache. Abigail held herself stiffly, neither one of them touching.

  “I am quite fatigued. I would prefer a dinner tray in our room,” she said, her face pinched.

  He nodded his consent, wondering if she also preferred solitude.

  So she can dream about all that she’d lost?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Abigail was already in bed when Joseph entered their room later that night. She’d left an oil lamp burning, but had pulled the bed hangings closed, and was resting on her side, her back to Joseph’s share of the bed.

  She’d spent the hours since they’d arrived home going over their conversation that morning, trying to determine what it was that had changed Joseph’s mood. No matter how many times she ran it through her mind, she came up with no answers. He had been fine at breakfast, then cool and remote once he’d joined her for their trip.

  Busy with her thoughts, she jerked when the bed coverings slid open and the mattress dipped, announcing Joseph’s presence. She held her breath as he settled in. The warmth of his skin soothed her as his leg rested next to hers.

  Just about every night of their marriage, he’d reached for her. The only time she could remember him not initiating intimacy were the times she’d been injured. Would he do so tonight?

  Her question was answered almost before the thought had completely formed in her mind. Joseph placed his warm hand on her hip and leaned down to kiss her shoulder. “Are you asleep?”

  She rolled over onto her back and studied him. “No.”

  He lowered his head and took her mouth in a soft, seeking kiss. His lovemaking was almost sad—as if he’d lost something, which saddened her as well. Slow and gentle, with definitely a part of him missing.

  Barely a few minutes after he collapsed on top of her, he cupped her cheek and left the bed, pulling the curtains closed. Within seconds she heard the rustle of his dressing gown and the click of the door latch.

  Frustrated, she considered following him to wherever he’d hied off to and demanding he tell her what in heaven’s name was wrong with him. However, she was exhausted from the tension of the day, so she kept to the bed. She would insist on answers in the morning.

  She took deep breaths until she felt her muscles relax. Despite her angst, within minutes, she drifted off to sleep.

  …

  Joseph reached for his glass of brandy and wandered to the window. Nothingness greeted him. Complete darkness. No shadows danced on the other side of the glass. Exactly how he felt, dark and shadowed.

  For the first time since their marriage, intimacy with his wife had been unsatisfactory. He’d tried to push Redgrave to the back of his mind, but every kiss, every caress, every touch reminded him that Abigail wanted another man. Whether she had actually betrayed him or not didn’t even seem as important as the fact that she’d contacted Redgrave.

  Would their relationship always be relegated to a part of her mind that only brought her familiarity and companionship? Would he always be second best to a man who had disgraced her?

  He tossed back the brandy and slammed the glass down on the window sill, the sound echoing in the dark room. Leaning his forehead against the glass he closed his eyes and tried very hard to block from his mind My Love Always, Redgrave.

  …

  Ready to do battle, Abigail entered the breakfast room the next morning. Joseph had apparently come to bed sometime during the night, but was gone when she awoke. No longer would she allow this stalemate to continue. This was not a game of chess, but her life, and not one to permit unsolved situations to linger, she would demand to know exactly what happened between breakfast yesterday, and their trip to the village.

  She stepped through the door, mouth opened, prepared to order Joseph to explain immediately what was troubling him. She came to an abrupt halt at the empty room. She swung around and faced Manning. “Has Mr. Fox eaten breakfast already?”

  “Yes, my lady. He breakfasted earlier and was called away to speak with one of the villagers. I believe there was a problem with a youth and a young girl.”

  “Thank you.” She felt as though all the air was let out of her lungs.

  “I will send hot tea in for you, my lady.”

  She nodded and took her seat, reaching for a piece of toast. “And some fresh toast, please.”

  Fidgeting in her seat once she had finished her tea and toast, and with no idea how long Joseph would be away, taking a brisk walk in the gardens seemed the only way to release some of her pent-up agitation at being denied a good argument. She pushed her chair back before the footman could assist her and strode from the room.

  An hour later, feeling no more settled, she returned to the house and climbed the stairs to her sitting room. She padded to her writing desk and withdrew a piece of vellum. Picking up a pen, she dipped it into the inkwell and began to scribble. Her thoughts drifted to Joseph. His smile, his tenderness, and caring. How he’d held her when she’d been afraid, carried her when she’d been injured, and had refused to leave her bedside when she’d been ill.

  He was dedicating his life to helping people. To making sure those who needed comfort received it. That the children were well cared for and educated. While the men of the ton were more interested in their tailor and their clubs, he wanted to make a least a little corner of the world a better place. So much about the man was to be admired and loved. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise.

  Oh, dear. What I promised myself would never happen, had indeed come to pass. I am in love with Joseph.

  Not the heady type of love she’d thought she’d felt for Redgrave. Now that she had lived with Joseph these months, her love for him was a much deeper, satisfying one. The sort of emotion that one knew would last forever.

  Then as if a cloud had passed overhead, blocking the sunshine from her window, she felt a chill. At one time she would have thought sharing her feelings with Joseph would have brought him happiness. Although he’d never spoken the words, she knew in her heart Joseph loved her. Undoubtedly, her insistence on their marriage being one of friendship had kept him from speaking the words what were so obvious from his actions.

  Until yesterday. All the easy companionship and passion they’d shared had vanished. Last night’s lovemaking had been missing something that had always been there before. A connection, a closeness that she’d only felt with Joseph. Tears rimmed her eyes at the loss, and she feared she would never get it back again. How could she correct a problem when she had no idea what it was?

  …

  Joseph dragged himself out of the carriage and up the stairs. Young John Drayton had compromised Elizabeth Warren, and they would be married as soon as the banns were called.

  He’d arrived at Ben Warren’s home with Drayton sitting upright in a chair, sporting a black eye and bruised chin, eying Warren with trepidation. With the wringing of her hands, and tears coursing down Elizabeth’s cheeks, it didn’t take much to surmise what the situation was.

  At least Drayton had assured Joseph that he had fully intended to ask for Elizabeth’s hand before her father had used his fists to encourage him. They were young, but very much in love, so he was sure they would deal well with each other.

  Now to handle the problem with his own shattered marriage. Somew
here between the Warren house and his own, he’d decided to confront Abigail with her perfidy. As difficult as the confrontation would be, clearing the air and finding out exactly what her feelings were in regard to the cad was necessary.

  “Is her ladyship about, Manning?” he asked as the butler helped him off with his jacket and took his hat and gloves.

  “Lady Abigail is in her sitting room, sir.”

  Joseph nodded his thanks and trudged up the stairs to the first floor. As determined as he was, his feet dragged, each step toward her room feeling as though he was mired in mud. He tapped briefly on the door, then entered at her beck.

  Abigail sat at her escritoire, pen in hand. Glancing up, she blushed and immediately thrust the paper into the middle desk drawer.

  He felt all the blood drain from his face. “What is that you were writing, my dear?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Just a letter to Penelope.”

  Extending his hand, he walked toward her. “May I see it?”

  “No.” She moved away from the desk, agitation in her every step. “Did you resolve the problem that called you away?”

  “Yes. John Drayton and Elizabeth Warren will be joined in holy matrimony as soon as the banns are read.”

  “I am glad it is all settled.”

  “A problem easily solved.” He paused and rested his hands on his hips. “Unlike our own problems.”

  Anger flashed in her eyes, and she turned on him. “I have no idea what problems you refer to, sir.”

  He sauntered toward her. “Are you sure about that, Lady Abigail?”

  She moved away. “I am quite sure, sir.”

  “Indeed.” He nodded toward her desk. “Perhaps that paper you hastily shoved into the drawer has something to do with our problem.”

  Two bright spots of red appeared on her cheek, and she began to twist her fingers. “My letter to Penelope?”