by Rose Pearson
“Would that I had this care for the rest of my days, Miss Harland,” Lord Abernathy quipped, his good eye twinkling down at her. “I fear for what shall become of me, if I do not have you to tend to my every need in the coming days.”
Deborah smiled but did not look up, suddenly feeling rather shy and a little embarrassed at her own thoughts. She was glad that Lord Abernathy could neither see nor hear what she thought, confusion over her own feelings rising steadily within her.
“And now for my face,” Lord Abernathy murmured, as Deborah set the cloth aside and did not pick up fresh bandages for his hand. “Pray that it is healed for I do not wish to be swathed in linens any longer – although I am grateful for your expert care, Miss Harland.”
Looking up into his face, Deborah reached for the edge of the bandage and, to her surprise, saw that her hand was trembling just a little. Was it because of the expectation that Lord Abernathy had? Or was it because reaching up, so close to him, was suddenly and inexplicable filling her with a sense of anticipation that she could not quite explain?
Taking the bandages from his face as she had done every day for the last month, Deborah drew in a long breath as she took the last of them away and revealed the entirety of the Duke’s face. There was still a little to be healed by his eye but it did not look as though it would require bandaging again. There were bruises aplenty but, in time, those would fade. His damaged eye, still clouded with the injury it has sustained, looked back at her even though she knew he could see very little.
“What say you, Miss Harland?” the Duke asked, reaching out and grasping her hand tightly with his good one. “Shall I need to be wrapped up again?”
Deborah shook her head wordlessly, feeling heat begin to climb up her arm from where the Duke’s hand touched hers.
“No?” Lord Abernathy breathed, his shoulders slumping a little in relief. “Then I am much improved?”
Deborah hesitated, knowing that Lord Abernathy had refused to gaze into a looking glass ever since he had returned from the war. “You have a good many scars,” she said, deciding to be completely honest. “Your skin is still bruised in many places and will require further healing but, for the moment, your injuries appear to be doing rather well.” She smiled at him, wanting to encourage him a little. “Certainly a good deal better than the first time we met!”
Lord Abernathy held her gaze for a long time. He did not move nor speak but rather continued to hold her hand, his fingers tightening on hers as he battled with his own thoughts.
“Your Grace?” Deborah asked, cautiously, peering up into his face. “Is something wrong? Have I distressed you in some way?”
“No, no.” The Duke swallowed hard, then dropped his head. A rueful look caught at his expression. “It is only – and you will think me most selfish for this – I wonder whether or not, in any way, I am still handsome.” Slowly, Lord Abernathy lifted his head, looking into her face. “It is arrogant, I know.”
“I think you most handsome,” Deborah replied, honestly, smiling at him. “But I have had very little experience of society and the like, as well you know, so therefore I fear that my opinion counts for very little.”
To her surprise, Lord Abernathy let out a bark of laughter at this remark which, in turn, allowed Deborah’s smile to spread. She and Lord Abernathy looked at one another for a few moments, their eyes meeting and holding without anything being said.
“Deborah.”
She nodded, aware that his fingers were now dancing across the back of her hand. She could not breathe, her stomach tightening with that strange, awkward tension that she still did not know what to do with.
“Might you do something for me?”
She swallowed and nodded, aware that her voice was wispy and that her mouth was dry. Was this what it felt like to be drawn to a gentleman? Was this urge in her heart to lean forward and press her lips to his something that other ladies experienced? Her heart was beating so wildly, she was certain the sound of it would soon fill the room and that Lord Abernathy would hear it clearly.
Lord Abernathy leaned forward and time seemed to stop. He closed the distance between them and Deborah could no longer even think clearly. She did not see the scars, the marks on his face nor the cloudiness of his eye. This was not the injured gentleman she had been caring for. This was Lord Abernathy, the gentleman who had begun to capture her heart without him even being aware of it. Her eyes fluttered closed as his breath wafted delicately across her cheek.
“Deborah,” he said again, his voice a little lower than before. “Might you fetch me a looking glass?”
Her eyes shot open and she found herself looking into his face and seeing both the reluctance and the questions there. Her heartbeat began to slow as beads of sweat formed on her temples, foolishness pouring into her soul.
“Y-yes, Your Grace,” she stammered, aware that she had been more than foolish in both her thoughts and her expectations. “Yes, of course.”
“And then, you may leave me.”
She looked up at him, half risen in her chair. “Your Grace?”
His expression twisted and he looked away. “I will not require your company when it comes to looking at myself as I am now and not as I have been,” he said, a little thickly. “I do not know what my reaction shall be, Miss Harland, and I would not have you present to experience it.”
She nodded. “I would be glad to stay with you, Lord Abernathy, truly,” she said, not wanting him to be alone at such a time. “Your reactions, as you well know, do not frighten me.”
Lord Abernathy smiled and nodded, although there was a pain in his expression that did not quite dissipate. “I am grateful for you, Miss Harland,” he said, his voice softening. “But I would not put you in such a position. No, I think it best if you find something else to occupy yourself with instead of worrying about me.”
Holding his gaze, Deborah found herself reaching out a hand and before she could prevent herself, resting it on the side of his injured face. Lord Abernathy looked a touch surprised, before closing his eyes and letting out a long breath, leaning into her touch. Deborah felt tears well in her eyes, her heart aching for what could never be. This was all she was to Lord Abernathy. She was a comfort, a relief. Nothing more. What she ought to be doing is being thankful that God had allowed her to become this to Lord Abernathy instead of crying out for what she could not have – but the desire to be as Lady Cavendish was to him would not go away.
“I would be glad to stay with you, truly,” she whispered, as Lord Abernathy opened his eyes to look back at her. Her fingers traced over the scars, the bruised flesh and the red marks left behind by his injuries, finding her heart aching for him and for all he had endured.
Lord Abernathy’s jaw worked for a moment but then he looked away. “Deborah,” he said, throatily. “I –”
“Lord Abernathy?”
A rap at the door and the sound of Mr. Morris’s voice had Deborah jumping in surprise, her hand dropping from Lord Abernathy’s face. Lord Abernathy paused for a moment before calling for the butler to enter, his gaze still lingering on Deborah. Deborah, however, was filled with embarrassment at having done something so forward, rising to her feet quickly and hurrying to collect all the bandages together. Making her way to the fire, she threw them within, just as Mr. Morris entered.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “You have a visitor, but I did not know if you were accepting callers?” He glanced at Deborah before returning his gaze to Lord Abernathy. “Although may I say, Your Grace, it is good to see you so restored.”
Lord Abernathy smiled and, as Deborah came back to collect the tray, settled one hand on her shoulder. Her breath caught as he looked into her eyes, her heart quickening as before.
“I have dear Miss Harland to thank for my recovery,” Lord Abernathy said, gratefully, looking across at Mr. Morris. “Although your service here is not yet at an end, I think.”
She swallowed hard. “No?”
“No, indeed!” Lor
d Abernathy laughed, as though she had forgotten something. “I am to do certain movements in order to improve my hand – what is left of it, that is!”
Deborah nodded, ignoring the disappointment that clouded her heart. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” Lord Abernathy squeezed her shoulder gently before letting his hand drop. “Now then, Morris, who is it that has come to call?”
Morris cleared his throat before coming forward to hand his master a calling card. “One Lord Rakes,” he said, and Deborah saw Lord Abernathy’s smile fade. “He says he has been in London but has been visiting relations in the area.”
“I see,” Lord Abernathy murmured, picking up the card and looking at it absently. “He will be the first visitor I have had since my return from the war.”
Deborah, the tray now in her hands, made to quit the room but was stalled by the indecision on Lord Abernathy’s face. She knew that he would be struggling with his altered appearance, even though he had not yet fully seen the extent of his change, and that the idea of seeing someone he knew well would be something of a challenge to overcome.
“I could speak to him first, Your Grace,” she suggested. “Or Mr. Morris could explain what has occurred.”
Lord Abernathy’s eyes drew towards her, the card in his hand falling to the floor as he dropped it. “Indeed,” he said, softly, looking more than a little tense. “That will be for the best, I think. Lord Rakes is an old friend and I do not wish to….” Closing his eyes, Lord Abernathy drew in a long breath, set his shoulders and then opened his eyes. “Yes, I will see him.” He turned his attention back to Morris. “The drawing room, I think. I will have the valet change my clothes into something more appropriate. Has the patch been procured from London?”
Morris inclined his head. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Lord Abernathy nodded to himself, no longer looking at Deborah. “I shall be able to hide my eye, at least. And – and have the valet ensure there is a looking glass within my chambers. I wish to look at myself as I truly am, Morris, before I go to meet with Rakes.”
Deborah swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, wishing that she could be by Lord Abernathy’s side as he looked at himself for the first time since his injuries. However, seeing that she was no longer needed, no longer noticed, she stepped out of the door and made her way into the hall, her heart weighing her down so heavily that her steps became slow and lumbering.
Why did she feel so strongly for Lord Abernathy? She, who was to be a nun, was allowing herself to become distracted by her growing feelings and affections for the gentleman, feelings she ought not to have. Shaking her head to herself, Deborah drew in a long, shaking breath and forced herself not to give in to the sudden, biting tears. There was no need for them. This was what she had come to this house to do and she should be thanking God that He had allowed her to do it and that Lord Abernathy had improved so vastly, instead of becoming morose and miserable over her own, confusing feelings.
“I have lost sight of my path,” she whispered aloud, as she made her way to the servant's staircase. “I have lost sight of what I want my life to be.” How many years had she spent praying and hoping that, one day soon, she would be able to take her orders? How many nights had she dreamed of such a thing? Was she truly about to give that up, simply because she was feeling something for Lord Abernathy, a Duke who saw her only as the help that she was? It was a ridiculous idea and Deborah knew that she should never have allowed her mind to wander, her heart to fill with hope as Lord Abernathy had leaned towards her back in his rooms. It had been silly of her to even think that he might see her as something more. She was not even a lady of quality! She was an orphan and he a Duke in the kingdom. Such a thing could never be.
“I must accept it,” she told herself, descending the stairs carefully. “I must think only of my duty and nothing more.”
Nothing more.
The words echoed in her mind, trying to force her growing feelings of affection for Lord Abernathy away from her, but instead, they dug into her heart all the more and held on tightly. It seemed that, for the moment, Deborah would have to continue fighting against what she felt, secure in the knowledge that Lord Abernathy did not return her feelings. To him, she was nothing more than plain Miss Harland, here to do her duty and then return to the abbey.
She had to be content with that.
Chapter Nine
“The last fortnight has seen my brother return to his former self!”
Lady Markham smiled happily and reached to pour the tea for both herself and Deborah.
“I do not know what it is you have done to remove those dark shadows from him, Deborah, but he is a changed man!” Lady Markham continued, her eyes bright with contentment. “I know it is two weeks past now, but to hear that my brother had accepted Lord Rakes into the house and was not only able to see him but to also spend a considerable amount of time in conversation was utterly wonderful!”
Deborah smiled softly, recalling just how tired and weary Lord Abernathy had been after that first visit. He had never said anything to her about what he had felt upon seeing his face in the looking glass, although she presumed that it must have been terribly difficult for him to accept. However, he had met with Lord Rakes and it had been a good hour before Lord Rakes had taken his leave. Since then, Lord Abernathy had enjoyed a few more visits from those who had come to call upon him, although he had muttered something about the news of his disfigurement making its way around London.
“You have done wonders, Deborah, truly.”
Looking across at Lady Markham, Deborah lifted the cup of tea to her lips and took a small sip. “I think I must soon return to the abbey, Judith.”
Lady Markham looked startled, her eyes widening and her teacup clattering back down on the saucer noisily.
“Oh, no, Deborah!” Lady Markham insisted. “No, you must stay here a little longer. It is much too soon for you to depart.”
Deborah silently considered that being present within the house for over six weeks was not ‘much too soon’ as far as she was concerned but did not allow herself to say so to Lady Markham.
“My brother still requires you, does he not?”
Hesitating, Deborah considered for a moment. “I think, Judith, that your brother can do marvelously well on his own,” she said, honestly. “There is work that needs to be done on his hand, yes, but he is more than able to do such things himself.”
Lady Markham shook her head. “I do not think he would be happy to know that you intend to leave us, Deborah,” she said, sounding both determined and fearful. “I should not be able to manage without your excellent company and your constant reassurance.”
Deborah smiled, feeling glad that Lady Markham so appreciated her but knowing that she could not stay in this house indefinitely. Her feelings for Lord Abernathy were still growing steadily, despite her daily battle to defeat them, and she was beginning to think that quitting the house and returning to the abbey was the best thing she could do.
“This is not, I hope, because you feel something for my brother that you do not know what to do with,” Lady Markham said, gently, astonishing Deborah utterly. “I would not have you leave before you are ready, Deborah, simply because of your heart.”
Deborah’s mouth fell open, her heart slamming into her chest and rendering her a little breathless.
“I would not have you pretend, Deborah,” Lady Markham continued, gently, her eyes settling on Deborah’s with a certainty that frightened Deborah somewhat. Had her feelings truly been so apparent? Did Lord Abernathy know of them?”
“I –” Closing her eyes, Deborah shook her head. “No, Lady Markham, there is nothing of that nature within me.” The fact that she was lying bit at her soul, guilt washing over her and sending heat into her face. Uncomfortable, she looked again at Lady Markham and saw an understanding smile on her face, which only added to her feelings of guilt.
“It is not a terrible thing to feel so,” Lady Markham said, quietly, o
bviously aware that Deborah had not told her the truth. “It is quite understandable.”
“It is foolish,” Deborah retorted, as though she were chastising herself. “I should not allow such things to become a part of me.” So saying, she lifted her chin and settled her shoulders. “I am to take orders soon. I cannot let my heart be so conflicted.”
Lady Markham considered this for a moment or two, silence wrapping around the room. “I think,” she said, carefully, “that you do not have to set aside your devotion to God simply because you feel something else for Abernathy.”
Deborah shook her head. “I am an orphan and a soon-to-be nun,” she reminded Lady Markham. “Your brother is a Duke. It is foolish to have such considerations. I have told myself this often and yet…..” She sighed and passed a hand over her eyes. “However, as I have said, my duties are at an end. There is no reason to prolong my stay here. Lord Abernathy can continue with his exercises for his hand alone. I do not need to be a part of his life any longer.”
Much to Deborah’s surprise, tears began to well in Lady Markham’s eyes. Lady Markham’s hand clasped together tightly, as though she were doing her level best to keep her composure.
“I do not mean to upset you, Judith,” Deborah said, hesitantly. “Truly, I am only doing what I think is best.”
“But what shall I do without you?” Lady Markham whispered, her voice too filled with emotion to speak clearly. “You have become very dear to me, Deborah. I fear that I shall be lost without your presence.”
Deborah swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a sharp sense of loss at ending what had become a friendship between herself and Lady Markham. “I – I suppose it must come to an end at some point, Judith,” she said, as gently as she could. “Although I shall miss your company also. You will be able to visit me at the abbey, however!” She tried to smile but Lady Markham did not look at all relieved.