by Regina Scott
A door slammed somewhere, and everyone tensed. She hurried out to find that Linus had arrived, bringing Lark, the magistrate, Eva, Mrs. Tully, Dr. Owens, Jesslyn, and her Regulars with him. Abigail ran to him, and he caught her close. Breath came easily for the first time since she’d seen the French sloop on the waters.
“How are we faring?” Mr. Howland asked as she disengaged. Linus kept one arm about her waist as if he could not let her go. She couldn’t mind.
“The Lodge is filled to the rafters,” Abigail reported. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s enough food even for dinner tonight. And the French?”
“Gone,” Linus assured her, giving her a squeeze. If the others noticed, they were wise enough not to mention it.
“Gone, at least for now,” the magistrate amended. Then he raised his head and his voice.
“Citizens of Grace-by-the Sea and esteemed guests.” The words echoed against the wood paneling of the entry hall, filled the house, which went silent as if listening as well. “Give thanks! We have been delivered this day. The French sailed on without landing. It is safe to return to your lodgings.”
Huzzahs and praise rang from beyond them, around them, until she thought the very roof would lift from the house.
Her mother and Ethan peered around the corner from the dining room, then came to meet Abigail and Linus.
“What about the ships?” Ethan asked. “The races.”
“Our gallant crews are even now sweeping the coast,” Mr. Howland told the house as other people began trickling out of the various rooms and down the stairs. “Once they return this evening and assure us our enemies continued to run home to France, we will resume the Regatta.”
More huzzahs sounded.
Mrs. Greer approached, bag clutched in her grip. She blinked brown eyes at the magistrate. “Is that wise? Should we not evacuate inland just to be safe?”
Jesslyn met her gaze. “I refuse to let fear rule me.”
“Nor me,” Abigail said with a nod to her friend.
Ethan slipped his hand into hers. “Me either.”
Linus stared at his son in obvious wonder before taking his other hand. “I stand with Grace-by-the-Sea.”
“So do I,” Eva declared.
“And me!”
“I stand!”
“Never surrender!”
The calls rang from the house, until Abigail couldn’t tell where one started and another ended.
“Well done,” Mrs. Tully said. “The fairies will be very pleased to hear it.”
“In the meantime,” Mr. Howland put in smoothly, “you are all free to go. But if you’re a militiaman, meet me on the drive in front of the Lodge. I have assignments for you.”
Abigail shepherded Linus, Ethan, and her mother off to the side of the entry hall as people began to stream out.
“I’ll stay to help Mrs. Kirby make sure the house is secure,” she told them. “You can go back to the village.”
Ethan glanced up at his father. “Can we stay? I want to help too.”
“Certainly,” Linus said.
“We’ll all help,” her mother agreed.
In the end, Jesslyn and her Regulars stayed too, and teams took each floor and each wing to ensure nothing and no one had been left behind, no damage had been done to Lord Peverell’s home, and the holland covers had been replaced over the furnishings. Abigail worked with Linus while her mother and Ethan partnered on the other side of the corridor.
As soon as they were alone in the bedchamber, Linus pulled her close and held her gently. His chest rose in a deep breath, as if he would inhale her. If only she could stay in his embrace, but she knew her duty.
“Why, Doctor Bennett,” she made herself tease. “How have I earned such attentions?”
He leaned back enough to meet her gaze. The grey in his eyes flickered with silver. “By being the most amazing woman of my acquaintance. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your leadership today.”
Abigail cocked her head. “You could try.”
He laughed, releasing her. “It would take hours, and I would like us all to return home sooner than that. But I promise a full accounting later.”
“I will look forward to it.” She glanced around the room. “Not too bad here. Tug those covers in place, and we’ll see about the others.”
They went to work. Some of the rooms needed minor repairs—paintings hanging crooked where a shoulder had pressed too close, corners of carpets flipped up by a careless foot.
“I can see we’ll need to fund Mrs. Catchpole’s cleaning crew to go through,” Abigail said as she picked a rock off the carpet in one of the bedchambers.
“And perhaps set up a display at the spa where people can claim what they lost,” Linus added, cloth doll tucked under one arm. “Unless you think some of this was left in the house from previous use.”
She joined him in the center of the room to regard the items he’d found. “That tortoiseshell hair comb, possibly, though it might belong to one of the visitors. The rest likely isn’t fine enough for the Peverells.”
“It was very clever of you to think of sheltering people here,” he said as they started for the door.
“It seemed the logical choice,” Abigail said. “The castle is larger, but more visible, and we know the French are aware of it. But the Lodge wouldn’t have worked for long. We must think of a more viable evacuation plan.”
“And apparently have it approved by the Lord Lieutenant for Dorset.”
Abigail smiled as they headed down the corridor for the stairs. “He must know his plan is aspirational at best. By the time word reached him that we’d evacuated, it would be too late for him to send help. Grace-by-the-Sea must fend for itself.”
He paused at the top of the stairs. “I sense that is your preferred approach to any challenge—to go it alone.”
Abigail frowned at him. “Do you find fault with self-sufficiency?”
“No,” he assured her. “I admire self-sufficiency. However, now I’m finding partnership a far more useful and satisfying alternative.”
As if her heart agreed with him, it started beating faster. “I am listening, sir.”
“There you are,” her mother sang out from the entry hall below. “Ethan and I finished ages ago.”
“May we go home now?” Ethan asked plaintively.
Linus drew in a breath as if reorienting himself. “Go ahead and start back. We’ll speak to Mrs. Kirby and be right behind.”
Resigned, Abigail put a hand to the newel. He juggled the things in his arms to take her other hand in his. “We must talk, Abigail. Perhaps on the way back to the village.”
His touch was warm, his grip sheltering. Buoyed, she nodded. “I’d like that.”
Together, they continued down the stairs to check in with Mrs. Kirby. They had survived the first French incursion, but Abigail could only wonder what the future held—for Grace-by-the-Sea and for her and Linus.
~~~
Linus escorted Abigail out of the Lodge at last. Most of the villagers and their guests had already left. There should be no one to interrupt his conversation with Abigail as they walked home. Once again, he was all too aware of his symptoms: dry mouth, sweaty palms, trouble breathing. Likely somewhat normal when contemplating marriage, especially when he was unsure of his reception.
But a group was waiting on the drive: Mrs. Rand, Miss Turnpeth, and Doctor Owens. The physician hurried to meet him.
“I have never been gladder to see a colleague,” he said with a nod to Abigail as well. “The lady is complaining of chest pains, and she will not heed my advice.”
“I’ll speak to her,” Linus promised. He looked to Abigail, and she nodded. Together, they moved closer.
Mrs. Rand sat on a boulder at the edge of the drive, soft blue skirts pooled about her. Linus could not like her pallor under her feathered bonnet, nor the way her breath came in sharp pants.
He put a hand on her back and bent closer. “Quite a bit of excitement today.�
�
“Too much,” she agreed, rubbing at her ribs. “The race, the French, the flight up the hill. I came to Grace-by-the-Sea for peace!”
“Ah, but a lady of your stamina generally rebounds from such excitement,” Linus told her. “If I may, would you allow me to listen to your heart?”
“Certainly, sir. I trust you implicitly, unlike some.” She narrowed her eyes at Owens.
Her companion smiled apologetically at the other physician. Owens was watching Linus. So was Abigail.
He pulled back Mrs. Rand’s glove to expose her wrist, then rested two fingers against the base of her thumb, counting the beats to himself. The pulse was a little faster than might be expected, but steady. He smiled at the elderly widow, who was watching him as avidly.
“And now your lungs,” he said.
She shifted on the boulder to give him her back. He pressed his ear to her gown. The others stilled as if trying to make as little noise as possible. A shame it was difficult to be sure with all the layers between him and her lungs, but he thought he heard a wheeze.
Linus raised his head. “I believe you’ve had enough exertion for today. Doctor Owens, may I trouble you to take a message to the village? I’d like Mrs. Rand’s coachman to come for her and Miss Turnpeth.”
“He left us,” her companion put in before Owens could answer. “Mr. Greer, the apothecary, ordered all coaches out of the village so the French could not make use of them or the horses.”
Linus shook his head as he straightened. Plan or no plan, Greer had a lot to answer for.
“Perhaps Lord Featherstone could carry me,” Mrs. Rand ventured, eyes bright.
“I believe his lordship has already returned to the village,” Linus said. “And I could not ask such a feat, even from our gallant Lord Featherstone. Excuse me for a moment. Miss Archer? Doctor Owens?”
Abigail and the physician stepped aside with him.
“You heard it too, I take it,” Linus said to his colleague.
Owens nodded. “Her heart. Terrible thing, but only to be expected in a woman her age.”
Linus frowned, but Abigail spoke up. “If it’s a carriage you need, Eva has one. I doubt very much she would have allowed Mr. Greer to order it away. She and the magistrate live just at the bottom of the headland, near St. Andrew’s. It will only take me a few moments to go down and ask.”
“Does she have that long?” Owens asked Linus.
“We can contrive,” Linus said. “Go, Abigail, and ask. And thank you for your quick thinking, as always.”
She gave him a smile, then picked up her skirts and hurried for the path down the headland.
“Stay with our patient,” Linus told Owens. “Mrs. Kirby is still inside. I’ll bespeak some water.”
Owens nodded.
Linus managed to occupy Mrs. Rand as they waited, asking about family, friends, their plans when they left Grace-by-the-Sea. Owens kept wandering to the edge of the headland, as if he could spy Abigail and the carriage coming, but Linus couldn’t help noticing that his gaze strayed as often out over the Channel. Well, who could blame him? It wasn’t every day the French showed up so boldly outside an English village only to disappear.
Testing them, the magistrate had said. Why? Did the French truly plan to land at Grace-by-the-Sea?
At length, the rumble of hooves heralded the arrival of the carriage, which rolled to a stop on the graveled drive.
“Miss Archer said you might need some assistance, Doctor,” the coachman said, saluting Linus with his whip.
“Glad to accept it,” Linus assured him. He and Owens helped Mrs. Rand up into a seat, then assisted Miss Turnpeth before climbing in themselves.
“Take us to the spa,” Linus called up. As the coach set out, he turned to his patient. “I can make a poultice that should help set things to rights.”
“Oh,” she said, pausing to suck in a breath. “Thank you.”
Owens patted her shoulder. “Such things are easily remedied, I find, with the right exercise, diet, and medication.”
Linus merely smiled.
Dusk was falling when he finally made his way to Abigail’s flat. She answered his knock. Just the sight of her made the world a better place. She stepped aside to let him in.
“Mrs. Rand?” she asked.
“Resting in her room at the inn with a poultice on her side. Pleurisy. She will bear watching. Ethan?”
“Fell asleep on the sofa. Mother is watching over him. Would you like dinner, tea?”
All at once, he wanted to drop. “Tea would be most welcome.”
“Come into the dining room, and I’ll bring you a cup.”
He wandered into the room where Ethan spent so much time. Indeed, some of his sketches were spread out on the table. Linus sank onto a chair and looked them over. A fantastical castle with a dragon circling overhead. The front of the spa with a more fanciful pediment over the door showing trolls on the march. The cove with a sea serpent arching through the waters. The French ship, colors flying. And only three men as crew. It seemed his son still had some things to learn about sailing.
Abigail returned with a cup of tea in each hand and set one down before him, then took the chair next to his.
Linus sipped the amber brew.
“Milk and honey,” she said. “That’s the way you always take it at the spa.”
“Perfect,” he said, shoulders coming down. “And very observant. Only what I would expect from you.”
She contented herself with her tea. Somewhere a clock ticked off the time.
He’d wanted a private conversation with her, but he found himself all at sea. He set down his cup. “Help me, Abigail. I am coming to care for you, and I’m not sure what to do.”
She lowered her cup as well, but the tea sloshed. “I’m no more sure what you’re asking of me. I’ll never be the demure miss who flutters her lashes and gazes up at you adoringly while you tell her of your adventures. I’m coming to care for you as well, but I wish to stand beside you, sir, not walk behind in your shadow.”
It seemed he had a chance. “I want you beside me as well,” he assured her. “Raising Ethan together, encouraging each other in our work, helping the village. Would you ever consider marrying?”
Both hands gripped her cup, and she gazed into the liquid as if his answer lay at the bottom. “For much of my life, I didn’t think so. And no man stirred my heart sufficiently to cause me to change my mind.” She glanced up, met his gaze, and touched his heart. “Until I met you. So, if you’re asking me to marry you, Linus, to be your partner in all things, then the answer is yes.”
Chapter Twenty
With one word, she was betrothed. Linus surged to his feet, and she met him. His proposal may have been hesitant, but his kiss said he knew his own mind.
And her heart.
Her mother, of course, was overjoyed. “Oh, wonderful!” she cried when they exited the dining room together and told her the good news. She clasped her hands together. Ethan, lying with his head on her lap, woke up sufficiently that they could explain to him too.
“So, you’ll be my mother,” he said to Abigail, face solemn.
Abigail couldn’t hold back her smile. “Yes. Do you mind?”
“No,” he said. “You like me.”
She gathered him close. “I love you, Ethan, and I love your father as well. We’ll all be a family.”
Linus put his arms around them both, and her mother leaned in as well. Warmth spread. Hope with it.
“A little squishy,” Ethan said, wiggling in the middle.
“Get used to it, my boy,” her mother said, releasing them to wipe away a tear.
They were only the first to congratulate her.
“Wishing you and Doctor Bennett all the best,” Mr. Ellison said when she went for bread early the next morning after sending Linus up to the spa.
“How did you know?” she asked, accepting the loaf from him.
“Your mother mentioned it to Jack Hornswag, who told his cook
, whose son is sweet on my Jenny,” he told her. “The Misses Pierce were in before you. I let them know as well. They promised to order whatever you like.”
So did the Inchleys when she dropped by to purchase tea and sugar before opening her shop.
“How big a wedding breakfast do you want?” Mrs. Inchley asked as Abigail debated bohea or green tea. “I imagine the church will be full—he is the physician after all, and every lady in this village owes you a debt. But you likely won’t want to feed everyone.”
“I haven’t given it any thought,” Abigail told her. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I have plans.”
“How did you do it?” she asked Jesslyn when she went up to the spa that afternoon to make sure her friend had heard the news about the Regatta. Most of the ships had returned to their moorings, but the Siren’s Call was still missing, so the magistrate had delayed the running of the races until Monday.
“Do what?” Jesslyn asked, holding a crystal glass under the sparkling water of the fountain as her guests continued to buzz about the sighting of the French ship the previous day.
“Plan a wedding while working,” Abigail clarified. “And one of the most-attended weddings in Grace-by-the-Sea. I don’t know where to begin.”
Jess peered closer. “Is that Abigail Archer speaking? You built a business that supports most of the families in the area; create works of art that grace the finest homes. Planning a wedding should be nothing.”
Abigail dropped her gaze. “Perhaps it would be nothing, if it wasn’t my wedding.”
A crystal glass edged into her line of sight.
“Drink,” Jess said. “It will make you feel better.”
Abigail accepted the glass. “Even your famous spa water won’t cure what ails me. I said yes, Jess. Me.”
She looked up to find her friend smiling. “You. It happens to the best of us. He’s a fine man.”
Abigail turned the glass in her hand. “I want to believe that. I must believe that. But how did you know, Jess, that Lark was the right one for you? He left you behind once. What made you trust him again?”
