Lady Saves the Duke

by Annabelle Anders

  “I knew I’d brought them out with the dress, Abby. It’s no wonder I think I’m losing my mind.” Her maid had not seen Monfort either. Abigail gestured toward the door, and Harriette’s expression turned into one of abject submissiveness. “I mean, Your Grace, I’ll fetch your shawl for you now. This castle is chilly in the evenings.”

  Abigail pulled herself to a sitting position as her maid disappeared and grimaced up at Monfort. “I lost my slippers.”

  Monfort appeared somewhat hesitant. Which was quite unusual for him. Normally he inhabited a room as though he owned it, as though it had been built for him. Which, in some cases anyway, it quite possibly may have been.

  “Abby?” he spoke her name with raised brows. “Your maid addresses you as Abby?” At the same time, he walked toward her and held out a hand to assist her from the floor.

  Abigail stared at his gloved hand and then grimaced. The material was perfectly white. Not giving her a chance to wipe her hands from crawling on the floor, he grasped hold and pulled her up to stand.

  “I like my maid. She is a devoted companion to me. Why would I not allow her to address me by my name?” She was still a little irritated by his chilly demeanor from earlier today.

  Monfort released her hand and examined the dust she’d left on his glove. In spite of his natural arrogance, she again had the impression that he was not altogether comfortable entering her chamber.

  “I’m not quite ready to go down.” Abigail reached for a linen and wiped her hands and then bent forward and brushed at her skirt to smooth it.

  “Of course, my apologies, madam.” He looked as though he were going to back out of the room. “I would not have—”

  In spite of the haughty tone in his voice, he could not hide an emotion that had appeared in his eyes.

  He looked…rejected? Surely not?

  And then something dawned on her. But of course! He had not been welcome into his wife’s room when he’d been married to Lady Hyacinth. Abigail gritted her teeth at this thought.

  “Monfort,” she interrupted him. His head snapped up. He again looked arrogant and proud. “I’ll be just a moment. Do you like this dress? Margaret chose it for me. Harriette tells me dinner will be formal this evening. She said the servants have been planning this dinner for days now. Since they first heard we would be coming here, in fact.” Abigail intentionally set to babbling, thinking Monfort needed it in that moment. “And I’m starving! It seems as though we ate our luncheon ages ago. Oh, thank you, Harriette,” she said as she took the shawl and sat down for her maid to tie her slippers. “Nearly ready now.”

  She looked up from her feet as Harriette went to work and smiled at her husband. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

  He’d relaxed slightly, and she thought she recognized a ghost of a smile. “I do.” And then he looked about the room curiously. He was uncomfortable, but not as much as he’d been at first. “And yes, I suppose that I am.”

  “You do?” Abigail furrowed her brows.

  And then he was looking at her again. “I like your dress.”

  Abigail swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. He liked her dress. But even more than that he actually—really and truly—listened to what she said.

  With her slippers tied securely, Abigail took Monfort’s arm and they exited the room together.

  ****

  Alex was pleased that the servants hadn’t positioned Abigail at the far end of the table as was often done on formal occasions. Instead, she sat to his right. Numerous candles glowed and a profusion of flowers decorated the long dining hall.

  He almost chuckled out loud as he recalled the sight that had greeted him when he’d entered her chamber. Rounded derriere pushed into the air, clothed in thin, nearly transparent material. And then her face peeking around with a shocked expression at his appearance.

  To be fair, he had knocked.

  Hyacinth had demanded he always knock before entering her domain. And on many occasions, she’d refused him entry.

  Abigail could not be any more different than his first wife.

  Always so cheerful, so forthcoming, so accepting of what life handed her. She never complained or whined, constantly searching for silver linings. The mere fact that she’d had to look for so many ought to have diminished her outlook.

  “Did you know, Monfort, that your cook speaks Cornish? I was unaware that the people of Cornwall had their own language. When she first greeted me, I thought she might be Welsh, but she assured me that she was most definitely not.” Her eyes sparkled as she chattered on about certain servants who’d made an impression on her when they’d arrived.

  Alex nodded, soothed by her endless stream of words. She would be an adequate duchess, he imagined. Already the servants had taken a liking to her. He, himself, had not given much notice to any of them. “My mother spoke Cornish.” It was a surprising memory. He’d not thought of her in years. But he held onto a few vivid memories. She’d died after giving birth to Margaret. Alex had not yet been ten years old. “This castle was a part of her dowry.”

  “Did you come here much as a child?”

  “We did.” Like an ocean wave, a plethora of memories crashed into his thoughts. “Mother liked to swim. I have fond remembrances of the beach here during the summer. We must have traveled down every year.” Alex found himself lightened by the recollection. After his mother had passed, his father had not ever been the same. The visits to the beach had ceased completely.

  Abigail tilted her head. “So you must be a good swimmer, then. Will you swim while we are here?”

  He’d not thought about it. He’d been inclined to inspect the stables, perhaps seek out what horseflesh was available in the area. He’d also been considering the search for her children.

  “Perhaps.” The idea was intriguing. “Are you a swimmer, Abigail?”

  She laughed. “Less so than a horsewoman. I’ve waded into the stream that runs through Biddeford Corners, up to my knees. But the ocean is a different beast, I’m sure. Perhaps I’ll be so daring as to let the surf curl around my toes while we are here.”

  The thought of her being pulled away by the strong tide stole his breath. “If you wish to do so, I’d have you not go down alone. I can go with you. If I’m not available, you will take a footman.” He ought not to promise her his company. “From what I remember, the path down to the beach is steep. And the tide can be strong. I’ve no wish to lose another wife so quickly.” Good God, had he actually spoken such words?

  Abigail’s eyes were wide. “Of course not, Monfort. That’s a horrible thought.” And then, uncharacteristically, Abigail was apparently at a loss for words as she stared down at her plate solemnly.

  Why had he said such a thing? “I’m sorry, Abigail. That was uncalled for.”

  But she shook her head in denial. “It is what I experienced when you were going to parachute from the balloon.” And then she looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve no wish to lose you, Monfort.”

  For a moment, he was back at that infernal inn and he was gazing into her eyes as he drove himself into her. His heart quickened at the thought. “Well, then.” He cleared his throat and then placed his napkin upon his plate. He did not deign to speak again until the servants left them alone.

  “I will make inquiries after the children for you first thing tomorrow, but I’ve need of more information.” He glanced at his fob watch. The candlelight was barely bright enough to illuminate the face. “Do you remember the name of the midwife?”

  He glanced in her direction casually. She was gazing at one of the flickering candles as though mesmerized and then took a sip from her glass. “I stayed at the Periwinkle Farm. The midwife was Mrs. Wells. The date of delivery was the twenty-sixth of December in the year 1815.” Her lips were shiny from the red wine. A wisp of hair curled seductively along her cheek.

  His breath caught. How had he ever thought her to be an antidote? He’d considered her a harmless spinster who did not even have the strength to aff
ect her own life. Now, if he was not careful, she would have his own life in ruins.

  Alex nodded and then pushed his chair back to stand, signaling that the meal was over. “It has been too long since I’ve looked over my steward’s books here, so I am going to forgo port this evening.” Her eyes were questioning and a little disappointed. “If you will excuse me,” he added.

  She looked as though she were going to ask him something but instead answered with a nod. “Of course.”

  Alex left the room without another word.

  He needed time alone.

  The feelings he’d indulged in with Abigail were somewhat…terrifying. If he continued to allow them reign over his person, there could only be disappointment. How ironic that he was called the Duke of Ice. He’d not been married a week and already Abigail was chipping away at what he’d considered to be his frozen emotions.

  And then he chuckled at his own uncharacteristic thoughts. He’d not frozen his emotions in any way, he admonished himself. He simply did not wish to give Abigail the impression that he would be a doting husband. He’d already learned the folly of making such an emotional attachment.

  He would not go to her this evening.

  ****

  Abigail had not been married to the duke for even one full week and yet, he’d already tired of her.

  After only one day of relations.

  He’d not come to her again. It was as though she’d thoroughly disgusted him with her amorousness at the inn. What on earth had she been thinking? She’d dared to think that she was worthy of more than pity—worthy of notice.

  She must have been wrong, fooling herself into believing their lovemaking had meant as much to him as it had to her. Such foolishness! Every night since arriving at Rock Point she’d lain awake, hoping he would come to her. And later, after that, she’d chastised herself for allowing herself such ridiculous hope.

  More than anybody, she ought to know that life was not a fantasy.

  She’d been fortunate, yes, very fortunate to have married into a position of great security. She ought not to press her luck into wishing for more.

  She had shared one wonderful day with her husband. She’d shared more than she ever could have imagined with him in that cozy little room while it had rained outside.

  She’d felt beautiful, powerful, and…loved!

  And she had thought Monfort had felt love as well. Why did love not matter to him?

  He’d shared parts of his soul with her, she’d thought.

  Oh, foolish, foolish Abigail! She had been warned about his lack of ability to show emotion, let alone love. She deserved every ounce of heartache she got for thinking otherwise.

  In the days since their arrival, Abigail decided to make the most of the independence her husband had given her through his indifference.

  She’d met with all of the staff. Every cook, maid, footman, and stable hand. There were forty-eight of them altogether. They were, each and every one of them, human beings and deserved to be given some notice and appreciation for their efforts. At first, they had been hesitant and surprised by her unannounced visits, but as word spread of her endeavor, she was finding herself received quite positively.

  Some of them even went so far as to share a few of their opinions and needs with her. She carried a pencil and paper and took diligent notes away from each meeting. The staff in Cornwall was not nearly as loyal as those who worked at Cross Hall had been. They had been mostly ignored for the past decade. She hoped she could do a few small things to rectify their outlooks.

  Between these meetings, Abigail explored the grounds of the estate. She could not run about alone, as she had in Biddeford Corners, but the footman assigned to watch out for her kept his distance.

  Abigail followed the trails into the hills behind the castle, and she picked her way down the paths that led to the beaches below.

  She did not venture into the sea. A foolish part of her was waiting for an opportunity to do so with her husband.

  She explored some nearby ruins and toured the well-kept but empty rooms within the castle itself.

  She found optimism in her busyness. She’d been a fool to look for optimism from Monfort.

  ****

  After a few days of correspondence with his local man of business, a man who he trusted to act with the utmost of discretion, and Alex easily obtained the location of the people who had taken custody of the two Wright children. The records were supposed to have been closed, but a few sovereigns from his man of business persuaded the midwife to give up the information.

  The couple who adopted Abigail’s children had presented themselves as the owners of an inn located about fifteen miles west of Cornwall. They had wanted just a boy but, in light of the children being born twins, had taken on both. They had told the midwife the girl could ease the missus’s duties and the boy could earn his keep in the stables.

  The situation did not sound promising.

  After reading the missive, he summoned Abigail. They’d hardly spoken at all over the last few days. She’d taken to marching about the property without him, and Alex had filled much of his time with meetings and a few tenant visits.

  He knew he ought to have invited Abigail along with him, at the very least offered to give her a tour of the estate, but considered it best to reestablish detachment.

  He’d hurt her with his lack of attentiveness. And as much as he tried to convince himself that she would not have welcomed his nightly visits, he knew his continued absence from her bed hurt her as well.

  And all of this damn hurting of Abigail was making him angry with both her and himself. He’d not married her so that she would be unhappy, damn it! He’d been saving her, for Christ’s sake. He’d not promised moonlight and roses. He’d promised her security and comfort. Why should he feel guilty now for not giving her…?

  Love?

  Was that what she’d been asking for with her eyes when she’d watched him leave the dining room that first night? Was that what he was afraid of giving to her?

  Impossible!

  It had been about sex. Their time together had been about sex. That is what she had been offering him, her body—pleasure—sensual entertainment.

  A knock at the door interrupted his musings. “Enter,” he stated firmly. It would be Abigail. He chastised the part of himself cheered by her impending presence. Nonetheless, when she entered, his eyes devoured her. She stepped in quietly, wearing a yellow gown that was reminiscent of the gown she’d worn for dinner that first night at Raven’s Park. It was of similar style but of a heavier material, and of a subtler tone—more golden than sunny.

  She stood straight, her hair perfectly made up of artful braids into an intricate coronet.

  She looked rather…like a duchess!

  What had he expected? The waif he’d rescued from Raebourne earlier that summer? And yet.

  She was still Abigail, with a light in her eyes and a soft glow to her cheeks. Surprisingly, she was not smiling at him, which caused a dull ache to take residence in his heart.

  But she was still Abigail.

  Alex swallowed and then gestured for her to be seated. He would not beat around the bush. “I have located the children. They are not far from here—half a day’s drive, if that.”

  His words brought him her full attention. She jerked her head up and stared at him in a straightforward manner he’d not seen since arriving at Rock Point. “They are well?”

  Alex glanced at the letter sitting atop his desk. “I have ascertained the name and location of the people who adopted them. I merely wished to inform you that I would be traveling there tomorrow to investigate their situation further. I did not think it fair to do so without informing you.”

  Abigail jumped to her feet while he was speaking. “I will go as well.” A gleam had appeared in her eyes. The same one he’d seen when she had come careening toward him on that damned Lady Accelerator the morning of their nuptials.

  “Perhaps it would be best if you were to
wait he—”

  But she would not allow him to complete his sentence. She was shaking her head adamantly. “No, Monfort, I will see them for myself. I will not state who I am. I do not wish to disrupt their lives. But I wish to see with my own eyes that they are well. It is the only thing that will suffice for me now.” She turned and walked away from him, seemingly as though she were perusing some of his bookshelves, but he knew that was not the case. As she reached up to pull out a book, her hand shook.

  “In light of this marriage, and your offer to find them for me, I have come to realize that this is important for me in order to move on. I shall always carry them with me in my heart regardless, but I just need to know…” She spun around and faced him again. “I need to know, Ale—Monfort.”

  Her eyes were shining, but her voice carried conviction, or had until she’d nearly called him by his Christian name.

  “They are likely servants,” Alex told her. He did not wish for her to build a fantasy in her mind as to how the children were living. “It mightn’t be the most pleasant of circumstances.”

  Abigail held his gaze. She was not looking at him meekly. He glimpsed a fire inside he’d not seen before. Was it because of him? Was it because he’d rejected her? Was this how Abigail Wright looked…angry?

  “If they are not in a suitable situation, then we shall change that. Is that not what you promised?” By God, she was angry with him.

  And Abigail Wright, looking proud and angry, was nearly as enticing to him as when she’d tossed back her head and found her pleasure atop him.

  He would have her tonight.

  “Of course.” Her insinuation that he would not keep his word drew some of his own ire. “We shall depart tomorrow after breakfast. This will allow us to return home before dark.” And as she twirled about to leave, he stopped her again with his voice. “I will come to you tonight?” It was not a question, and he was irritated with himself for allowing it to sound like one. “You shall receive me.”

  Abigail stilled. But for the tiniest nod of her head, he would not have thought she’d understood him.