Spinster and the Duke

by Jillian Eaton

  “I do not wish to discuss him,” she said, directing a stern look at Dianna. “That part of my life has been over for quite some time and I do not want to begin it again.”

  Unperturbed, her niece drew her fingers through her short mop of blond curls – hair shorn to the nape of the neck was all the rage – and smiled indulgently. “Yes, Aunt Abigail. Charlotte and Gavin are thinking of throwing a Christmas party at Shire House in December and they’ve asked I invite you personally. Formal invitations will be sent out, of course, but—”

  “It’s not that I do not want Reginald in my life. I do,” Abigail began. Visibly agitated and unable to remain still, she surged to feet and began to pace back and forth in front of the stone fireplace, her forehead furrowed in thought and her hands clasped tightly behind her back. “I just do not know how he would fit after all these years. I am an independent woman now. I do not need a husband.”

  “Certainly not,” Dianna said.

  “And we are not the same people we were. I know I am different and I am certain he is as well. Why, we hardly knew each other to begin with. And then for him to come over here just as brazen as you please—”

  “He came over?”

  “—and tell me he needed to see me and he wants to be with me—”

  “He said he wants to be with you? Oh,” Dianna sighed, clasping a hand over her heart. “That is so very romantic. What did you do, Aunt Abigail? What did you say? Tell me everything!”

  Abigail paused mid-step. “I told him to get out.”

  “You did what?”

  “Yes, well, I was not in possession of the clearest head,” she said defensively before she resumed her pacing. A fine sheen of perspiration glowed on her temple, although whether it was from the heat of the fire or the heat of her own emotions she couldn’t be certain. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she collapsed into the nearest chair and threw an arm up over her face.

  Her voice muffled by the sleeve of her dress, she said, “I never expected to see him again. I loved him with everything I had. When our engagement ended… When he married another woman and moved to France… A part of me died, Dianna.” It was the best way she could describe the aching feeling of loss and despair she’d suffered through all those years ago. Lowering her arm, she smiled ruefully at her niece. “I know it all sounds a bit dramatic—”

  “No, it sounds wonderful. Not the part when he left,” Dianna corrected swiftly, “but the part where you loved each other. I hope to feel that someday.” For the briefest of moments a shadow passed over her countenance. She shrugged, smiled, and it was gone. “You should give him another chance.”

  Abigail pulled fretfully at a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve. “Perhaps, but it has been so very long—”

  “Oh, Aunt Abigail.” Dianna rolled her eyes. “True love does not know time. It is as endless as the stars and shines just as bright even on the darkest of nights. Give him a chance,” she coaxed. Leaning forward out of her chair she took Abigail’s hands and squeezed tight. “If you truly love each other it will sort itself out and if not, well, you will be no different than you are now.”

  So much wisdom, Abigail thought, contained within such a young mind. She squeezed her niece’s fingers in turn and managed a genuine smile. “You are right, of course. You always are. But I still need time to clear my head and think all this through. We rushed headlong into love last time without a pause to consider the consequences. I do not want to make the same mistake again.”

  “We could go visit Charlotte!” Her blue eyes lighting, Dianna jumped to her feet, nearly upending the plate of crumpets. “Gavin is traveling to Scotland in two days to look at an estate and she will be terribly bored without him, especially since everyone else will be making their way back to London.”

  “Why is she not going with him?” Abigail asked, her brow creasing in bewilderment.

  Most married couples would welcome a separation – indeed, most lived completely separate lives – but she knew Charlotte and Gavin were one of the rare few who were blissfully in love. It hadn’t always been that way, but now you could hardly find one without the other. Gavin doted endlessly on his wife and Charlotte positively adored her husband. They still disagreed on occasion (having been witness to one of their fights Abigail could certainly attest to that fact) but they always made up in the end and their love was always the stronger for it.

  Dianna waved a hand through the air. “If Gavin had his way Charlotte would remain abed for the entirety of her pregnancy. He is refusing to let her travel. She tried to change his mind and they had an awful row over it while I was there, but he is quite adamant.”

  Having never carried a child Abigail did not know first hand the difficulties that came with being pregnant, but she knew her sister had found the entire affair so physically draining she’d sworn never to have another baby well before Abigail was even born. “Poor dear. Has she been terribly ill?”

  “Ill?” Dianna laughed and shook her head. “She is as healthy as a horse. I shall write her this afternoon to tell her we will be arriving with all haste. She will be absolutely delighted.”

  Abigail hesitated. It would be lovely to see Charlotte – a woman she considered as much of a daughter as she did Dianna – but Sussex was so very far from London. Not that there was any reason for her to remain in the city… Certainly not for Reginald. Why, it had been days since he last called. Nearly a week gone by without a single word! No doubt he’d already forgotten about her.

  “You are thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

  “Thinking about whom?” Abigail asked, even as the rising blush in her cheeks betrayed the direction of her thoughts.

  “Come to the country with me and forget about your long lost love for a time. A bit of fresh air will serve you well. I did not want to say anything, Aunt Abigail, but you are looking a bit peakish.”

  “Peakish?” Abigail echoed, her brows darting together. “I do not look peakish.”

  “You do.” Dianna nodded solemnly. “Just a bit.”

  “Oh, very well,” she conceded with a sigh. “I will go with you.” It was useless arguing with her niece once she had her mind set on something. Dianna may have appeared slight and somewhat frail from the outside, but in her chest beat the heart of a lioness. The disappointments she had suffered in her young life would have jaded even the strongest of women, but she remained strong through it all, her kind, gentle spirit never wavering. Seeing her now, her sapphire eyes sparkling and her mouth curved in a wide smile, Abigail knew she was making the right decision if only because it would make her niece happy.

  “Should we begin packing?” she said.

  Dianna’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Indeed. I will dash off a quick letter to Charlotte and send word round to Father’s driver that we will require his services on the morrow. Is seven in the morning too early a start, do you think?”

  Abigail barely contained her wince. “No dear, that should be fine.”

  With a grin Dianna started to dash from the room in search of paper and a quill, but she came up short in the doorway that separated the parlor from the drawing room. “Do not worry, Aunt Abigail,” she said cheerfully over her shoulder. “Everything will work out with your duke. You’ll see. I have a sixth sense about these things, you know.”

  “Oh really? And why do you think that?”

  “Who do you think got Charlotte and Gavin together?” Still smiling, Dianna picked up her skirts and sauntered out of the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Inundated with sheep farms and patchwork fields of green, Sussex was bordered by the ocean on one side and the better known counties of Hampshire, Surrey, and Kent on the other. The Graystone’s estate rested just outside of Brighton, a rapidly growing village populated by farmers and fishermen alike.

  Modestly sized at three hundred acres, Charlotte and Gavin’s country residence was a lovely mix of rolling hills and shaded forest divided by a wide stream that wound straight down the middle
of the property, the water so clear one could see straight down to the pebble covered bottom in even the deepest of places.

  Sitting far off the road at the end of a long drive lined with towering oak trees, the estate boasted a four story rectangular mansion with a pitched gable roof the color of brick and walls comprised of white sandstone. Having suffered through many different owners over the years, each one of whom attempted to leave their own individual mark, the mansion was an eclectic mismatch of styles both inside and out.

  Charlotte Graystone, her fiery red curls pinned up in a demure twist and her growing belly disguised by a violet muslin gown, was waiting to greet them at the bottom of the front steps, her face wreathed in a beaming smile and her amber eyes sparkling with delight.

  “It is wonderful to see you again so soon!” she called out while Abigail was still disembarking from the carriage. “I have both of your rooms ready and Ernie will have all of the trunks brought up. How was your journey?”

  “Splendid,” Dianna said.

  “Long,” Abigail replied succinctly once she had both feet firmly on the ground.

  The trip from London to Sussex had taken three days. In their haste to reach the country she and Dianna had forgone inns and traveled through the night, stopping only to exchange horses. As a result Abigail was stiff, sore, and very much feeling her age.

  “Aunt Abigail is not accustomed to traveling this far out of the city,” Dianna explained. Looking much more refreshed in a traveling habit of soft blue, she slipped her arm through Abigail’s and together they followed Charlotte into the house and down the main hallway to a bright, sun drenched parlor with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the side lawn.

  Sinking gratefully into a high backed drawing chair, Abigail drew off her hat and unbuttoned her high necked pelisse. Wriggling out of the traveling cloak with no small effort, she gave it to a waiting maid who whisked it promptly away.

  Charlotte and Dianna sat as well and cool lemonade was promptly served. When they’d left London it had been raining and cold and hot tea had been offered round the clock. Now the sky was a bright blue and a warm breeze stirred the air, slipping in from an open window and carrying with it the fresh scent of sun and soil.

  “You have such a lovely home,” Abigail said after casting a quick, appraising eye around the room. So many manor homes were decorated in the style of city townhouses: that was to say, they were over decorated with heavy fabrics, somber paintings, and dark walls. The Graystone’s home, on the other hand, was comfortable and cheerful with an eclectic mix of furnishings and adornments. It was so very different from the only other grand estate she had ever visited – Ashburn House – that she could not help but draw comparisons. Surprisingly, it was Reginald’s family home she found lacking. While it was certainly bigger and grander it emitted none of the warmth this one did, and Abigail recalled that even on the hottest of days she had always requested tea, for the moment she stepped inside the forbidding doors a chill settled upon her that refused to leave until she exited again.

  “You are very kind to say so,” Charlotte said with a smile. “It is still in a bit of a shamble, but it is coming along slowly. The poor thing was an awful mess when Gavin purchased her. Why, I nearly fell through the floorboards in the music room three weeks ago. I am doing the entire outside landscaping myself. Or rather, I was.” She cast a significant look at Dianna who rolled her eyes.

  “Is there anything your husband will let you do?”

  Charlotte’s smooth brow wrinkled in thought. “Read,” she concluded after a pause. “And paint, although heaven knows I am terrible at it. He did suggest I take up embroidery.” Her mouth flattened. “That particular conversation did not end well.”

  “How long will he be in Scotland?” Abigail queried.

  “A fortnight, at the very least. I miss him terribly and he has only been gone for two days,” she confessed. “I am so very glad both of you were able to come and stay with me.”

  “Is Tabitha here?” Dianna asked, referring to Charlotte’s personal maid, a shy, albeit lovely young woman Abigail had met three times before.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, she went to London to visit her sister. She did not want to leave, but I insisted. Why is it that once a woman becomes pregnant she is thought to be completely useless? I can take care of myself,” she groused, her amber eyes flashing. “I am having a baby, not dying. You would think by the way Gavin is carrying on I have been diagnosed with some deadly disease. Why, before he left he told one of the footmen to follow me around the house to open every door!”

  Abigail bit back a smile. “Let him pamper you all he likes,” she advised, “and carry on with your regular routine when his back is turned. It is how women have been managing overprotective husbands for centuries.”

  “An excellent idea,” Charlotte decided. “And how are you feeling, Miss Abigail?”

  “Quite splendid, especially now that I am out of that carriage.” And not likely to get in again any time soon, she added silently. It was a good thing they were planning on visiting for eight days. She would need that length of time just to recover from being jostled about like a sack of potatoes for hours on end.

  “Aunt Abigail has an admirer,” Dianna said, her smile impish.

  “An admirer?” Pushing the pitcher of lemonade to the side, Charlotte leaned forward and clasped her hands together on her knees, her eyes lighting with anticipation. “This is wonderful news! What is his name? Where did you meet him?”

  “They’ve known each other since they were children,” Dianna said before Abigail could so much as utter a word. “They were even engaged once! You remember, don’t you Charlotte? She told us all about it that one morning outside Twinings. ”

  “Oh, the duke! The Duke of… of…”

  “Ashburn,” Abigail supplied after giving her niece a narrow eyed glare that told her precisely what she thought of this sudden turn in the conversation. After all, the very reason she had left London was to clear her mind of Reginald, yet what did Dianna do? Bring him up at the first opportunity. “Busybody,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What was that, Aunt Abigail?” Dianna asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “You heard me.”

  Dianna grinned.

  “I fear I am quite removed from all the gossip, so forgive me for not knowing the answer, but isn’t the Duke of Ashburn married?” Charlotte asked uncertainly.

  “He was, but his wife passed away and he’s returned to England and he wants Aunt Abigail who he has always loved but she turned him away even though she loves him too!”

  “Dianna.”

  “What?” Out of breath but looking quite pleased with herself, Dianna blinked innocently at her aunt. “What did I say?”

  “Only everything you should not have.” Anger beat inside Abigail’s chest like drum, although whether it was directed at Dianna, Reginald, or herself she could not be certain. Feeling overwhelmed and tired and cranky as a three year old who had skipped its nap, she stood up abruptly. “I fear I need to rest for a while. The journey was very tiring. Could you have a maid direct me to my room?”

  “Certainly,” Charlotte murmured. The concerned glance she exchanged with Dianna was discreet, but Abigail caught it nevertheless.

  “I will be fine,” she said, even though to her own ears her voice sounded strained. “A long nap, a hearty meal, and I will feel right as rain.”

  Her pretty brow creased with genuine concern, Dianna leapt to her feet. “Aunt Abigail, I never meant to—”

  “Please.” Abigail held up her hand. “I just need to rest.”

  Somewhere between leaving London and walking through the front door of the Graystone’s beautiful mansion a weight had settled on her heart. It constricted her from the inside out, pressing and squeezing until she felt quite literally out of breath. The sensation was something she’d felt only once before: the day Reginald broke her heart.

  His unexpected visit, their passionate kiss, the l
ong trip to Sussex, the memories invoked by stepping inside a grand estate and sitting in a parlor not unlike the one she’d sat in thirty years ago… It was all too much, too fast. After living a life of calm predictability Abigail felt as though she’d suddenly been tossed out to sea in a life boat, left to churn and spin amidst the waves.

  A maid dressed in dark gray appeared and she followed her gratefully up the sweeping staircase and into a beautifully decorated bedroom suite with cheerful yellow walls, a matching set of cherrywood furniture, and a four poster bed with a sky blue canopy.

  Her trunks were already unpacked, but she did not bother changing out of her traveling clothes. Pausing only to unlace her boots, she kicked off one and then the other before throwing herself on the mattress, closing her eyes, and falling instantly asleep.

  In the parlor, their voices hushed and their expression worried, Dianna and Charlotte discussed Abigail’s unusual behavior.

  “She has been acting odd for days,” Dianna confided. Biting her lip, she set aside her untouched glass of lemonade and began to pace the middle of the room, her shoes sinking silently into the thick Persian carpet. “I never should have told her the Duke of Ashburn was returning to England.”

  “And let her receive the shock of her life when he turned up on her doorstep?” Charlotte arched one russet brow. “I would think not. You did the right thing. Now we have to decide what to do next.”

  Needing to do something with her hands, Dianna plucked a crystal swan off a side table and absently stroked its long feathered back. “I do not know if we should interfere.”

  Charlotte snorted. “So says the woman who dragged me to an illicit masquerade ball so I could woo a stranger into marrying me.”