by Olivia Drake
“A holiday?” Abby clasped her hands beneath the table. “With all due respect, how do you propose Lady Gwendolyn fill her time? It would be wiser to keep her occupied with studying in order to avoid your … guests.”
“With all due respect, Miss Linton, filling her time is your province, not mine. Though I’ve given her permission to ride in the mornings before my … guests arise.”
She bristled at his sardonic tone. It must be a habit he’d acquired in the city, for he had never been prone to mockery. “I’m surprised you believe riding will be safe for her, given the circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“I understand there’s a monstrous heathen residing in the stables. A giant, or so he was described to me.”
“Ah, Goliath. Don’t fret, he’ll be busy elsewhere in the morning.”
It grated on her to see Rothwell eating so nonchalantly. “Who is he? Your bodyguard? I shouldn’t think you would need one. I’m certain you could ward off any dun collectors with the sheer force of your ducal glare.”
She found herself subjected to that very glare as Rothwell cocked an eyebrow at her. The silence between them pulsed louder than the clinking of dishes, the banging of pans, and the chatter of the maids at work. Then he startled her by chuckling.
“Your sharp tongue should suffice to protect Gwen from any danger. As for Goliath, his real name is Harold Jones, and he happens to be England’s boxing champion. As his sponsor, I must ensure that he trains for a very important match at the end of the week.”
“Prizefighting!” What little Abby knew about the bare-knuckle sport had been gleaned over the years from references made by her brothers and also from hearing occasional talk among the village men. “Isn’t that illegal?”
The duke lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug. “The authorities tend to look away so long as order is maintained.”
“You mean so long as you bribe them. I suppose there will be betting and high stakes involved, too.”
“That is the general notion, yes,” he said, looking sardonically amused by her prim reaction. “However, this is also a celebrated contest between Goliath and Wolfman, who hails from the wild frontiers of America. It shall be our chance as Brits to beat the tar out of the Yanks.”
In spite of herself, Abby felt a tug of unholy interest. Wouldn’t that be an adventure, to infiltrate the crowd, to watch the brutal match, to cheer England as the winner? She scotched the outrageous thought before it could take form. “Then I should presume all your guests are gamblers who intend to wager on the outcome of the fight.”
“And you, Miss Linton, seem determined always to have the worst possible view of me.” Rothwell paused to savor a drink of tea. Setting the mug back down, he continued, “But I confess you would be correct this time.”
His manner had an ironic charm that was far more polished than in his youth. She could see why he was a favorite among the ladies, for she too felt the tug of his allure. But she must not let herself be rattled by his suave style.
“Pray tell me, who are these gamester friends of yours?”
“There are two widowed ladies and two gentlemen. Besides Lady Desmond, there is Mrs. Chalmers, the Earl of Pettibone, and Lord Ambrose Hood.” He dabbed his mouth with a linen serviette. “But you needn’t look quite so prudish. They aren’t so far beyond the pale that they will pose any threat to Gwen. They’re welcome in London drawing rooms except perhaps in those belonging to the highest sticklers.”
Abby remained skeptical. “Nevertheless, I will endeavor to keep Lady Gwendolyn away from them.”
“They’re late risers. So the two of you should be at the stables no later than nine tomorrow morning.”
“I will certainly walk your sister there, of course.”
His gaze sharpened. “You do ride with her, do you not?”
“Actually, no. I’m not much of an equestrian.”
“What? You used to be the most bruising little rider I ever did see.”
There was no need to squirm, Abby told herself, simply because Rothwell had fixed her with a frowning stare. “Yes, well, my mother suffered a fall from a horse fifteen years ago that fractured her hip. It never quite healed properly, and I was kept very busy caring for her. Since she grew terribly alarmed at the thought of me on horseback … I gave it up.”
“Fifteen years? I don’t recall this.”
“It happened in autumn, a few months after you’d left here.”
Abby already had been sunk in the blue devils by Max’s abrupt departure and his failure to write after he had promised faithfully to correspond. The accident had added to her misery, for when her letters went unanswered, she’d had to face the fact that his professions of love had been nothing but a sham.
There was a hardness to his expression now, as if he scorned any reminder of their shared past. “Miss Herrington always accompanied Gwen. My sister may be gently-bred, but every now and again she takes a mind to ride neck-or-nothing.”
“Perhaps she misbehaved when she was younger, but she’s quite grown-up now and a groom always accompanies her. Dawkins is extremely reliable.”
“So, you admit you’re not as qualified as your predecessor.”
Abby refused to snap at his bait. “Since you didn’t intend to hire a new governess just yet, only a groom would have been riding with Lady Gwendolyn, anyway. Besides, Miss Herrington did not teach her everything about proper behavior.”
“Oh?”
“It is the duty of a lady to visit the poor and the infirm. But your sister told me that she’s never done so.”
“She’s been busy with her studies.”
“Charitable works should be a part of every young lady’s training. Only imagine how a visit would cheer a tenant who is confined to bed as an invalid. Or how a poor family would welcome a basket of food and a few kind words from the lady of the manor.”
“I will not have my sister exposed to diseases.”
“Any cottage harboring an infectious ailment can be avoided. And since you have charged me with filling her time, I would propose to take Lady Gwendolyn to visit a few of your tenants tomorrow.”
He stared at her another moment with those keen gray eyes, then gave a brusque nod. “You may do so in the afternoon. Then we shall see if you are a match for the estimable Miss Herrington.”
His championing of her predecessor rubbed Abby raw. It was almost as if he’d taken a personal interest in the woman. Had there been a flirtation between them, perhaps when the pretty governess had accompanied his sister to visit him at holidays? She could think of nothing more dastardly.
Goaded, Abby leaned across the table and said in an undertone, “Yes, she was so estimable that she ran off with her lover.”
His eyebrows lowered in a thunderous look. “Who told you that?”
“It is what Lady Hester believes.”
“Spreading gossip, Miss Linton? I trust you will not repeat such slander to anyone—most especially not to my sister.” His fierce gaze bored into her. “That would be beneath even you.”
He surged to his feet and strode from the kitchen.
His harsh denouncement made Abby regret having mentioned the elopement. Why had she done so? Because he had seemed so inclined to compare her unfavorably to the young and beauteous Miss Herrington? She oughtn’t have let him irk her so.
That would be beneath even you.
The vehemence of his words echoed in her head. What did he mean, even you? What had she ever done but love him, heart and soul? The wrongfulness of his attack threw her off-kilter.
Conscious of the curious glances from the kitchen maids, Abby left the table and went out into the corridor, heading toward the servants’ staircase. She could see only the frostiness of his features, the hardness of his eyes—as if he blamed her for their parting. How could he possibly view himself as the injured party when it was he who had left and never returned? He who had disdained to answer any of her fervent letters?
She had no answe
rs, but one thing was certain. The Max of her youth no longer existed. He was Rothwell now, and he had no heart, no scruples. All trace had vanished of the tender boy who had once vowed to marry her.
* * *
In an unsettled temper, Max headed straight to the conservatory to greet his aunt. He found her humming tunelessly at the spigot by the wall, her stout form bent over to fill a metal container. A smile creased her plump features, and she set down her watering can.
“Maxwell, my dear boy! Is it really you?”
His mood thawed somewhat as he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. At times, she had been more a mother to him than his own mama. “Indeed so. I presume you received the note I sent by courier this morning.”
She blinked owlishly. “Ah, yes. But do you know, I was so busy today that I believe I forgot to tell Gwen!”
“I’ve already seen her. Pray forgive me for bringing a party of friends here on such short notice. It couldn’t be avoided.”
After describing the outbreak of measles at Pettibone’s manor and then warning her about Goliath’s presence, Max gave voice to the subject that needled him. “I understand you’ve engaged a new governess for Gwen.”
“After Miss Herrington left, I hired Margaret Linton’s youngest daughter. A fine, cheerful girl she is, so kind and warmhearted.”
Max clamped his jaw to keep from ranting. Lady Hester knew nothing of what had transpired between himself and Abby in the past, or he’d have told his aunt just how mistaken she was about Abby’s character. It was bad enough having to come back to this house with all its memories, let alone to encounter Abby every time he turned around. His heart had actually skipped a beat when he’d spied her sitting at the table in the kitchen.
That would be beneath even you.
Despite his legendary coolness, he had been unable to bide his tongue in her presence. Fool! Now she would think him still wounded by her refusal to answer his letters all those years ago.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Pray know that I’ve given Miss Linton her notice,” he said curtly. “She’ll be departing at the end of the week.”
“Departing?” Aunt Hester’s blue eyes rounded. “But why?”
“Gwen needs someone familiar with society who can prepare her for her come-out. Besides, she deserves a short holiday from her schoolwork. I explained all this in the note I sent you more than a week ago.”
His aunt fretfully tugged on her gardening gloves. “Yes, I do recall that. But Abigail is almost like family. I made my debut with her mother, you know. Besides, I would be left to entertain the girl when I’ve so much else to do.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over the matter, Auntie,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “I’ll contact an employment agency for a more qualified governess when I return to London next week.”
His aunt gave him a reproachful look, as she’d done when he was a naughty little boy. “Fiddle! Abigail Linton is precisely the sweet, loving companion that Gwen needs. You of all people should know that!”
“Pardon?”
She leaned forward as if to convey a confidence. “On the afternoon of your mama’s funeral, Abigail was waiting for you at the edge of the woods. She held your hand and gave you comfort when you needed it the most. Surely you have not forgotten!”
Max stood stock-still. Aunt Hester had seen them together. Yet all these years she’d never breathed a word.
His mind hurtled back to that black day. He had lagged behind as the mourners had returned to the house after the burial in the private chapel. Then he had dashed across the lawn to where Abby had been waiting. He could still feel his desperation to reach the warm sanctuary of her arms …
The shuffle of footsteps snapped him back to the present. He turned to see a stooped figure advancing through the jungle of greenery. Finchley made a creaky bow. “A message, Your Grace. It seemed best to bring it myself.”
But the butler didn’t offer the scrap of folded paper that lay on a silver salver. His manner conspiratorial, he jerked his grizzled head toward the door. “Best to come at once, if you please.”
Max bade a terse farewell to his aunt, who had picked up the watering can again and tipped the spout over a plant. Striding away, he joined Finchley, who was glancing up and down the corridor as if expecting a murderer to pounce at any moment.
“Good God, man. What is the point of this melodrama?”
Finchley merely nodded at the folded paper.
Max snatched the note from the tray. Upon breaking the wafer and reading the brief message, he frowned in exasperated surprise. Here was a circumstance he had not anticipated. Word of his return certainly had traveled fast, his coach having been spotted in the village.
He looked up to see Finchley observing him closely. “I presume you saw who brought this.”
“A veiled lady, Your Grace, scratching on my door whilst the staff was having their tea. She knew right when to come and not be seen, that she did. Didn’t fool me, not a wink. ’Twas that absconder, Miss Herrington!”
Max ignored the inflammatory description. “No one else saw her?”
“Nay, milord, but if I might ask why she’s come back after leaving Lady Gwen on a moment’s notice—”
“You may ask nothing,” Max stated, tucking the note into an inner pocket of his coat. “Nor will you mention this encounter to anyone at all.”
Chapter 6
The following morning, shortly before nine, Abby walked with Lady Gwendolyn along a graveled pathway lined by hawthorn trees. The girl had a decided spring to her steps. The day had dawned cloudless and bright, the sky washed clean by the previous afternoon’s rain. Golden shafts of sunlight dried the few remaining puddles.
The stable compound was situated a discreet distance from the house. It was the very picture of bucolic prosperity, with an enormous horse barn painted red with gleaming white trim and a brick carriage house, along with outbuildings and paddocks where grooms were exercising the horses.
Nearing the open doors of the stable, Lady Gwendolyn could no longer contain herself. “May I please go ahead, Miss Linton?”
Abby smiled. “Of course.”
As the girl darted inside, slim and elegant in her blue riding habit, she called over her shoulder, “Oh, do come and see! Brimstone is here to visit!”
Brimstone?
Abby stepped inside the dim interior, blinking to adjust her eyes after the brilliant sunlight. Lady Gwendolyn had rushed past Pixie, the small gray mare being saddled by a bandy-legged groom named Dawkins. She had gone straight to a stall midway down the long row. There, she fussed over a gigantic black horse with its head poked over the half-door, stroking the perked ears and patting the glossy neck.
Abby approached them, stopping a prudent distance away. Her heart beat faster and her palms felt damp, but she kept her voice steady. “I gather this is Brimstone.”
“Isn’t he a beauty? He belongs to my brother. But Max says he’s too dangerous for any lady to ride.” She dug into her pocket. “Would you like to feed him some sugar?”
“That’s quite all right. You go ahead.”
“How silly you are, Miss Linton.” Gwendolyn giggled as Brimstone nuzzled her gloved palm for the lumps of sugar. “He won’t harm you, I promise he won’t.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
It was beyond silly; it was illogical, this wariness that she’d developed around horses. Abby didn’t quite understand it, for she had ridden since she was scarcely out of leading strings. And it hadn’t been she who’d taken a nasty tumble, but Mama. Yet somehow, her anxiety was all tangled up in that dreadful autumn fifteen years ago when her life had changed forever.
Lady Gwendolyn returned to her gray mare, lavishly patting Pixie to make up for not having greeted her at once. The horse was fed a share of sugar; then the groom led the animal to the mounting block for Gwendolyn to lift herself into the sidesaddle and arrange her skirts.
A few minutes later, Abby wav
ed good-bye as the girl set off along the trail leading to the lake with Dawkins following on a chestnut gelding. In light of Rothwell’s scold, she felt a little guilty not to be accompanying Lady Gwendolyn, even though it was unnecessary. She very much disliked being made to feel she was inadequate for the post of governess.
Their conversation in the kitchen the previous afternoon had kept her tossing and turning for half the night. The wrongfulness of his criticism, the severity of his words, had played over and over in her head.
That would be beneath even you.
Nothing could be more baffling or more unmerited. Why would he lash out at her as if she was at fault for their parting? He was the one who had gone away, the one who had never replied to her letters, the one who’d never fulfilled the vow he had made to her on the afternoon of his mother’s funeral.
She’d waited for hours at the edge of the woods, watching the stately house and hoping to catch a glimpse of Max. Much to her dismay, only close family members had been allowed to attend the burial. When at last he hurried across the lawn, he looked more dejected than she’d ever seen him.
She took his cold hands in hers, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Oh, Max, I’m so very sorry. If only I could have been there.”
“Never mind. Come, before someone sees us.”
Hand in hand, they ran deep into the woods to their secret place, a glade beside a burbling stream, where a little outcropping sheltered them from view. Only then did he speak again. “I’m leaving,” he said abruptly. “My father is taking Gwen and me to London tomorrow.”
“To London! But when will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. At the holidays, perhaps. He’s keeping me out of school this term, too, so I won’t be able to sneak away to visit you.”
He looked so miserable that she opened her arms to him. “I’ll write to you often, I promise!”
“Tell me that you love me, Abby,” he whispered fiercely into her hair. “I need to hear you say it.”
