“He’s stripped me of my allowance and is sending me back to Scotland, back to that rat hole at Glen Sannox.” The words were as rough as coffee in a grinder and just as bitter. “It’s your fault, it has to be.”
“Not everything that ever happened to you is my fault,” Abby countered. “Your choices were your own.”
“You think you’re so superior, just like that friend of yours, that Captain MacKintosh.” Abby came to attention with the mention of Richard’s name. “He had the unmitigated gall last week to lecture me—me!—about my past relationships, even when it was clear that he was panting after you as if you were a bitch in heat. Oh, don’t think for a moment that no one noticed. It’s the talk of the town. Everyone is whispering that you’ve become his whore. How he used you and left you.”
Abby smothered a jolt of despair at Oona’s words. Harry’s concerns suddenly made much more sense. “If anyone is whispering, I can only suppose that you were the source of it all. You always are.”
“The results of your indiscretions are yours to bear.”
“As are yours,” Abby said quietly. “Richard told me that he had words with you about Jack, as well. Perhaps your mistakes are coming back to haunt you.”
“The only mistake I ever made was marrying your father.”
Abby blinked at the rancor in Oona’s voice. “I’m sorry if you haven’t been happy in your marriage, but you have only yourself to blame. You should have waited and married another.”
“It would have been fine if your father would have had the decency to descend to an early grave,” Oona spat. “But you, you were the one who made my life hell.”
Abby’s jaw sagged in surprise. She simply couldn’t fathom how Oona might think such a thing. “I made your life hell? You have done nothing but empty your venom upon me for a decade. My life has been a hell of your making.”
“Well, it’s about to get hotter,” Oona predicted direly, pointing a finger. “You fix this thing you’ve done with your father or I will see to it that Society cuts you dead. Everyone will know you for the whore you are.”
Abby almost laughed in amazement at those words. Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Instead, she shrugged carelessly and turned for the door. “I don’t care a whit about society. You should know that by now. And you’ve made your bed.”
“You’ll never see Sandy again,” Oona screeched. “Never! I swear it!”
It was the first threat the woman had ever made that truly hurt. She’d spent years without one brother because of the woman’s spite, because of her hatred. She was only just getting Jack back, but she didn’t want to lose Sandy in the process. More importantly, she didn’t want to leave him to Oona. When this madness around them settled, she would see to it that her father sent the lad off to Eton in the fall, as he should. Then Sandy would be spared the insanity of the Haddington household.
For now, Abby only glanced over her shoulder at her stepmother, refusing to let the woman hurt her any longer. “You must be careful about frowning so. It shows your age.”
She departed to the sound of a shriek of anger.
Chapter 36
You have the power over your mind—not outside events.
Realize this and you will find strength.
~ Marcus Aurelius
British Consulate
Cairo, Egypt
January 1888
Richard paused at the entrance of the British consulate building, knowing that when he stepped through the doors this time, he would finally be accepting his defeat.
It hadn’t started out that way. In the beginning, they’d had nothing but optimism and confidence on their side. In fact, it hadn’t taken long at all before they had found the rebel camp where Richard and the others had been imprisoned. With the help of some native informants, they’d located it in just a matter of weeks.
The landscape was everything he remembered. The Nile was just a few miles to the east. The sand had given way to rocky hills filled with caves and abandoned tombs where the nomads would stay for months at a time. Richard had been filled with hope at the sight of the crumbling sculpture of an ancient god that marked the site of the cave where he had been held. But, by that point, it had been the hope that they had been wrong, that they were in the wrong place.
No, it was the right camp.
The problem was that it was an abandoned camp
His captors and comrades were long gone.
Riding at his side, Francis had waited expectantly for news. Better news than Richard would give him. Richard hadn’t been able to do more than shake his head. The lump of disappointment lodged in his throat had prevented further words.
Disheartened, they’d returned to Cairo only to find hopefulness once more. Local spies had heard word of a nomadic group traveling across the southern deserts with English prisoners. To further their cause, Khedive Muhammad Tawfiq had bestowed a motley group of native mercenaries upon them as a sort of gift.
The Khedive was a viceroy of sorts in Egypt. The title had been his father’s before him and bestowed by the Ottoman Empire. Ahmed Urabi, once his war minister, had fought against Tawfiq’s pro-European leanings and had found many supporters among other government officials and the general populace, giving birth to their rebellion. Tawfiq had sought the protection and support of Great Britain to take Urabi down in 1882.
That had been Richard, Vin and Jace’s first foray into war following their commissioning. Tawfiq’s additional requests for assistance the previous year had led to Richard’s unit returning to Egypt and their subsequent capture.
When the Khedive heard of their expedition to rescue the men who had aided in his cause, he had offered the men and supplies as a gesture of his thanks. Richard took the men gladly, grateful that the Egyptian Khedive felt responsible enough to help, even where his own government would not.
Those fifty men had led them across the wide ocean that was the western desert. The natives could read the dunes that fell like waves, one on the other, as easily as Richard did the highlands of Scotland. As they traveled south deep into the desert, optimism had continued to raise its head along the way, providing enough confidence to keep them moving. Words from other bands or traders had led them first to the Dakhla Oasis, then deep into the Valley of Kings and back up along the Nile into the eastern deserts.
During that long trek, their mercenary band had taught them how to read the land, how to dress to better bear the extreme heat and even a smattering of their native language. However, they couldn’t teach the MacKintosh brothers how to bear the mounting frustration that burned so bitterly each time they came upon yet another abandoned camp or another lead came up short.
All they had found in the desert was acrid disappointment.
Months upon months of searching had delivered nothing more than the certainty that they would never find the rebels who had taken their brother and friend.
Turning back to Cairo for the last time had been a heart-breaking decision.
* * *
Taking off his hat as he entered the consulate, Richard slapped it against his leg to shake off the excess of dust and sand that had embedded itself in every fiber. Shaking it out had become a habit he longed to forget. He only wished he could shake off his regret and heartbreak as easily.
“Good afternoon, Captain Mac,” a voice called out to them as they entered and eventually Richard’s eyes adjusted from the bright sun outside enough to make out the young sergeant sitting behind the closest desk. Sergeant Robbins had been there each time they’d come back into Cairo to resupply and his eternal good-cheer had begun to wear thin on both Richard and his brother as the months blurred together.
Richard gave a grim nod. “Robbins. Any messages?”
“Yes, sir,” the younger man said with a bright smile. “We received word of your arrival yesterday. The Khedive has invited you to dinner tonight and the consul asked for some of your time tomorrow. General Patterson also requested that you attend him at your conve
nience.”
Richard grimaced. Patterson was the commanding officer for the few army battalions housed in Egypt these days—most of the forces in the area were naval, given the proximity to the Mediterranean and Suez Canal. Patterson would be wondering at his intentions, Richard knew. He was long past the period he’d been allowed for both medical and personal leave. With his respect for the chain of command at an all-time low, Richard knew that he would be resigning his commission. He had no desire to serve in an army that had no true care for its soldiers. “I will see him in the morning. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir.” Robbins went into the next room and returned with a large bundle of letters that he split between Richard and Francis.
Their other brothers and sister must have been eager for word, given the sheer quantity of letters, but Richard hoped that there were some from Abby, as well. He longed to see her, touch her, hold her.
Over the past months, he had embraced her firmly in his heart and in his mind. If he had embarked on this search without ever seeing her again, Richard knew the devastation of his failure would have consumed him, leaving him with very little left to hope and dream for in his life. He would have walked through his life with nothing but what if’s by his side. As anyone might, he wished he could have it all, but he was thankful to have something so promising to look forward to left for him. Something glorious to live for. Abby and a life with her.
Flipping through the neatly ordered stack, his heart lightened as he saw how many bore her light, flourished script. “I’ll just go read these if you don’t mind, Francis?”
“Not at all.”
“Same room as always, Robbins?”
“Yes, sir, here’s your key but there’s…”
Richard had already bounded away.
Francis gave a stern look to the gape-mouthed sergeant. “What is it, lad?”
“My lord Glenrothes, you have a visitor. You both do. I meant to say as much to the captain, but he was away so quickly.”
“You might have mentioned it first,” Francis said in mild reproach wondering at who their ‘visitor’ might be. When the sergeant didn’t immediately provide the information, Francis shot him another hard look well. “Well?”
“Looking for me?” a voice said, and Robbins only pointed behind Francis.
* * *
Richard spent an hour reading through Abby’s letters. She wrote cheerfully with news that she was no longer living with her family. Taking a portion of her inheritance, she had offered to pay for Sandy’s early enrollment at Eton. She’d seen him happily settled in before traveling north to stay with Moira in Scotland while she awaited his return. In later letters, she added that she was returning to England to stay with her grandparents over the winter, but that Moira was coming along to keep her company.
She wrote of Scotland, riding, shopping, and day-to-day events in an entertaining narrative. Each letter was more light-hearted and humor-filled than the last. And each, right down to the last, raised his spirits higher than they had been in a long time. Perhaps even since before he had joined the Scot’s Guard. There was nothing mentioned or implied to give him guilt for the extended length of his absence. Only encouragement for his search, admonitions to eat well, to take care of himself and constant mentions of her continued love for him.
Finishing the last one, Richard laid back on the bed. The first smile he had been able to summon in months played at his lips. For once, the heat and dust didn’t bother him. His mind and heart were already back in England. He would take her back to Scotland, he decided. Take her to Glen Cairn, perhaps this spring they might play some golf at St. Andrews. It had been years since he played but he remembered Abby being pretty handy with her irons. They could spend time with his family, his brothers, and perhaps help raise wee Fiona. They could do anything. Go anywhere. They had their whole lives to spend together.
Abby was his wife. His future.
Simply his.
Over the past months, recalling their nights of lovemaking had made him long to be in her arms once again, but to his surprise, what he longed for most was her. Her comforting words, her caring, even her sharp tongue. She would bring him passion, friendship and even challenge for the rest of his life. They would laugh, argue and love. He didn’t want to live with regrets any longer. He wanted only to look toward his future. He couldn’t wait to see his wife.
Eventually his thoughts turned to the other letters and Richard began to sift through them. They held news from his brothers at home, a few of the older lads at Cambridge. James had recently joined the Queen’s Army as well, he read to his surprise. Given what had happened to him and Vincent, he couldn’t imagine what James had been thinking. There was even one from Jack that drew his curiosity. Jack had never been much of a writer.
Pushing himself up onto one elbow on the soft mattress, he picked it up tipping over the pile of remaining letters. As they slid to the side, something caught his eye. Included in the pile of letters was a telegram…two, no three, four, five telegrams. Three from Jack and two from Joshua Boughton.
Richard read the short missives, each saying nothing more than that he needed to contact them—urgently. Intrigued, Richard pushed through the pile searching for more of them but found none. Nothing that gave him a clue as to what was so crucial.
Was there something amiss with Abby, he wondered feeling his heart seize before he shook the thought away. No, surely not. Her letters—the last dated just a fortnight past—spoke to nothing more important than the recent cricket season where Oxford had beaten Cambridge and she had been certain he would want to know. Nothing more than that.
Undoubtedly, everything was fine.
Still…
Picking up the telegrams, Richard left his room and headed down the hall to Francis’ room, knocking once before opening the door. “I think something might be wrong with Abby.”
The blow to his jaw caught Richard unaware sending him sprawling back into the hallway. His fall sent a cloud of dust into the air around him, but through it, he could see Jack glaring down at him. “Do ye think so?”
“Jack, what the hell was that?” he demanded, rising to his feet as he rubbed his jaw as he shook the stack of telegrams at him. “And what are you doing here? What are these all about?”
“Ye left my sister as ripe and round as a bloody peach, ye bastard!” Jack ground out, his hands still fisted by his sides.
Richard’s eyes shot to Francis, who only shrugged sympathetically, and back to Jack who looked ready to do murder. He couldn’t doubt that his friend—were they still friends?—was in a rage but surely his claim was a false one. Abby wouldn’t have kept something like that from him. She couldn’t.
Richard rolled his eyes with a groan of comprehension. Aye, she could…and would to allow him as much time as he needed to find Vin.
“I’ll wring her neck,” he muttered under his breath.
“Only after I’m done wringing yours,” Jack ground out.
“Pax, Jack,” Francis broke in, placing a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “I told you before, but I’ll tell you again. Richard knew nothing of this.”
“I’ve a dozen letters from her without a mention of anything about it,” Richard added, though his head was spinning from Jack’s words. Ripe and round as a bloody peach? He was going to be a father! He pictured Abby round with his child. Her belly heavy. Doing some mental math in his head, Richard swore again. It had been eight months already. If he wanted any chance to see her as he pictured her—of seeing the birth of his child, at all—they would have to hurry.
“I’ll wring her neck,” he repeated.
“You’ll have to wait in line behind me,” Jack told him. “I’ve been in this shithole a bloody month waiting for you.”
“But, Jack,” Francis drawled. “Weren’t you just telling me how much you had been enjoying the company of the consul’s sister-in-law and…”
“Bugger off, MacKintosh!” Jack ran his hand through his hair before t
urning back to Richard. “If you know nothing about this then I suppose there’s nothing at all in those letters about the rest of it either.”
Richard closed his eyes, bracing himself. “There’s more?”
“Nothing less than the scandal of the Season,” Jack snorted. “I cannot believe she said nothing of it to you. Word got out about her spending the night with you—Oona’s doing, of course. Abs was given the cut direct by the entire ton. She was utterly spurned, a pariah. Naturally, Aylesbury stepped up and offered to marry her.”
The image of Abby dancing with the marquis flashed through Richard’s mind. Of Abby laughing with him, teasing him, scolding him playfully.
His gut tightened as he ground out, “She’s already married. To me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Stop, I beg you. I’m about to turn green about the gills. Are you actually jealous, MacKintosh? Aye, she’s married to you, so the only way to save her from ruin was to announce that you had married. Problem was, no one believed it at first since you were gone, and her own family knew nothing of it. Her grandparents sent the announcement to The Times anyway. Her father disowned her, by the by.”
It was Richard’s turn to scoff at that. “More likely, she disowned him. So where is she now? Her most recent letters were addressed from Rose Lawn.”
“Aye, she’s with her grandparents,” Jack told him. “She had to leave London altogether, the talk was so bad. Whether she let on or not, she’s had a hard time of it. This gossip on top of all the rest was too much for her to bear. At least she was long gone from Town before word got out regarding her condition.”
Pain lanced through Richard imagining Abby facing the censure of the ton, the ridicule that always accompanied scandal. It was the one thing he had wanted to spare her and not only had she faced it; she had faced it alone. Why hadn’t she said anything, he wondered. But he already knew the answer. She hadn’t wanted to give him any reason to abandon his search and return home. Not even for her. Not even allowing him a choice.
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