Abigail had ignored the instances when he’d retorted that if she’d only been smarter, they wouldn’t have lost their home when their parents had died. Or her favorite, the times he’d charged that if only she’d have been kinder to the neighbor, Mr. Wormier, they would’ve had a home and never would have had to leave Bury St. Edmunds.
Abigail bit her tongue at those times, having given up on reminding Reggie that she couldn’t help being born a girl, she’d done as well as she could as a grieving thirteen-year-old child, and marriage to Mr. Wormier wasn’t ever an option. Not that she could have stomached such a lecherous husband.
After each tirade had lost its steam, Reggie would be completely repentant and good sense would reassert itself. And it was hard for Abigail to hold her anger for him. Reggie was such a lost soul, and she couldn’t bear the pain of his knowing that she was angry with him. When it came to his sister, Reggie always made peace. With others, he wasn’t quite so redeemable.
When Abigail had lost her position in the Byrnwyck household, she’d intended to keep the information from her brother. What sane woman would want her little brother knowing that she’d lost her heart, her good sense, and her virtue in one feel swoop?
But events conspired to intensify her ruin.
Since she’d been tossed from the house with a swiftness that had left her reeling, Abigail had had to rely on her friendship with Warren and Jan, the innkeeper and his wife, to keep a roof over her head. For almost three weeks Abigail had hardly left her small room at the top of the rickety stairs. She’d been in a state, barely eating or drinking. All she could do was cry until she passed out in a fit of exhaustion, then wake up and cry some more. Her heart had ached so sorely, she’d thought she might die from heartbreak. But that was clearly an escape Abigail was not meant to have.
Instead, her dear friend Jan had thought that Abigail needed family support and hence wrote to Reggie, seeking his help.
Reggie had found Abigail suffering in her tiny room and kicked up a riot. He’d demanded the whole sordid tale, dragging it out of Abigail one shameful detail after the next. He’d ruthlessly questioned her on Phineas’s part, Lord Byrnwyck’s role, and the interference of Lord Byrnwyck’s nasty nephew, Silas.
Abigail had attempted to paint the picture a little sunnier, but Reggie would have none of it. Ranting and raving, he’d screamed about beating Phineas, skewering Byrnwyck, and trampling Silas beneath his horse’s hooves.
Abigail had tried to calm him down, but her heart hadn’t been in it. Secretly she’d longed for such revenge, although she’d never truly wished them ill. Not without them recovering…ultimately…after a long and painful convalescence.
That rainy night, Reggie had stormed from the inn intent on avenging his sister. He’d taken rocks and smashed the prized hundred-year-old stained glass windows adorning Byrnwyck Manor’s library. Then when chased, he’d run into the barn and set all the horses free from their stalls. When confusion had overcome the manor, he’d sneaked into Byrnwyck’s private study and stolen the Byrnwyck family crest.
It was silver inlaid with mother-of-pearl and the family motto etched in gold. It was worth a few pounds for its weight alone, but it was even more valuable since it was Lord Byrnwyck’s most prized possession.
If there was one thing about Reggie, he knew how to strike someone where it hurt.
When Abigail realized what her brother had done, she’d begged him to return the crest and make away, fearful of what Lord Byrnwyck would do to him. She knew that if it weren’t for her foolish mistake with Phineas, Reggie would never have gotten so angry and dug himself a hole so deep. She needed to get Reggie out of trouble.
But Reggie wasn’t ready to make amends. Instead he’d drawn a picture of the crest burning in a raging fire and had it delivered to Byrnwyck Manor, signature and all.
In that single irrational act of revenge, Reggie had become a fugitive from the law. And he’d been one ever since.
Lord Byrnwyck had had a warrant issued for Reggie’s arrest and had set the constable on him. Reggie ran off in the middle of the night, leaving Abigail frantic with anxiety.
Thwarted, Lord Byrnwyck had set a price on Reggie’s head. He’d hired Bow Street Runners to track Reggie down. He even tried to throw Abigail in jail as an accomplice. It was only Jan and Warren’s staunch intervention, swearing oaths that Abigail had been with them all along and had no notion of her brother’s activities, that had saved her. That, and the fact that they’d told the magistrate that they’d never serve him dinner at their inn again if he didn’t do what was right.
Throughout this whole ordeal, Abigail never heard a word from Phineas. She’d wondered what he knew, but like so many other questions in life, that one would have to go unanswered.
Still, Phineas’s betrayal haunted her. How could she have loved someone so unworthy? How could she have been such a fool? How could she trust a man not to dupe her or hurt her when her judgment of character was so clearly wrong?
So she’d allowed her girlhood dreams of love and marriage and a family to dissolve into mist, to reside with the unicorns and dragons and fairy godmothers that she no longer believed in. And so her heart had grown harder, and her nights lonelier.
Images of the masked rescuer rose in her mind’s eye.
Could he be a kindred spirit? Lonely, searching for…what? What could drive a man to roam the streets of London at night in a mask?
“Where are you?” she whispered, wondering if he had a home, a wife…
Nay, something about the man screamed solitude. Besides, he made for a much more appealing hero if he was tormented and lonely and…
Abigail straightened. Perhaps he was disfigured and that’s why he covered his face. Was he burned in a fire? Wounded by some terrible tragedy? Born with a horrible birthmark?
Her heart went out to him. The poor man! No wonder he refused to show his face. He probably had a fascinating story of pain and redemption. Her imagination painted a dark and brooding picture. Very romantic.
She would never know, though. He certainly wasn’t about to share his life. She’d probably never see him again. So where was the harm in thinking about him? In dreaming about him? In having a little fun to pass the time?
Leaning back into the bench, Abigail allowed her mind to drift, creating a hero from the masked rescuer, one who won her love through his bravery, integrity, and selfless sacrifice in the protection of others. Woven in with those traits, he had to have the most important quality of all—he had to love her unconditionally and forever.
She sighed, watching the boys. “I swear if a man like this exists I’ll eat my own stockings with nary any salt or pepper.” She chuckled to herself, knowing that that day would never come.
For men like her hero existed only in the world of fantasy and imagination. None was flesh and bone. And even if such a man existed, he wouldn’t want the likes of her. Her mind drifted back to the masked rescuer. Would they meet again? If so, how? Even though she knew it was based in fantasy, her heart warmed toward him.
If I can get closer, what will I find? she wondered.
Suddenly she very much wanted to find out.
Chapter 8
Sighing, Abigail pushed away all thoughts of the masked hero from her mind as she watched Seth and Felix struggle with the kite. Nary a breath of wind could be felt, and the boys were having a difficult time of it.
The yellow kite sputtered to the grass.
“It’s my turn!” Seth squealed.
Running toward the kite, Felix twirled the string around the wooden spool. “You gave it a go and failed. It’s too hard. If I can’t get it up, you certainly can’t.”
“Lord Steele said it would fly! I wanna try again!”
Lord Steele hadn’t actually said it, he’d written it on the note that he’d left with the kite. It would have been nice if he’d joined the boys in trying out their new toy, but Abigail supposed he was busy with the demands of his very important position. He’d cer
tainly been too occupied to take meals with the boys, something she hoped would change now that Benbrook was gone.
Working the string, Felix snarled. “This is a stupid waste of time!”
Seth grabbed at the kite.
Felix shoved it at his brother. “Fine, take it!”
Noting that the two footmen standing near the boys were staying out of the situation, Abigail straightened. “Why don’t we try a new strategy?”
Felix turned her way. “It’s broken. It won’t work.”
“Lord Steele wouldn’t give us a broken kite!” Seth cried, his lower lip quaking perilously. “He wouldn’t do that!”
“No, he certainly wouldn’t.” Abigail rose and approached the boys. The sun was so bright, she had to squint beneath the shade of her bonnet. “In this weather you need to work together. You need a really fast runner to get the string far forward, and you need someone to hold the kite off the ground and give it a good shove into the air.”
“I can do that!” Seth exclaimed, brightening. “I can shove, I can shove!”
Felix raised a brow as if trying to decide if this was some sort of ploy.
“Give it a try and you’ll see,” Abigail urged.
Felix adjusted the string. “Fine. But you’ll have to keep up, Seth, otherwise you need to let go so as not to tear the kite.”
Seth nodded. “I’ll keep up. I’ll keep up.”
The boys gave it another try, this time with Felix running forward with a swath of uncoiled string and Seth following far behind holding the kite high above his little head. Miraculously, a slight breeze gusted just at that moment and the yellow kite swung aloft in an unsteady arc.
Seth shouted with glee, racing behind the struggling kite. Felix’s face was locked in concentration, but a smile played on his lips as he swung and angled the spool. The kite labored to gain loft, dropping suddenly, then sweeping up high into the air.
“Well done!” Abigail cried, clapping her hands. She had never actually flown a kite herself, but she’d had a notion of how it was supposed to work and had guessed that coordination might be a good idea. Thank heavens she’d been right! Her heart warmed with joy for the boys.
Seth and Felix raced off, intent on maintaining their success. The two footmen followed close behind. Abigail relaxed back into the bench, a feeling of contentment sweeping over her.
Felix and Seth moved back and forth on the grass, the breeze now blowing more steadily, making the boys and everyone in the park breathe more easily.
After a time Seth grew bored, his eyes veering away from the kite toward the flock of ducks congesting the shores of the pond.
“Would you like to feed the ducks?” Abigail called to Seth.
Nodding excitedly, the young lad raced over. “Yes!”
Abigail reached under her bench to the bag of old bread she’d taken from the kitchen. Seth and the burly footman Claude approached.
“I like your bonnet,” Seth commented, reaching up and touching one of the round pale yellow beads adorning the brown cotton.
“Thank you, Seth.” It had been an expensive indulgence at the time, but Abigail had been at a low point, alone for Christmas Eve and feeling a bit pitiful. She loved wearing the bonnet. It made her feel fashionable, if only slightly.
“I’ll take him to the ducks,” Claude offered. “Why don’t you keep an eye on Felix in case he needs help with the kite, Miss West?”
Abigail nodded. “Very well. Please don’t let Seth too near the water.”
“No, Miss West, I wouldn’t allow that.” Claude passed the bag of bread to Seth and pointed. “We’ll go to that bridge over there.”
Abigail looked to where he motioned. A stone bridge arched over a tributary leading to the pond. A group of ducks swarmed beneath the bridge as a cluster of children stood at the top of the bridge tossing down crumbs. “Very well.”
Claude took Seth’s hand, and together they walked toward the stone bridge. Abigail watched them until they were situated near the ducks, then she turned her attention to Felix once more.
Abigail enjoyed watching Felix master the kite, but worried about him being out in the sun for so long. Reaching beneath her bench, she grasped the flask of water she’d brought and stood.
It took only a little bit of negotiating to get Felix to drink while Abigail held the spool. The kite fluttered and pulled, and Abigail watched it, nervous that she might ruin Felix’s hard work. Yet she managed quite ably and was a bit sad to hand the spool back to Felix once more.
It had been great fun, if only for a moment, and Abigail regretted that she had been so worried that she hadn’t enjoyed it more.
After ensuring that Foster would stay with Felix, Abigail walked toward the stone bridge, trying to pick out Seth in the small crowd of adults and children clustered on top of it.
Suddenly a small cry rang out and a child fell from the bridge into the water with a great splash. Abigail dropped her flask, lifted her skirts, and jumped into the stream. The water clutched at her gown as she trudged deeper into the stream, the water rising to her waist, to her shoulders, to her chin. The child in the water struggled and screamed, his flailing arms the only thing visible among the splashes.
Abigail stopped wading and dropped to float, pulling the water past her with large swings of her arms. Her entire being was focused on that child and getting his head above water.
Just as Abigail made it to the child, another splash rang out beside her. She grabbed the child by his brown coat and lifted him up with both arms, while kicking frantically with her legs. It was Seth!
Seth kicked and screamed madly.
“I’ve got you!” Abigail cried, her chest laboring and her kicks frantic but tiring.
Seth thrashed, landing a glancing blow to her eye.
“Seth!” Abigail cried. “Stop struggling. You’re all right! I’ve got you.”
Her words must have reached him, for Seth suddenly clutched her around the neck so tight, she sank deep into the water. Kicking madly to stay afloat, Abigail wondered how she was going to manage to get him to the shore.
“Here, let me help you,” a breathless male voice came from behind.
Large hands encircled Abigail’s waist, lifting her up and helping her stay above water. The hands propelled her toward the shore. She clutched at Seth, her feet grasping for purchase. Grabbing at firm ground with her feet, she yanked herself and her precious bundle through the water. She collapsed on her rear as soon as she could, clutching Seth to her chest and hugging him close.
Her breath pierced her chest with every inhalation and her muscles burned with effort, but she was so thankful she wanted to sing.
Shoving aside her flopping bonnet, Abigail lowered her face to Seth’s. “Are you all right?”
Seth’s lips were quivering, his face washed white.
A quack resounded to her left, and Abigail almost groaned as a flock of ducks swarmed over begging for food.
“Tell me, Seth, are you hurt?”
He looked so pitiful, her heart ached for him.
A duck nipped at Abigail’s arm. Quack!
Abigail jerked her arm away. “Leave off!”
Seth’s eyes veered toward the ducks.
“Please answer me, Seth!” she cried. “Does anything hurt?”
Something yanked at her sodden bonnet, wrenching her head to one side. “Ow!”
Quack!
A giggle burst from Seth’s throat.
Another jerk on her bonnet. Quack! Quack!
The ducks thought her stylish pale yellow beads were pieces of bread!
Quack! Another pluck at her bonnet, yanking her head to the left.
“Ow!”
Seth laughed. His eyes were bright and no longer frightened. Another duck yanked at a button on her bonnet, but she hardly cared.
Abigail wiped tears of relief from her eyes. She was perfectly content to sit for an hour or two while the ducks decimated her prized bonnet. It was worth every bead.
; “Spoiled rotten little beggars!” The man standing above waved his arms to scare them away. He was of medium height and medium build, but his face was…well…the word that came to Abigail’s mind was…gorgeous. He had bright, pale blue eyes, a sloping nose, and a cleft chin that combined into an undeniable boyish handsomeness. His wet blond hair was spiked around his head, making him appear like a boy from the wild. And at the moment he was madly flapping his arms. “Shoo! Shoo!”
Abigail was too tired to tell him not to bother.
“Shoo!” The man pranced as he flapped. “Shoo!”
Seth giggled.
Abigail had to agree; the man looked ridiculous.
Suddenly Felix and Foster, the other footman, came running up.
“I want to go swimming, too!” Felix cried.
Seth preened. “I got to go swimming! I got to go swimming!”
“Let me help you.” The blond-haired man grabbed her beneath the arms and pulled her to stand.
Abigail was forced to rise or he would have pulled her arms from their sockets. “Ah, I appreciate your help…”
“Yes, well, you probably want to make yourself presentable.”
Abigail suddenly became aware of the crowd of onlookers gathered at the edge of the water.
Embarrassed, she realized that she must look a fright. She busily helped Seth stand and handed him over to Foster’s care.
Foster mussed Seth’s hair. “Got a little hot, did you? Needed a dip?”
Seth beamed. “I went for a swim!”
Foster looked around. “Where’s Claude?”
Straightening her ruined walking dress, Abigail scanned the crowd. “Good question.” She was going to have to have a word with the wayward footman. Seth could have drowned.
“That was quite courageous of you, miss,” the blond-haired man declared. “Jumping in after your charge like that.”
“I didn’t even know it was Seth,” Abigail admitted.
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