She didn’t see how men’s eyes still trailed after her fanatically, how a man like Aylesbury, who might have any young lady of the ton for his wife, hung about her like a besotted fool. Even Richard—Jack gritted his teeth and forced himself to accept the truth of it—was about as slack-jawed as a love-struck lad with her.
Reaching the family drawing room, Jack found Abby staring out the window, her arms clasped tightly and protectively around her.
“I’m beginning to think that you’re taking this whole thing a mite too far, Abs.”
Chapter 20
What lies behind us and what lies before us
are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Abby threw her head back, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “Thank you so much for your support, Jack.”
The words were sarcastic and perhaps harsh but masked the terrible nausea that was roiling about in her stomach. The time had come to face the truth. Surely, Jack had told Richard everything by now. Next time she saw him, if she ever did again, she would face his curiosity to see the damage for himself. The dread of bracing herself for his reaction turned her stomach.
“I’ve supported you in every way possible through this, Abs, but I think that in the end perhaps you needed some more blatant truths on the matter.”
“Like how hideous I am now?”
“Nay, rather how it’s not as bad as you think.” He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It was never as bad as you thought.” Abby raised an arch brow that brought a rueful grin to her brother’s handsome face. “All right, it was almost never as bad as you thought.”
Her snort was pure disbelief. “Said with all the bias of a loving brother.”
“Said with all the wisdom of a man who is observant enough to perceive how people look at his favorite sister,” he shot back. “They don’t notice it like you think they do. Not anymore, at least. Richard certainly didn’t. He didn’t even know that you’d been scarred.”
“I’ve hidden it from him.”
“In all honesty, Abs, you cannot hide it all the time despite your efforts,” her brother said with some sympathy. “Francis told me that he saw you at the Rosebery affair the other night. He noticed enough to comment how well you were looking. Do you think that Richard did not have opportunity enough then to see?”
“The lighting was dim,” Abby said, thinking back. Had it truly been so shadowed near the refreshment table? A frown creased her brow as she thought it over.
“He doesn’t notice, Abs.”
“How could he not?”
“There are other things on his mind?”
Abby sighed at the explanation. Yes, Richard certainly had more weighty troubles on his mind than her. Her worries were a trifling thing compared to his desire to search out his imprisoned comrades. Also, he’d said that he’d been injured. Silly thing that she was, she hadn’t even thought last night or today to inquire more fully after his injuries. Guilt assailed her for being so focused on herself that she spared no deep concern for the well-being of the man she loved. Perhaps Jack was right. Things had gone too far.
“Do his injuries trouble him?”
Her brother’s breath seized for a moment before he released it with a sigh. “You will have to ask Richard what troubles him the most.”
“Yes, he told me,” Abby said and received her brother’s tight nod in return.
“Regardless, even without his worries Richard is not blind. He simply chooses not to see.”
“How is that even possible? It’s the first thing anyone ever notices about me.”
“Despite the way you style your hair or wear those silly veils during the day.”
“They’re very stylish!”
Jack laughed mockingly. “And you’ve become a great coward, Abs.”
She gasped. “How can you say such a thing? You know about the whispers, I’d wager. You know about the speculation. If my face is this bad, how horrible must the rest be?”
“Fops and superficial idiots,” he countered. “But you provoke their curiosity by being so self-conscious about it. If you showed one ounce of the pride you grew up with, anyone with the merest iota of character would look at you and see only that. The brilliant person I know you to be. Not this quaking shadow of what you once were. You let them do this to you.”
Abby’s hand went to her throat and she took a step back in astonishment. Jack had always been her champion, the one who fought for her. Besides Moira, Eve and Kitty, he’d been her closest friend. It hurt to have him say such things about her. To have him call her a coward.
It hurt to have the truth thrown at her so ruthlessly.
“I always thought you were on my side.”
“I am,” he assured her. “I love you, Abs, as I love no other member of our family, I love you. However, since your friends are not here to remind you of the person you truly are, it falls on me to deliver the cold, hard truths.”
“They are not truths,” Abby cried. “I’ve seen how men look at me, Jack. Their revulsion, the pity. I didn’t do this. They did.”
“Bah! Which men? Aylesbury? Any fool could see that he’s head over arse for you. Richard? God help me for admitting it, but the scoundrel looks at you in a way that has nothing to do with brotherly affection. I’ve been hard pressed not to beat him within an inch of his life for the thoughts I know are drifting through his mind.”
Abby’s emotions went from despair to soaring with hope in moments, but she tamped them back fiercely. “He thinks I’m all of fifteen years old.”
“Aye, you’re right, he did.” Jack released a reluctant chuckle as the tension lifted. “I relieved him of that notion myself last night. How he thought that all of us might continue to age and yet you never did is beyond me.”
Tension eased its hold on her. “I had often thought the same thing.” She thought about what Jack had said. “It’s been hard, Jack.”
“I know it has, Abs.” With that concession, his voice finally losing some of its ferocity and gentling to a more loving tone. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around more to truly notice how out of hand it has gotten and to nip this thing in the bud before it got any worse. You are a beautiful lass, even if it pains me to acknowledge such a thing in my own sister. This”—he indicated the scar—“detracts very little from the whole. I would think that what you see as pity in men is most likely intimidation in the face of such beauty.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t get carried away.”
“Give them a chance,” he urged as he took her in his arms, cradling her gently against his broad chest. Abby sank into his embrace with a sigh. She had missed him so these past few years, missed moments like these. She’d even missed his scolding as much as she had missed scolding him in return. “I’d like to see you happy at last.”
“Papa is determined that I wed to please him,” she reminded. “He anticipates a bridal contract that will benefit him far more greatly than it would my groom.”
“I think it’s time someone reminded father just whose fault it is that he’s low on funds,” he said grimly. “And perhaps he isn’t aware that you are over twenty-one and needn’t have his permission to marry at all. Nor can he coerce you to do so.”
Abby snorted once again, this time sounding more like the gutsy chit who had delivered back to her brother in equal measure what he had given her, for the entirety of her life.
“I hadn’t even thought of that. It never occurred to me that I am so close to being set so firmly upon the shelf.”
Chapter 21
What would men be without women?
Scarce, sir…mighty scarce.
~ Mark Twain
114 Mount Street, London
Two Days Later
The Merrill’s leased townhome on Mount Street was much more in line with what Richard thought the Earl of Haddington might be persuaded to let for the Season. The Boughton’s Belgrave Square home was six stories and eight windows marking
the width, with a white limestone exterior and Grecian columns bespeaking wealth and influence. This Mount Street residence was compact with only three narrow windows spanning the front, and but four stories in height. The red brick exterior was simple with little embellishment. Several replicas of it dotted the newly renovated neighborhood.
While it suited the tight-fisted Haddington, he couldn’t imagine Abby inside. She’d always been one for wide-open spaces and the outdoors. It was hard to picture her in this cramped space. He would see for himself though, once he knocked upon the door.
He hadn’t seen her in a brace of days, her amusements during that time straying from the political crowd he and Francis had been cultivating. Richard had forced himself to acknowledge how his life should be prioritized and not consciously seek her out, especially when it didn’t seem that she wanted him about. More than that, however, he knew that he shouldn’t be in her company for the simple reason that she somehow made it possible for him to forget. To, if only for a short while, be relieved of his burden.
Relief he shouldn’t have. It robbed him of his focus and the loss of that determination to succeed only added guilt to the simple fact that he was failing. Their hope for assistance was dwindling and he was becoming more disheartened as the days passed. Francis had spent most of the previous night commiserating with Jack over a bottle of excellent Scotch, but he wanted more than to drown his sorrows.
He wanted Abby.
For as much as she was an unwanted distraction, she offered a sympathetic ear to his concerns. Simply voicing aloud his doubts and hearing her calm reassurance restored his faith that in the end, everything would be all right. Even amid the disappointments of the last couple of days, he could remember how her presence at his side in the park had soothed away the pain. And he wanted more.
Of course, he wasn’t certain if she would see him or not, but with a resolute hand, he raised the brass knocker and let it fall.
He needed her.
A butler lacking all the starchiness one might expect of a London servant opened the door. “May I help you, gent?” the butler asked with a slight Cockney accent as he gave Richard a long look with the sort of appreciation he didn’t generally receive from those of his gender.
“Captain Richard MacKintosh to see Lady Abygail.”
The butler’s brow rose curiously, showing more emotion in that single look than the Glenrothes butler, Godfrey, had shown over the course of Richard’s entire life. “Lady Abygail is with another caller at the moment, sir.”
“I will wait.”
“Very well, sir.” The butler led him up the narrow stairs and into a small drawing room. “Wait here, please.”
The door closed and Richard stood in the center of the minimally furnished room. It was easy to tell that the Merrill’s didn’t entertain much, at least in this shabby room. Clearly it was a secondary reception room if Abby already had callers. Or a single caller. Was it Aylesbury? He rather hoped not. There was just something about the man that grated on his nerves. His lack of solemnity was irritating. What did Abby see in him?
Strolling over to the cold fireplace, he stared down at the ashes in the unswept grate. As he did so, he could hear voices from the fireplace. A conversation drifting through the flue from the room directly above or below, he thought.
“Lady Abygail,” said a feminine voice. “We are simply abuzz with the news that Lord Aylesbury is on the verge of declaring himself. Tell me, is it true?”
Richard squatted down on his haunches near the hearth to listen more closely. Eavesdropping was a distasteful pastime, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know more about Abby and the marquis.
“Well, I…”
Leaning forward to hear her response, he was instead subjected to Oona’s overly sugary tones interrupting whatever Abby had been about to say.
“Lady Cartwright, you are so right, of course. Isn’t it simply incredible that such an event might be on the horizon? Given poor Abygail’s terrible circumstances—naturally, I hate to even mention it—we were quite beyond hope that any man might be brought up to snuff.”
There was a brief pause before a different voice added, “Of course, the marquis is a true prize. He might have any woman he chose, if the truth were known.”
Again, Oona jumped in, cutting off anything Abby might have to say on the matter. Oona’s tone so sweetly sympathetic that it couldn’t help but ring falsely in Richard’s ear. “And yet he has seen fit to put himself above such issues as outer beauty to look beneath the surface in search of a truly good soul and Lady Abygail does have that at least, doesn’t she, girls?”
“Oh, yes,” a younger voice chimed in, echoed by another. “She is the sweetest of sisters. As our stepmother has pointed out so many times, Abby always encourages us to find what has been lost to her forever, isn’t that right, stepmother?”
“And now a man of Lord Aylesbury’s position and caliber has found it in himself to look beyond her deformity,” Oona added grandly. “Well, as her family, we have all set out to be as supportive as possible and encourage others to look beyond Abygail’s flaws, as we naturally have.”
Supportive? Richard wanted to rush below stairs and throttle Abby’s stepmother. Given the literal words of the conversation, some might say that Oona never spoke poorly of her stepdaughter. However, there was mockery to her tone and words that didn’t need to be said to point out what might be obvious to most, if what Jack said was true. If this were any example of the sympathy and support Abby had had through the course of the last five years, was it any wonder that she was self-conscious?
“I am a most fortunate woman,” came Abby’s voice, carrying a slightly sardonic note. “However, nothing has truly been decided.”
“You’re right, of course,” Oona readily agreed to his surprise. According to Jack, Haddington’s sole purpose in London was to marry off all three of his daughters in short order. “Given your unfortunate circumstance, we should all be happy to see that you’ve managed a beau at all. Shouldn’t we?”
Anger burned within him. How humiliating for Abby to be put down so by her own family, especially in the presence of others. It seemed she felt the sting as well, for in short order she was begging to be excused in a trembling voice. Was it sorrow or anger that brought the tremor to her voice? He could only hope it was the latter for, in his mind, Oona Seton Merrill deserved a thorough tongue lashing for her actions.
A door closed below, and footsteps sounded on the stairs. Abby was coming up.
Richard reached the parlor door and opened it just as she was at the landing. For a moment she stopped, staring at him in surprise before she turned to continue up the next flight without saying a word.
* * *
“Abby, wait. I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, Richard,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the top and turned to climb another flight. “I truly have much to do.”
He’d have no teeth left soon if he continued to grind them so. He took off after her in long strides, climbing the stairs by twos in his pursuit.
“Bloody hell, woman, if ye don’t stop I swear I’ll tackle ye to the ground.”
She paused, glancing back over her shoulder at his tone. There hadn’t been many times when he’d ever spoken to her in such a tone, but when he did, ignoring him was not wise. Clearly, she recalled the same, for her steps slowed immediately. Drifting to a halt outside one of the chamber doors, she nervously fingered the sweep of her hair across her cheek, irritating him all the more. She had to know by now there was little purpose in the act.
Long strides carried him to her side. “Abby, look at me.”
“I am.” This reply was directed to his feet, though she did cast a furtive look up through her lashes.
Richard’s jaw tightened. Strange to think that less than a week past, that sidelong glance had seemed a seductive gesture. It had caused his pulse to race, his blood to warm. Now his blood boiled for a different reason.
“Nay,” he said huskily, reaching out for her. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her squarely before him, pushing aside the urge to shake her silly when she ducked her head and looked off to the side. “Look at me.”
“I need to go.”
“Abby.” With a sigh, he took her chin firmly in his hand, but she wrenched away from him reaching for the doorknob.
“No! I need to go.”
“Nay, damn it!”
Richard opened the door himself. Pulling her inside, he closed it behind them and locked it with a glare that dared her to say a thing about it.
But the fight had already drained from her. “So, you know,” Abby said dully, walking to the center of the bright, cheery bedchamber. The yellows and whites, the daisies on the bedside table—even her pale, yellow day dress—all at odds with the gloom that hung over her now.
“I know about the accident, aye,” he returned more gently. “Let me see.”
With an air of defeat, she turned to him, her head hanging low. He approached slowly, like he might a deer he was hoping not to spook. She was so petite that the top of her head did not reach his shoulder. She didn’t even need to duck her head to hide it from his view. Gently, he took her chin between his fingers, tilting her head up.
In the bright sunlight, the long, curved scar was obvious, he admitted to himself. It was wide and glossy, puckering just a bit along the way. Reaching up, he brushed it with his fingertips from forehead to cheek, ignoring Abby’s shudder. His fingers slid under her carefully styled hair and he noticed another, more uneven line beyond her hairline. This time, a tremor shook him, and she stiffened, trying to pull away.
He refused to let her go. Instead, he cupped a hand behind her head and drew her into his embrace, whispering into her hair, “My God, Abby, what were you thinking? You could have been killed.”
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