Always the Bridesmaid

by E K Murdoch, Emily

  Neither of them spoke until Tabitha said quietly, “It must have been a shock.”

  “I do not think there is anything more shocking for a young man to lose all respect for his father. To tell the truth, he has been a devastating influence on the family fortunes. ’Tis only due to our name and the history of that name that we still manage to garner any respect in the nobility.”

  “But you have been duke for three years. You must have gained back some respect, even if it is for yourself.”

  Richard laughed bitterly. “I think the respect I wanted the most was self-respect. The last few weeks has changed how I think about myself far more than the last three years.”

  He knew his words were inadequate, unable to describe what she had done for him, but he had to try. His hand gently caressed the small of her back.

  “You have made me believe,” he said quietly, “for the first time in ten years that perhaps being a father is not something I have to deprive myself of. Perhaps I do not have to shy away from it. Perhaps, one day, I can embrace it.”

  It felt strange to say such words aloud, a new kind of vulnerability. Tabitha chuckled against his side. Her hand moved and touched her stomach.

  “Well, you never know,” she said in a laughing whisper. “We may find out soon whether you shy away from it or embrace it.”

  Something lurched painfully in Richard’s stomach: a mixture of fear, excitement, and confusion. But it died away. There was something so perfect about the two of them together. Something that allowed him to drift off to sleep without a care in the world.

  Chapter Twelve

  Soft light poured lazily through a window with no curtains. The light reached a young woman lying under a blanket on a narrow bed.

  Tabitha was dragged from sleep and into the cold of morning.

  She opened her eyes. The light was far brighter than normal. Her dark, green satin curtains were not there. She was also not in her bed, and she had absolutely no recollection of how she had got here.

  The sensation of rough linen sheets told her two things. Firstly, she was absolutely not at home. Secondly, she was not wearing any clothes.

  This latter thought sparked her awake like nothing else could, and she sat up suddenly, looking around the strange room. There were no clues about the owner of the room, and bile rose in Tabitha’s throat as she tried to keep her breathing calm. The memories of where she was and how she had got there would eventually surface.

  She took a deep breath, clutching the blanket to her. What was the last thing she could remember?

  Closing her eyes, she breathed out slowly. She had found the invitation to Richard’s ball when she had returned home. That was it, she had rushed to get ready and found herself on the steps of his home within the hour. She had seen him, met his sister again, and they’d danced together.

  Her hand burned at the mere memory of him holding it, the echoes of the musicians resounding.

  The dancing had not continued long. He had dragged her to the library, kissed her like no one had ever kissed her, and asked her the question she had been desperately hoping he would.

  Tabitha, will you make me very happy?

  Her cheeks grew hot as the recollection of their lovemaking filtered through her mind, and her body arched at the memory of the wonderful things he had made her feel.

  I am going to kiss every single inch of you. But first, I am going to tease you.

  She drew her knees to her chin and pulled the blanket closer around her, attempting to block out the cold. A smile crept over her face. She was engaged. Engaged to be married, something she had thought would never come. Engaged to Richard, a man she truly loved! Engaged to the Duke of Axwick!

  Her stomach lurched. Marrying Richard would not just mean becoming his wife. It would mean becoming the next Duchess of Axwick.

  But where was Richard?

  She glanced around. No clothes to suggest he had just left the room, no letter explaining he needed to go downstairs to greet someone, or even speak to his sister and explain their disappearance from the ball—a disappearance, now she came to think about it, which must have been commented on by his guests.

  The Duke of Axwick left his own ball and in the company of a young lady?

  There would undoubtedly be some talk, but there was nothing for it. She would have to endure it until the secret of their engagement could be told.

  A sudden hope leapt in Tabitha’s heart: could he have left his signet ring? It would make such a wonderful reminder of their engagement, even if she could not wear it in public. Just to have it would remind her of their mutual affection.

  Holding the blanket to her, Tabitha left the bed and examined the room. It did not take long. There was no ring.

  She returned to the bed. Why had he not waited for her to wake before he had left? Why had he not woken her himself?

  What time was it? There was no clock, and the wintery daylight could mean any time. Perhaps Richard had not been able to wait. Perhaps he had urgent business to attend to.

  He was the sixteenth Duke of Axwick, Tabitha reminded herself with a smile. He was a very important man.

  She sighed. Rising to her feet and keeping the blanket wrapped around her for warmth, she moved to the window. It was only when she saw the stables, servants walking with purpose carrying heavy boxes or calling out instructions, that she realized she must be in a servant’s bedroom.

  At that exact moment, Tabitha heard the chimes. There must be a stable clock out of sight, and she counted the chimes—nine, ten, eleven.

  Eleven o’clock! No wonder he had become bored of waiting for her to wake. She had slept the morning away—and how would she explain this to her mother, if she had gone upstairs at home to see how her daughter was recovering from the ball?

  Tabitha dropped the blanket and started scrabbling into her clothes. To think she may be found out by her own mother just because she had slept too long!

  It was awkward trying to tie herself into her corset. There was no looking glass in the room, and Tabitha felt uncomfortable at wearing her gown from the ball—but she had little choice.

  All she had to do was creep downstairs, unseen save for a sympathetic servant who could ready the carriage, and take the back stairs at home so her mother would not see her. It was most rebellious of her. If she had heard of another young lady of the ton acting in such a way, Tabitha would have been scandalized.

  Bloody hell, Tabitha, I had no chance with you, did I?

  She smiled. He was worth it, her handsome and caring duke. The more she learned of him, the more she saw the damaged and broken man underneath the strong façade, the more she loved him. Every second with him was agony and ecstasy, and she craved him like nothing else.

  The impossible task of getting home started here—she opened the door a crack.

  Peeking out, she could see no servants. She walked along the corridor softly, grateful her dancing shoes of soft leather were silent, found the narrow staircase, and traipsed down, opening the secret door into the library.

  The soft light poured into the large windows, and there was a fire in the grate throwing a brighter light around the room. All was quiet, and Tabitha breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the secret door and stepped into the room.

  Lady Charlotte was seated by the fire, utterly absorbed by a book. Tabitha’s mouth opened in horror—and Lady Charlotte looked up.

  The book fell to the floor with a loud thud as Lady Charlotte exclaimed in a horrified voice, “Miss Chesworth!”

  Tabitha flushed and dropped into an inelegant curtsey. “Lady Charlotte, I do apologize for startling you.”

  “B-but you—I thought you had gone home last night!” Lady Charlotte stared at her as though she was a ghost, and then pink crept into her cheeks as understanding dawned.

  “You must not be mortified on my behalf, Lady Charlotte, although I…I thank you for your concern. Your brother Richard and I are…we have an understanding.”

  It was beyond
frustrating she could not share the truth with Lady Charlotte, but Richard had been very clear: it was to be a secret. But surely his sister would understand what she meant?

  But instead of rising from her chair and greeting her warmly like a friend, or even smiling and saying how happy the news of her brother’s engagement made her, Lady Charlotte did neither. She did nothing at all. She simply sat there, staring at Tabitha.

  “An understanding,” Tabitha said quietly, in case the words had not yet sunk in. “He asked me a…a question, and I have said yes.”

  Lady Charlotte shifted in her chair uncomfortably. Tabitha found to her surprise that this irked her; was she not to be congratulated by her new sister?

  “You are not pleased,” she said quietly.

  Lady Charlotte’s smile did not waver, but her eyes looked concerned. “Do not misunderstand me, Miss Chesworth. I mean no disrespect by my silence. It is just…well, I know my brother, and please do not be offended when I say I likely know him better, and I believe I know exactly what sort of an understanding you have with him. I cannot help but say I am sorry for it.”

  Tabitha swallowed. It was impossible to deny that Richard had sworn never to marry, for had he not declared it to her the very first time they had met?

  Just because his sister had not heard his new promises from his own mouth, that did not mean he did not say them—or mean them.

  She smiled, though a little awkwardly. “Any gentleman is permitted to change his mind, Lady Charlotte.”

  “Indeed he is,” agreed Charlotte too quickly.

  A prickly sort of silence grew between them. Despite her words, it was clear Richard’s sister was not convinced he would change his mind on this matter, and that she, Tabitha, was likely to be delusional.

  She stifled a laugh. Delusional? How could she have misunderstood his words? Did his sister think she would have willingly given her body, her innocence, unless she had been offered marriage?

  “I wonder,” said Tabitha quietly, breaking the silence, “whether you could lend me a pelisse or greatcoat to cover my…my gown. And perhaps your carriage, so I can return home?”

  The last thing she wanted were the gossips of Bath to see her returning home in a gown she had been wearing the evening before. She needed something to hide it, and she had not thought it would be too difficult a request, but Lady Charlotte had colored.

  “I am afraid to say we do not have a carriage at present,” she said awkwardly. “But I will ask Matthews to call one for you, and you may take your pick of any pelisse or greatcoat I can offer you.”

  It was a kind offer, but Tabitha did not understand why Lady Charlotte denied the existence of a carriage. She was the sister of a duke for goodness sake—and no carriage?

  But there were more pressing matters to accomplish. She needed to return home.

  “Thank you.” She smiled graciously.

  Lady Charlotte inclined her head in response and pulled at the bell by the fireplace. It was several minutes before any servant arrived, and they were uncomfortable ones. Tabitha had not been invited to be seated and so stood, while Lady Charlotte stared, completely dumbfounded.

  Eventually Matthews opened the door from the hallway. “My lady?”

  “Matthews,” Lady Charlotte said with relief. “My friend Miss Chesworth stayed here last night as she was too fatigued to make the journey home. Please call for a carriage and arrange for her to borrow a pelisse or such like.”

  Tabitha flushed slightly at the lie she had forced Lady Charlotte to tell but smiled gratefully at the butler, who bowed.

  “Miss Chesworth. If you will come this way.”

  Tabitha hesitated. She should explain herself better to Lady Charlotte. She should tell her the realizations Richard had come to, what they had shared about their lives, the honesty and vulnerability they had offered each other.

  But Lady Charlotte was picking up her book from the floor where it had fallen and did not seem to have any interest in continuing their rather stilted conversation.

  Tabitha curtsied and stepped to follow Matthews into the hallway. Before the door had closed behind her, she looked back and saw Lady Charlotte seated in the chair with the book in her lap, unopened. She was staring into the distance, and she did not look happy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tabitha slipped as she reached the bottom stair, the stone floor still wet from the morning’s scrub. She hardly noticed. After an afternoon and evening of recovery, waking in her own bed had felt, somehow, wrong. Her heart had ached whenever she thought of what happened yesterday.

  Every step and breath felt different. On entering the breakfast room, she attempted to calm herself, sure her mother would immediately suspect something—perhaps even the truth…

  “I left the letter out for you,” Mrs. Chesworth said absentmindedly.

  Tabitha jumped as she dropped into a chair. “Letter?”

  Her mother looked up from her breakfast with a confused expression. “I told you, I am sending a letter to Mabel—Mrs. Perry, as she is now. There is a small amount of space at the bottom, and I thought you would like to express your affection for her and save on the paper, too.”

  Her gaze dropped down to her newspaper as Tabitha smiled. After years of poverty and going without, of attempting to keep up appearances while they kept the debtors away from their door…

  Old habits died hard. She and her mother had always sent letters together, especially as postage costs were high. Even now, with her dowry safe and secure, and their leisure time their own, her mother’s instinct was to save a few pennies.

  “Thank you, Mama,” she said aloud. There was indeed a letter open before her, the paper covered with her mother’s strong hand, which ended about three inches before the end. A quill and ink pot were beside it.

  All thought of hunger forgotten, Tabitha reached for the quill and tried to organize her thoughts into something coherent. How to express what had occurred to her over the last few weeks; it was incredible to think just how much had happened since she had seen Mabel.

  Why, it had been her wedding when she had first met Richard, the man she loved.

  “Make haste,” her mother’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Keytes is waiting for it.”

  Tabitha nodded and started to pour out her thoughts as best she could.

  Dearest Mabel,

  Just a few words from me as I close Mama’s letter. I ache to see you, for I have so much to tell you that mere written words are not enough to encapsulate how I feel! The emotional journey I have been on since I saw you–I cannot express the highs! Just when I had thought all happiness may elude me, I have to admit, I have met a gentleman, and we are engaged! No mention of this to another soul, I beg you, for it is the most delightful secret. By the time you have returned, the news will be out. I cannot wait to introduce him formally, and until then, I pray you enjoy the Continent and bring back plenty of exciting stories for me.

  Your loving cousin,

  Tabitha

  She looked carefully at her words. No, there was nothing there which could possibly give away the identity of her betrothed—and she simply had to tell someone. The secret was burning inside her, and just writing down those few words dampened the flames somewhat.

  “I have finished the letter, Mama,” she said quietly. “Shall I close it for you?”

  Her mother was so engrossed in her newspaper that she did not even look up but nodded silently. Tabitha smiled. Her mother did love her gossip pages.

  But before Tabitha had placed the letter in the envelope and sealed it, her thoughts were interrupted by a pointed question.

  “Did you see?” Mrs. Chesworth held the Bath Chronicle and waved it at her daughter. “Did you see, Tabitha?”

  Surely it was impossible for the gossips of the ton to have guessed…but they had disappeared from Richard’s ball and were not seen for the rest of the evening.

  “See what, exactly?” she managed in a croaky voice, taking her seat at the br
eakfast table and dropping her gaze to focus on unfolding her napkin.

  Her mother’s eyes were narrow when Tabitha looked back up again. “You coughed. Do you have a cough, Tabitha?”

  It was so like her mother to be concerned about her health even when there was no reason to be. More importantly, if she had read something scandalous about her daughter, her mother would not have been easily distracted by a cough.

  “I am quite well, Mother.” She helped herself to two eggs. “Now tell me, what have you read?”

  Mrs. Chesworth smoothed out the paper excitedly and passed it over. “The latest intrigue on Lord Byron!”

  Tabitha glanced at the paper. There was a large marmalade stain across the page, but through the orange stickiness, she could see an outrageous headline promising all the details on page seventeen.

  “It is a wonder the papers are able to keep up with him,” she said dryly. “He leads an exhausting life. I am not sure whether I would have the patience.”

  “Oh,” scolded her mother, turning back to her breakfast, “anyone with a title can do what they like, but Lord Byron is unlike anyone else, Tabitha, you must see that. Why, I heard from Mrs. Bryant the other day…”

  Mrs. Chesworth’s appetite for gossip frequently overwhelmed her desire for food, so Tabitha was not surprised to see her mother’s teacup paused halfway to her lips as she regaled the tale.

  Tabitha brushed off the marmalade with her napkin and opened the newspaper to page seventeen. There was not much to interest her—announcements of arrivals in Bath and a few engagement notices she determinedly flicked past without reading. It was while scanning for Lord Byron’s name that they caught one far dearer to her: Axwick.

  Her cheeks heated as her gaze raked the paragraph.

  We were intrigued to note, and are pleased to announce a certain young lady, one whom few could have guessed would be walking down the aisle with her own Prince Charming, may be near her wedding day! However, we feel it is our duty to warn this young lady that her prospective groom, the dashing Duke of Axwick, is utterly bankrupt. Could he in fact be about to put the golden ring of wedlock on her fortune, rather than her finger?