Percival would have done anything to avoid flying his colors at that point. He could not look her in the eye. “I don't know what you mean.”
“Our marriage bed is cold. You have not been in it since yesterday. You disappeared with not so much as a good morning; you have not spoken a word to me for two nights. If you are already tired of me I wish you would tell me.” Her eyes were huge in her face, and pleading. Percival felt his heart twist with pain and regret.
“Don't be ridiculous, Abigail. Of course I have not tired of you, but I am a Duke and my duties are far and wide-ranging. Sometimes I am busy. You will have to get used to that.”
“I understand that but—”
“Are you questioning me? Not married a week and you already break your vows?”
She stared at him, her jaw dropping in disbelief. “What vows?”
“What God has put together no man shall put asunder. Do you think me of so little honor that I would discard them without a second thought? What kind of man do you take me for?” Percival was shouting by the end of his tirade, his face red with anger and his eyes flashing. Abigail stared at him as if she was unable to comprehend where this was coming from.
Percival could not blame her. She had no idea the turmoil he was in and he could not tell her. Not without destroying what they had. It was a bitter irony that after everything Lady Rosaline and her family had done to separate them, it was a secret they had nothing to do with, that would destroy Abigail and Percival’s love.
Chapter 31
Exposed
People were keeping secrets from her and Abigail did not like it. From Percival’s outburst she could add him to the list of conspirators. It was as she suspected when she came out of gaol. Something had happened between Percival and her parents. Something that changed their relationship fundamentally.
She had tried asking her mother, and Percival had just blown up at her for no reason. Perhaps she would have better luck with Uncle Philip.
“I’m sorry.” She said it to soothe Percival’s spirit, not that she meant it. Whatever crisis of the soul he was enduring, he clearly felt that she was not worthy to know. She would let it go for now but sooner or later a reckoning was coming. She could feel it in her bones.
“Do not apologize. I am the one who had an outburst.” He shuffled the papers on his desk, avoiding her eyes. She walked slowly towards him, careful not to alarm him further.
“Will you come to bed? From the level of that whiskey bottle by your glass, I am surprised that you're still on your feet. Come lie down. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”
He snorted, head inclined tiredly to the side. “Truer words were never spoken.”
She reached out for him, taking hold of his hand and pulling him with her. He went willingly, letting her propel him up the stairs and to his bedchamber.
She undressed him slowly as he swayed in front of her, a slight smile on his face. “Do you mean to take advantage of me?”
She was glad of his friendly mien, it’d make things easier for her. “I am willing if you are.” She returned his smile with a naughty one of her own and he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.
She parted her own, letting him in, allowing him to plunder her to his heart's content. Whatever troubled him, it did not affect his desire for her. That was a relief to Abigail, a starting point.
Phillip climbed the hill and waited. He occupied the time taking in the scenery around him. London was laid out before him in all its muggy glory. Out of the mists the figure of a man appeared. Tall, well-muscled, with a rather distinct limp.
“I did not expect you to come yourself.”
Reggie laughed. “If you have come, it means there is yet another emergency. I thought to save time. Was I wrong?”
Philip pursed his lips. “Are you ever?”
Like a vampire who smells fresh blood, Reggie’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me.”
“Farran Lew and Hugh Hiram. Do you recall them?”
Reggie turned away, a frown marring his brow.
“So, you did send them to kill a Duke and his wife?”
Reggie inclined his head.
Philip took a deep breath, looking off into the horizon. “Well, then we have a problem, because their son is on your trail.”
“How many have been on my trail through the years? As far as anyone knows, I am dead.”
Philip shook his head. “Their son is Percival Montagu, your son-in-law.”
Reggie snorted a laugh. “Well, what an interesting turn of events.”
When Abigail woke up the next morning Percival was gone. On his bedside table was a note.
My darling Abigail,
I feel I have come to a point where I need to go into the wilderness. You have noticed my crisis of the soul, and if you and I are ever to be happy, there are things that I must resolve—alone.
I apologize for not taking my leave in person. I will see you again.
All my love.
Percival.
Abigail gaped at it in disbelief. They were barely married a week and her husband had already run away from her. Her first instinct was to pack her things and return to her mother's house, but she did not want to give up so easily.
“All right then, Percival, I shall give you some time. But I will not wait forever.”
A wave of nausea overtook her, and she ran to the basin, casting up her accounts with aggressive force.
“Wonderful, now I am ill.” She wiped at her mouth with her hand, slumping against the wall in defeat.
A quiet knock at the door had her straightening up hopefully. “Yes? Come in.”
She had to hide her disappointment when Tommy stepped into the room. “Abby, shall we go and eat?”
Her stomach rumbled. Whatever had caused her nausea was gone, replaced by gnawing hunger. “All right, yes, let's go eat.” She held out her hand for Tommy to help her to her feet, staggering slightly with momentary dizziness. She took a deep breath. “Ooh.”
“Are you all right, Abby?” Tommy asked, his hand tight within hers. She summoned a smile for him.
“I am very well, thank you, Tommy.”
It took three days for Martha to hear that her nephew had left town. Lord Carrington had spotted him, on his prized bay mare, riding hell for leather in the direction of Bath, at the crack of dawn.
The news had spread around the ton by evening's end, and she had only failed to get the news earlier because she was in self-imposed confinement. It was a note from Lady Rosaline enquiring as to the Duke's intentions that had alerted her to the change in circumstance.
She packed her bags and went back to Northcott House. The very first thing she did as she stepped through the door was to summon the criminal.
“Have Miss Thorne attend me in the parlor, please.” She ordered the butler.
“The Duchess is resting.”
She stopped short, turning to face Forbes in surprise. “I beg your pardon. What did you call her?”
“The Duchess, My Lady.” Forbes bowed very correctly, but his expression was insolent.
“She is no Duchess!” Martha almost screeched in her annoyance, remembering only at the last minute that she was a lady and did not raise her voice.
Forbes said nothing but his dubious expression showed his disagreement with her statement.
Martha took a deep breath, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Would you inform Her Grace that I would like to see her in the parlor forthwith?
Forbes bowed again. “I will let her know.”
Abigail took her time coming down. This confrontation was something that she had been expecting ever since the morning after the wedding night. Now that Percival had abandoned her, she was not surprised that Lady Stanley was here, demanding a reckoning.
“Lady Stanley, how nice of you to visit.” She took charge as soon as she stepped in the room, not giving Percival’s aunt the chance to lord anything over her.
Lady Stanley got to her feet, sauntering towards Abigail, her nos
e in the air. “Visit? It is you who is a visitor, Miss Thorne, and you have outstayed your welcome.”
Abigail's answering smile was enigmatic. “Would you care to repeat that in Percival’s presence?”
Lady Stanley took a step closer, and paused right in front of Abigail, giving her a superior look. “You truly think that the Duke is returning to you? After all he has learnt? I did not think that you were the brightest spark, but I did not realize you had more hair than wit.”
Abigail blanched, turning away from Lady Stanley. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“The news that your father killed his parents. Did he not tell you?”
Abigail could not hold in her gasp. In fact, she felt quite faint. “I beg your pardon?” She whirled to face Lady Stanley, her eyes wide.
“You heard me. Your father was responsible for the death of the Duke and Duchess of Northcott. Your father was the reason that Percival is an orphan.”
Abigail collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
Percival staggered out of the tavern, and stumbled into his coach, his vision blurry as he was a trifle disguised. He leaned back in the seat with a sigh, eyes closed. A fortnight of searching and he was no closer to getting any answers.
“How long do you intend to stay away from your wife?”
He startled at the voice, sitting up and looking frantically around him. His eyes fell on Reginald Sinclair, ensconced on the seat, smoking a cheroot with studied nonchalance.
“Where did you come from?”
Reggie’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he turned his blue gaze upon Percival.
“That is not important. Do you intend to return to your wife at some point or should I break your bones right here and now?”
Percival laughed bitterly. “Go ahead, break my bones. I cannot possibly be in more pain than I am now.”
Reggie straightened up, leaning toward Percival. “You’re looking for answers about how your parents died as though that will return them to you. In the process, you neglect the family you already have.”
“I need to find the answers, or I will never find peace!”
Reggie blew smoke in his face. “Fine, then. You want answers. I will give them to you.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs, “Have your coachman drive. This will be quite the story.”
Percival banged the roof of the coach twice and it began to move with a lurch and whinny of the horses.
Reggie took another deep inhalation from his cigar, blowing the smoke out of the window as he watched the passing landscape, the Avon River providing a pleasant backdrop to the rising sun over the horizon.
“Twenty-five years ago, I was not the formidable business person you see before you today. I had pockets to let, and a family to feed. I owed my life to a cent per cent and was brought to Point Non-Plus. I was ready to end it, drinking my troubles away in a tavern, when a gentleman approached me with a proposal. There was a man he needed eliminated; a rich man and his lady, who would have a fortune in jewels on them on a certain night. All I had to do was slit their throats, and he would give me fifty thousand pounds. I could keep the jewels, too.”
Reggie turned to face Percival. “I am not a monster. I asked him what these people had done to deserve such a fate. He told me they were thieves who stole from his family and got away with it by claiming peer privilege. He wanted revenge.”
Reggie paused, eyes on Percival as if he expected him to offer some kind of comment. Percival kept his own council, needing to hear everything.
Reggie took a breath and turned away. “I could well understand wanting revenge. And I needed the money. So I sent Farran and Hugh, and they did the deed.”
There was a charged silence in the coach, broken only by the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves on the cobblestones, and their breathing.
“Who was the man?”
“He did not tell me his name.”
Percival turned at last to face Reggie. “You cannot tell me that the great Reginald Sinclair carried out a murder without knowing the name of the man who was paying him.”
“I said, he did not tell me his name, not that I did not know it.”
“So tell me.”
Reggie sighed. “His name is Benedict Hoskins, Earl of Huntington.”
Percival felt the breath leave his body with a whoosh. His limbs had no strength. His head was spinning.
Tommy was the one who shook her awake, his face frantic and scared.
“What’s the matter?” she murmured sleepily, trying to shake some awareness into her body.
“Th-they’re…” Tommy trailed away and that was when Abigail heard the noise. Banging and screaming, shouting…coming from the bottom of the stairs. She almost did not recognize Mr. Forbes’ voice for she had never heard him sound so distressed.
Something crashed to the ground with a loud bang and she jumped, getting to her feet, hands reaching for her robe before she was even properly thinking. Tommy grabbed for her hand and she clung to him as much as he was clinging to her, afraid of what she would find on the other side of the door.
As soon as she stepped on the landing, one of the dozen men milling in the hallway looked up. “There she is!” he cried and two other men began climbing the stairs actively impeded by Nell, who was clinging stubbornly to the ankles of the one in front.
Abigail gasped, eyes darting everywhere, looking for an explanation.
“His Grace will not be pleased when he comes home.” Forbes shouted and the suited man he was speaking to simply scoffed.
“I care nuffink for ‘is Grace or what ‘e wants.” He declared as the men reached the landing and grabbed her.
“Miss Abigail Thorne, by order of the crown, you are under arrest for robbery.”
Abigail stared at him in befuddlement. “Actually, it’s Her Grace to you,” she said not even aware of the words coming out of her mouth. The man downstairs laughed.
“Grab hold of her. Make sure she doesn’t escape.”
“She is out on bond!” Mr. Forbes cried.
“Well, consider that bond revoked. It’s Newgate for the Duchess.” He laughed so long and loud that his men had shackled Abigail and led her to the carriage before he was done.
Chapter 32
Homecoming
Abigail sat in the cell at Newgate, grateful that they had put her in one of the rooms by herself. At least she did not have to sleep in filth. She fought the nausea that assailed her now and then, wondering if she was sickening for something or it was the smells from the sewer making her feel like casting up her accounts.
She wondered if anyone knew she had been arrested yet. One of the guards had told her she would be brought before the judge the very next day. Whatever delays had been happening were now at an end and her trial would be expedited to make up for lost time.
She sensed the hand of the Earl in all this but there was nothing she could do about it from here.
Percival, God, I need you to come home!
She snuffled, wondering if he would even deign to help her after the terrible news he had learned. She wouldn’t blame him if he left her to rot.
Percival walked into Northcott house and stopped short as he caught sight of a man in the butler’s livery. “Who are you?”
“I am Mr. Keyes, the butler.”
“What happened to Forbes?”
Mr. Keyes looked uncertain for a moment. “I believe he was let go. May I have your calling card to give to Lady Stanley?”
Percival frowned. “My calling card? Where is my wife?”
“Your...wife, sir?
“Yes! My wife. My wife. Where is she?”
The frown on Mr. Keyes’ forehead merely deepened. He looked completely mystified.
“Perhaps if you told me your name, sir?”
“It’s Your Grace to you, and if you do not know my name then why are you serving in my house?”
Mr. Keyes blanched, paling considerably before backing away. “I...you...they said that...” h
e bumped into a plinth, almost upending a statue of the Virgin from its sconce.
“I…”
“Fetch me someone that can answer my questions. Where is my aunt?”
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