by Lisa Reisner
She made a promise to herself to stop at nothing until she discredited the little wench who dared aspire to something so well above her station.
Chapter 18
Abigail fastened the sparking emeralds to her ears and admired her reflection in the mirror. They went splendidly with the tiny daisies that were embroidered in the bodice of her yellow taffeta gown. Typically, she would have been a tad overdressed for the morning, but Marcus had planned a small breakfast celebration for her birthday.
Abigail yawned and her smile turned into a frown. She had tossed and turned all night long after returning from the Crowley masquerade, her mind racing with terrible thoughts.
On the one hand, she feared for her safety. If Clayton discovered her deception, Lord only knows what cruelty was in store for her; goose bumps rose on her arms as she contemplated the unsavory possibilities. However, there was something far more disturbing brewing in the pit of her stomach.
Guilt. The thought of Marcus discovering her identity was enough to make her want to heave the entire contents of her stomach into a chamber pot. She hated herself for lying to him, especially after last night. He had made her feel so cherished and safe. All she wanted was to stay in his arms forever and pretend her past was just an awful nightmare.
When Marcus discovered her scar, she had desperately wanted to tell him the truth, but was afraid she would never again see tenderness in his eyes for her. She knew he had been deceived before and would surely hate her if he found out the truth. Moreover, she had too much pride to explain that she had practically been treated like an animal. Marcus saw her as a strong, independent woman and her spirit rebelled against the idea of him thinking of her as a pathetic weakling. Normally, she covered the scar with skin colored paints, but didn’t last night because she never would have expected the impromptu tryst at the masquerade. Abigail cursed herself for not being more prepared.
What in the world was she going to do? Jane had written to inform her that she was trying to find her a safe place to hide if Clayton was informed of her subterfuge, but she knew any haven would only be a temporary reprieve from Clayton’s wrath. From Mr. Stone’s perspective, she had a bit more time until she might be found out, so she took a deep breath and arose from her dressing table. For now, Abigail was going to enjoy the rest of her time here.
The house seemed very quiet as she made her way down the stairs. The only sign of life was the delicious smell of Eggs Florentine, bacon and freshly baked rolls coming from the dining room. Suddenly hungry, she opened the door and was in awe of the sight that greeted her.
“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”
The room was bursting with freshly cut flowers and streamers. An enormous buffet breakfast had been prepared and the finest china had been laid out; the smiling faces of the entire staff greeted Abigail.
Olivia stepped forward and squealed “Do you like it? I helped.”
Abigail was speechless as her eyes gazed upon the endearing scene. She had never felt more at home or part of a family as she did in this very moment. She ran to Olivia and gave her a fierce hug. “It is wonderful. I don’t deserve it.”
Grumman grinned as he stepped forward. “I speak for the entire staff when I say we all think you do, Miss Jenner. Lord Everton insisted on everything being perfect.”
Abigail searched for Marcus in the crowd and found him standing next to an enormous flower arrangement. He looked very pleased with himself.
“Lord Everton, you shouldn’t have,” Abigail protested as she looked solemnly in his eyes. There was something so painfully bittersweet and poignant about this moment that she had to do something to make the atmosphere lighthearted. She turned to Mrs. O’Brien, who was stationed near an enormous sheet cake, which spelled out Happy Birthday Abigail in pink icing. “Of course, the sugary cake was quite necessary.” Her blithe statement caused the entire room to erupt in laughter.
Marcus spoke to his staff. “I insist that everyone have some cake and enjoy themselves. There is plenty of time later to complete your household tasks.”
It was not at all common place for the master of the house to celebrate with his servants. Most noblemen treated the underclass with haughty disdain, but Marcus was an exception. From the other side of the room, she heard him ask after the welfare of the stable master’s family. Abigail’s heart swelled when she heard the genuine concern in his voice. He was so special, and she knew in that moment she loved him with all of her being. How was she ever going to leave him?
The party had been underway for over thirty minutes when she finally had the chance to come face to face with the man who was responsible for throwing the biggest birthday celebration of her life. “You really outdid yourself, my lord. How will I ever repay you?”
Marcus bent down to whisper in her ear. “I am sure we can think of something.”
Abigail was about to comment on his wicked remark when an elegantly dressed stranger entered the room. The merry party turned to look at him and went silent, obviously curious to the stranger’s identity. The man spoke up as if he sensed their interest. “Please excuse my intrusion, but I come on behalf of the King. My name is John McMahon and I am one of his top advisors.”
Marcus made his way through the crowd. “I am Lord Marcus Everton, Earl of Denby. May I be of some assistance?”
“Actually, yes. Can you help me locate a Miss Abigail Jenner?”
Marcus seemed dumbfounded by his inquiry and the entire staff appeared nervous with the idea of the King requesting Miss Jenner’s presence. “May I ask why you need to find her?”
Mr. McMahon smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Miss Jenner’s apothecary skills have become quite legendary. The King has developed a nasty case of gout and seeks her services immediately.”
“I am Miss Jenner,” Abigail said, stepping forward. Her mind swirled with the actual possibility of meeting the King of England. She turned to Marcus. “This isn’t some sort of birthday practical joke, is it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mr. McMahon answered. “The King was very adamant about meeting with you. You see, none of his doctors have been able to treat his condition properly and the pain he feels has become quite unbearable.” Mr. McMahon surveyed Miss Jenner’s appearance. Abigail had the feeling Mr. McMahon thought she was way too young to treat the King of England. “Do you think you are up for the challenge, Miss Jenner?”
Marcus spoke before Abigail could answer. “I can personally vouch for Miss Jenner’s impressive range of medical knowledge. She will do her very best for the King.”
Marcus’s words of confidence meant more to her than he would ever realize. Clayton had made her feel useless and incapable of doing anything right, but Marcus made her feel like she could conquer the world. Her expression turned serious as she looked at Mr. McMahon. “I will certainly try my hardest.”
“You can do it Abigail. You can do anything,” Olivia shouted with delight, followed by many comments of approval by the staff.
“It will be an honor to gather your supplies,” Grumman offered as he exited the room in search of her grandfather’s medical bag.
“Then it is settled,” Mr. McMahon said. His eyes scanned the room, taken aback by the obvious show of support for “their” Miss Jenner. “She will be brought back to you, safe and sound, before nightfall.”
The show of support from the entire staff nearly brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you for making my birthday so memorable. I will never forget this day,” Abigail said to everyone as she followed Mr. McMahon though the door. She gave one last meaningful glance to Marcus. “I will try to make you very proud.”
Marcus went to a large window to watch Abigail get inside a very ornate carriage. His eyes narrowed on the King’s golden crest and several horsemen dressed in the finest livery. “I already am,” he whispered to himself.
So deep in thought, he did not hear Mrs. O’Brien turn to one of the laundresses and say, “It was a long time coming, but I think the Earl has finally fou
nd his countess.”
∞
“Are you sure she is the healer everyone is talking about? She is practically still in leading strings,” King George bellowed at Mr. McMahon. He put a quizzing glass over one eye to examine Abigail further. “You are quite a pretty little thing, aren’t you my child? I imagine you lead all the young gentlemen in a merry chase.”
Abigail was speechless as she dropped into a low curtsy before the King. Everything rumored about the decadent and lavish lifestyle of King George was mirrored in the scene before her.
King George was lying in his enormous Chippendale style four poster bed, with a canopy made from heavy red velvet and columns finished in gold. His foot was propped up on a large silver satin pillow and three servants were busy fanning him to keep him at the perfect temperature. Chocolate biscuit crumbs were falling on his expensive silk dressing gown as he munched on some of his favorite treats.
“Well don’t just stand there and do nothing. I’m in terrible agony for heaven’s sake,” the King declared. “You were supposed to have cured me by now and my time is very precious.”
Abigail spoke quickly, willing to say anything to soothe his temper. “Please forgive me, Your Majesty, but I think I was temporarily silenced by your greatness. In my entire life I never dreamed I would meet the King of England.”
King George seemed to be mollified by Abigail’s flattery. “I guess that is understandable. I would imagine anyone would be awe struck if they were in your current situation.” Abigail hid her smile. King George certainly had an inflated opinion of himself. “However, I demand that you put your adoration aside and treat my illness. Of course, I highly doubt a mere woman could ease my suffering.”
“At once, Your Highness. You should realize I learned everything I know about healing from my grandfather. He was an excellent physician,” Abigail offered. Inwardly, she despised the King’s chauvinistic attitude, but she thought he would be more amenable to her suggestions if he knew they were coming from a male doctor.
Abigail quickly recalled everything her grandfather had taught her about gout. She walked over to the bed to inspect his foot. “Are you having any back pain?”
“How did you know?” King George shifted in his bed and took a large gulp of wine. “It’s like someone is snapping hot reeds on my spine.”
“Back pain is often associated with your condition.” Abigail reached into her medicine bag and spoke to one of the footman. “The King will need a large supply of cherry juice over the next weeks. Can you fetch some cherries from the market or from nearby farms? It is a bit early in the season for them, but I am sure with the King’s influence you can gather up enough.”
The King watched the footman leave the room to do her bidding. “I find it hard to believe that cherry juice is going to improve my dreadful state.”
“Cherry juice alone would not be much help.” Abigail pulled out a jar filled with green powder. “But this will. It’s the root of the colchicum plant. I will have your servants mix a spoonful with a glass of cherry juice, three times daily and you will feel better by the end of the week.”
The King looked skeptical. “It sounds too good to be true. Is there anything else I need to do?”
Abigail nodded and handed him a piece of paper. “I took the liberty of compiling a list of foods to avoid that will prevent any future outbreaks.”
The King’s eyes bulged when he scanned the list. “You cannot be serious. No red wine. Are you insane? What will I drink with my meals?” The King continued reading the list. “No mutton or lobster. What will I eat to sustain myself?”
Abigail tried her best to steal her gaze away from his enormous belly. Clearly, it was a rare occasion for the King to deny himself the pleasure of a good meal. “I will instruct the kitchen to make tasty dishes to hasten your recovery. The sacrifice will be worth it, Your Majesty.”
Abigail grinned. The King looked like an eight-year-old who was not allowed to eat anymore cookies.
“Very well, but this better work.”
“I will stake my grandfather’s reputation as a physician on it,” Abigail replied with confidence. Over the course of the next hour, Abigail instructed the servants and the kitchen staff about what needed to be done.
After her duty to the King was completed, she climbed into the carriage, eager to see Marcus. She could not wait to regale him with the details of her encounter with King George. Abigail knew he would find the entire exchange to be as comical as she did.
Abigail forced a smile. She looked outside the carriage window and watched Windsor Palace fade away in the distance. She refused to let the demons that lurked in the shadows take this special moment away from her. They had already taken quite enough.
Chapter 19
“I took the liberty of setting up a meeting with the Waverly brothers. They have a few new prospects I thought may interest us,” Jordan said, noticing that Marcus appeared distracted. “If you’re not up for a business discussion, I can always come back later.”
Marcus stood up from his desk and went to pour them both a drink. “That will not be necessary. I am sorry. It seems I am preoccupied with other matters.”
Marcus handed him a scotch and relayed the details of the King’s request this morning.
“You must be joking,” Jordan said in disbelief. “Your governess is currently with the King of England.” Jordan shook his head in amazement and let out a hearty laugh. “No wonder you are crazy for her. The woman can apparently do anything.”
Marcus’s expression turned solemn. “I think I am crazy, Jordan. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Jordan grinned without the least bit of surprise in his countenance. “Well it’s about time. Maybe once you have wedded the girl you will be able to concentrate on your work,” Jordan chided. “It seems that a governess was the answer to all your problems. Once again I am right about everything.”
Marcus had spent the entire night thinking of Abigail. Ever since Marissa’s betrayal, he had never thought he would be able to open his heart up to another woman, but that had all changed with Abigail. She made him so incredibly happy and more importantly, he trusted her completely, especially with Olivia. Abigail would make an excellent mother to Olivia and to any of the children they would bring into the world. The mere possibility of having children with Abigail put a huge grin on his face. Marcus hoped they would all have her stunning eyes and irrepressible spirit.
There would be a small scandal when the ton learned that he was marrying his governess, but Marcus didn’t care; he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He met with his jeweler this morning and commissioned him to create a five-carat emerald ring surrounded by diamonds. He would present it to Abigail when he proposed. Of course, it would take almost a week to be made and he hated having to wait, but it all would be worth it when he saw the surprised look on her face.
“In the future I will constantly remind myself that you are right about everything.” Marcus grinned at Jordan. Although Stephen could not be here to share this special moment, he felt lucky that he had such a good friend in Jordan. “I am not a man that ever needed anyone’s approval, but I would like your blessing on all of this, and I know you’re not too fond of the idea of marriage.”
Jordan looked thoughtfully at Marcus. “While marriage is not right for me, I have never seen you so happy and that is all I want for you. She seems to care for you a great deal and I know you will have a very fine life together.” Jordan paused to take a swig of his drink. “Besides, I will never have children of my own, so I am going to need yours to spoil.”
“I will do my very best to bring those children about as quickly as possible,” Marcus pledged. “Who knows, maybe if you meet the right woman, we will be toasting your engagement one day.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Jordan lifted his glass in toast. “May you and your bride only experience a lifetime of good health and happiness.” Jordan paused, a slow grin appearing on his face. “And to me,
may my new Rembrandt look spectacular in my home.”
Marcus let out a shout of laughter. He had almost forgotten about the bet. He smiled, very thankful he had lost.
∞
Abigail just finished telling Marcus every detail of her time spent with the King when she took another decadent bite of pheasant sautéed in truffle oil. “This dinner was absolutely marvelous. Mrs. O’Brien outdid herself.”
Marcus had planned an intimate birthday dinner. The table was lined with a feast fit for a king. Abigail smiled inwardly; at least a feast fit for a king prior to developing a nasty case of gout. “The King would be outraged to know I have indulged in several of the dishes I had forbidden him to eat. Surely, he would not find it fair.”
Marcus threw his head back and laughed. “Actually, I think it is high time King George concentrated less on indulging and more on governing. In all likelihood he will be remembered as the worst king that England has ever seen.”
Abigail couldn’t have agreed more. While the number of impoverished people in England grew, the King continued to spend enormous sums of money on frivolous endeavors. “Your words amount to treason, my lord,” Abigail teased with a pretty pout. “I may have to report you, which will inevitably destroy our friendship. Not to mention what a shame it would be for such a handsome man to waste away in Newgate.”
Marcus covered her hand with his and looked directly into her eyes. “Wouldn’t you say we share a bit more than friendship?”
Abigail’s breath caught in her chest. Marcus’s serious tone struck her completely off guard. She sensed he wanted to say something to her but was holding himself back.
Before she could answer, Grumman walked into the room, holding an envelope. “I am so sorry to interrupt, but a post has just arrived for you, Miss Jenner.”
Abigail’s intuition told her something ominous was on the horizon. She tried to remain calm as she took the envelope from Grumman. “Thank you.”
