With her worrying and wonderings set aside, she could finally admit the words to herself. She loved the captain, with a love that ran deep. A love that filled every part of her body and her soul.
And how she longed to share it with him.
Before long, she heard him coming down the hallway. She closed her eyes as the door opened and shut. His shoes softly slid across the wooden floor as he walked toward his cot.
In the dim light of the dying fire, she peered at him through her eyelashes. Her heart fluttered when she saw his eyes upon her. He removed his cravat and jacket, dropping them onto his dresser before turning around to remove his shirt.
She eyed the purple scar on his upper left arm. So much had occurred since that fateful shipwreck two months before, she could hardly believe it.
He sat on his bed with a sigh, rubbing his hands on his face with a tired look. He eyed the dresser, and Abigail wondered if he contemplated pulling on his nightdress. Eventually, he lay back, stretching out on the cot with hands resting behind his head.
She watched him for a moment, just as she had the past few nights they had shared a room. After that first night together, she had been too nervous to do anything but feign sleep.
Soon, his chest rose and fell with slow breaths, and she observed him for only a moment before her own eyelids drifted to a close.
Not a moment later, she woke up to a loud crack of breaking wood. She sat upright, her heart pounding.
Myles, she knew it was him. But what had he done this time? She scanned the length of the room before narrowing her eyes toward Gavin, who sat in a pile of bedding—his cot crumpled to pieces beneath him.
“What happened?” she whispered.
He ran his fingers through his hair, his voice groggy. “The cot gave way.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, leaning forward.
Gavin grunted as he stood, staring at the mess on the floor. “Well, I am in better shape than my cot.”
With her previous exhaustion gone, Abigail pulled the blanket up to her mouth to hide her amusement. She bit her lip but was unable to stop her shoulders from shaking as she laughed silently at the sight.
Gavin glanced toward her, his eyebrows raised accusatorily. “Oh, this is humorous to you, is it?”
“No,” came her muffled response as she pressed the fabric against her mouth harder. A giggle escaped her lips. She eyed his tall stature and broad physique and wondered how the cot had not broken until that night.
She drew in a deep breath, speaking when she’d regained control. “Are you certain you are well?”
“Yes, I believe I’ll live.” He slid a few of the broken pieces off to the side. “Where are the extra cots?”
“Underneath the Kendricks’s servants, I’m afraid.”
“Of course they are,” he muttered. “The floor it shall be then.”
He laid out his blanket upon the hard wood with his pillow on the top.
“You cannot sleep down there, Gavin,” she said. “You will be far too uncomfortable. Not to mention cold.”
“I shall manage.”
He sat down upon the blankets, and she leaned over the side of her bed to better see him. “Why do I not sleep there, and you take my bed? Tonight is your shift for the lamps, so it is only fair you sleep soundly for a few hours at least.”
He glanced at her sidelong. “I think not.”
He lay down, shifting his weight and settling upon the floor. He repeated the motion two more times before sitting upright with an exasperated sigh. “I am going to sleep in the watch room.”
He picked up his blankets and pillow, but Abigail shook her head.
“Gavin, you know it is too cold to sleep comfortably at all up there. Besides, the cot in the watch room is less sturdy than the one you have just flattened down here.”
She bit her lip to keep her laughter at bay.
“Very well, then I shall sleep on the settee in the sitting room.”
“I have it on good authority,” she said, his hand pausing on the door handle, “that one of the servants has taken to sleeping on the very same settee while the rest of the household has gone to bed. In case you have not noticed him sleeping there before.” She paused. “Perhaps he has broken his own cot.”
He scowled at the laughter she could no longer stifle. “Well, I am out of options then. Perhaps I should sleep in the stables, though I assume you take issue with that suggestion, as well?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Then what am I to do?”
She looked down at her own bed. “Why do you not sleep here for the night?”
“I have already said I will not sleep in your bed while you sleep on the…” His brow raised in surprise. “Oh. You would be all right with that?”
Embarrassment flushed through her. What had she just suggested? Of course it was the only logical solution, and her bed was more than large enough for the both of them—but what would he think with her being so forward?
And how was she to even sleep a moment with Gavin so near her?
“It will only be for tonight,” she said, attempting to appear nonchalant, despite her burning cheeks. “And I only offer because I need your help with the lighthouse. Otherwise, your freezing overnight would not matter.”
She wondered if he caught her teasing as he peered over at her with his dark eyes. “I would not wish to impose.”
She shuffled over to the far side of the bed, patting the empty spot next to her. “The only imposition would be if you kept me awake any longer with your indecisiveness. Come along.”
He dropped his blankets on the floor and walked toward her with his pillow. “Very well. If you are certain.”
“I am.”
She lay back on her pillow, tucking her nightdress modestly beneath her, as he lifted the blankets. Cold air slid across her body until he settled down.
The bed creaked.
“May I ask a favor of you?” She stared up at the ceiling, though she could see him watching her from his back.
“Of course.”
“Please try not to break my bed, as well.”
Silence met her until Gavin’s chuckles sounded about the room with her own. When their laughter subsided, the tension between them eased.
“Thank you, Abigail,” Gavin said. “I am far more comfortable here than I would have been on the floor.”
“Well, I could not, in good conscience, allow you to sleep anywhere else.”
Gavin’s eyes focused on her. “You must be careful, Mrs. Kendricks. If you say such things, I may begin to think that you have grown fond of me.”
She turned to face him, and suddenly, her lungs refused to work. She and Gavin were close. Too close. She could see every bit of his face, despite the dim light. His strong jaw, dark hair, his bare chest partially covered by the blankets—her blankets. What had she done, inviting him into her bed? It was far too intimate…and far too tempting.
Her eyes drew to his lips. “Do not flatter yourself, sir. I haven’t grown fond of you.”
Of course, she only said such a thing to quell her racing heart. Unfortunately, it did not work.
“Deny it all you like, my darling,” Gavin said as he nestled further in his pillow. “You have grown fond of me.”
The endearment made her head spin. And when Gavin found her hand next to his above the blanket, he threaded his fingers between hers.
Her skin tingled at his touch, her heart flying as high as the gulls over the sea. How she loved this man lying beside her. How she wished to be honest with him, to tell him the truth about her past. Surely he would listen and understand. Just as he always did.
Of course, now was not the time.
Now, she was going to enjoy the presence of her husband lying next to her, the feel of his hand holding hers.
Still struggling to draw in a deep breath, Abigail returned his grasp and tightened her own.
He stroked his thumb against her skin. “Goodnight, Abigail,” he whisp
ered.
“Goodnight, Gavin.”
With his caress on her hand, and the sound of his deep, steady breathing beside her, Abigail’s eyes drifted to a close.
And her fingers remained intertwined with his until long after they had both fallen fast asleep.
* * *
The next day, the Kendrickses and their servants departed from Golowduyn. Gertrude had dabbed at tears that were not present, and Lionel had observed Abigail with curious eyes.
They left with the promise to return one day, but as their coaches pulled away from the lighthouse, Gavin had exchanged a dubious look with Abigail.
With their house empty once again, Gavin intended on celebrating with his wife. Using the excuse of purchasing more feed for the horses and hens, he’d left for town—while Abigail remained behind to light the lamps for the approaching storm on the horizon.
He rode through St. Just swiftly, hoping to return home before the rain set in, longing to be reunited with Abigail sooner.
The night before, he’d had to practice incredible restraint by simply holding Abigail’s hand as they lay together. She had been so close, so tempting with her auburn hair sprawled out across her pillow, her pink lips ever so inviting.
He would miss Lionel and Gertrude at Golowduyn, but he would miss sharing a bed with his wife more. Though, he hoped that would not be the same forever.
After picking up his orders, he returned to his horse. He opened the small box, peering inside to see the ring—a gold band lined with five stacked turquoise gems—that he’d had made for Abigail weeks before. He’d wanted to give her a ring on the day of their wedding but decided to have something special made when they had more time.
He tucked it securely within the box before sliding it into his saddlebag.
As he glanced over his horse, his eyes fell upon Mrs. Rennalls walking down the street in his direction. She was deep in conversation with Mrs. Maddern, a middle-aged woman in their parish. By the looks on their faces, they appeared to be sharing some sordid manner of gossip—probably learned from last night’s assembly—and Gavin did not wish to become involved.
He wanted to return to Abigail.
Without another thought, he ducked low, feigning to examine his horse’s back leg as the women passed by.
“We should not be surprised,” he heard Mrs. Maddern say, “what with the behavior of her uncle.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Rennalls said. “But still, it is all rather disturbing. I do not know how Mrs. Kendricks can ever leave Golowduyn, knowing the truth about her past.”
A warning flared in Gavin’s mind. Everything within him told him to stop listening, to get away from the women’s gossip as quickly as possible. But he froze.
“Are you certain it is even true?”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Stedman has confirmed it herself,” Mrs. Rennalls said. “And it is easy enough to believe. Mrs. Abigail Kendricks is, quite assuredly, the daughter of a drunken gentleman and his scullery maid.”
Shock pulsed through Gavin’s body. He could hardly breathe.
The women continued down the street, neither of them appearing aware that they had been overheard.
But their words spun around in Gavin’s mind. He had suspected that Abigail’s parents were the source of her reticence regarding her past, but he had never allowed himself to speculate for long. After all, he had thought Abigail would trust him enough to share more by now.
So why had she not?
He felt like he was walking through a fog, his legs heavy as he heaved himself onto his horse.
“Captain?”
He shook his head. He could not speak. He needed to get to Golowduyn, to Abigail. He needed to speak with her.
But the voice called again. “Captain Kendricks?”
Harris? He recognized his voice now. Gavin turned his attention to the approaching lieutenant. “What is it?”
“Captain, I needed to…Are you well?”
“Yes, but I need to return to Golowduyn.”
“Of course,” Harris said, though his eyes were wary. “I will not take up much of your time. I simply thought you should know, Myles Sanders was seen here again last evening. In the tavern.”
Gavin tried to focus. Myles had returned? He groaned.
“Sir? Are you certain you are well?”
“Yes. Thank you for telling me. Please, keep an eye on him as best you can. I…I need to get back to the lighthouse.”
Gavin did not wait for a response, merely led his horse forward, moving the quickest way through town, though his movements hardly registered as he thought of Abigail.
He recalled the moment long ago when she had finally agreed to their marriage. She had been about to tell him something—this certainly must have been it.
He had pressed her not to speak until she was ready to do so, and he still stood by that decision. He did not want to pressure her, to force her to tell him anything out of guilt.
He had wanted Abigail to tell him because she wanted to. Because she trusted him—because she loved him.
And the knowledge that she didn’t was what caused the ache in his heart the most.
* * *
Abigail hummed a simple tune as she arranged a few wildflowers in a vase. Having gathered them just as the rain began, droplets still clung to the yellow petals. The vibrancy they brought into the room outshone even the dark clouds outside.
After lighting the lamps, and with the Honeysetts having the day off—deciding it only fair after their hard work during the Kendricks’s visit—Abigail had taken it upon herself to make a quick meal for her and Gavin to enjoy when he returned. The smell of warm bread wafted through the house as it cooled on the table.
She glanced up from the flowers as a movement across the window caught her eye. Gavin was leading his horse into the stables.
Quickly, she went about gathering the final touches of the meal—butter, marmalade, and a bowl of fruit. She finished, waiting at the window until she saw him emerge from the stable, his top hat low as he ducked his head in the rain.
The door opened, and she waited for his familiar greeting as she twisted the vase to look better at a different angle.
Silence met her.
“Gavin? I hope you did not get too wet in the rain. The storm certainly came in quickly.”
There was a pause. “Yes, it did.”
She left the dining room in search of him. “I made bread, if you are hungry.”
She found him in the sitting room, standing at the window with his back turned toward her. His jacket hung over a chair, dripping onto the floor. The shoulders of his waistcoat were wet.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. But then, why did he not turn to face her? And why did he not speak?
“Did something happen while you were in town? More word of Myles, perhaps?”
Thunder sounded, a low, prolonged rumbling, and Gavin turned toward her. When his eyes fell upon her, her heart sank.
“Gavin?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper.
“Why, Abigail?”
She fidgeted with her fingers. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you not tell me?”
Her chin trembled. She could not play the fool, nor could she allow Gavin to feel like one. “I tried. Before our marriage. I tried to tell you. But you said I did not have to. Not until I was ready.”
“I know,” he said. “And I meant it. Before we were married, you would have told me the truth out of obligation. So why, after all our time together, did you not tell me sooner?”
“I was afraid, Gavin. And I only grew more afraid as time passed because…” The pain in his eyes pierced her soul, and her breath caught in her throat. “I’m sorry, Gavin,” she whispered, and she fled from the house.
“Abigail, wait!”
But she couldn’t. She slammed the door behind her, raising her skirts to her knees and running freely across the grass on the cliffside. Rain and tears streamed down her face. Why had she not to
ld Gavin the truth sooner? Why did she not take courage and speak the words the moment he’d offered his hand in marriage, like she’d intended?
But the truth had become more difficult to say the closer they had drawn to each other. And now, she was too late.
She slid down to the beach, her pace slowing as soon as she reached the water. Waves crashed onto the shore in gray and white droves. The wind sprayed the mist high into the air at each waves’ crest.
The sound of the water rushing toward her enveloped her senses. But it did not dull the ache in her heart.
She tried to convince herself that she was strong and independent. That she could move on from this alone. But the words were feeble attempts to mollify her fears. Would Gavin leave her now that he knew the truth? He certainly had every right to.
She was dishonest. She was an illegitimate child. And she was unworthy of being married to a captain of the navy—to a gentleman as good as Gavin.
As she caught sight of Golowduyn glowing above, a numbness crept over her. The structure stood strong in the storm. Tall grass thrashed back and forth against it, and rain assailed the windows. Yet still, its light shone, warning captains of the danger that awaited them should they stray too close to the shore.
Why had Gavin not followed the warning? If only he had stayed away, he could have saved himself from the misery and heartache she had caused him. He could have married a woman worthy of his love, not one who had used his wealth and good nature to her advantage.
A great wave slammed into the sand before her, water reaching her boots and lifting her skirts to her calves, but she remained where she was. After all, what did it matter if her boots and dress were ruined by the salty sea? What did it matter if her feet numbed from the cold?
The lighthouse, her home, her way of life and source of income—none of it mattered without Gavin. None of it mattered but Gavin. She should have put him before all else instead of focusing so greatly on her own fears—of losing the lighthouse, of Mrs. Stedman’s words, and of her past being revealed. She had allowed herself to become careless in her regard of him.
And she bitterly regretted her selfishness.
“Abigail?”
Behind The Light 0f Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1) Page 25
