Saving Lady Abigail: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abby Ayles

  “You should start now. You know your hair takes longer to tame.”

  Elizabeth had also inherited their father’s tight curls. It did make her hair rather difficult to get under control.

  “Not all of us need half a day to make ourselves fit enough to be seen by society,” Elizabeth replied.

  Regina focused back on her stitches. She really didn’t want to be privy to another spat between Elizabeth and Natalie.

  “You could learn from my example. Perhaps then someone would ask you to dance a second time.”

  Regina shrank a little farther back into the chair. Luckily the spat was ended when Bridget entered the room.

  Bridget was the oldest of the five Hartfield sisters. She was also Regina’s favorite. Although, it wouldn’t do to tell any of her other sisters that. Bridget was everything that Regina wished she could be. Bridget was confident and tall with pale creamy skin and a serene face. She had dark red hair and quick green eyes. Furthermore, she was wickedly funny, well read, intelligent, and could make anyone love her. Natalie was the prettiest Hartfield, everyone said, but Bridget was the wittiest and the most well-liked.

  “Elizabeth, please go and get ready.” Bridget didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. “I’ll join you in a moment. Natalie, could you remind Father that he needs to speak to the gardener?”

  Natalie and Elizabeth looked like they knew exactly what Bridget was doing but they hurried off anyway. Everyone always did what Bridget asked.

  Meanwhile Regina was pretty sure that if the house was on fire, nobody would listen to her if she told them to get out.

  Bridget smoothed out her skirt and sat down on the settee next to Regina’s chair. “That’s a lovely set of stitches.”

  “They’re for the Lord and Lady Morrison.”

  Bridget smiled. “We shan’t be seeing them for another two months, at the masked ball.”

  “Yes, but I want it to be perfect.” Regina focused down on her stitches. She’d chosen the flowers for their meanings. They all meant some version of love and devotion, wishes for a happy marriage.

  Bridget placed her hand carefully over Regina’s. “Darling. You are quite accomplished at that.”

  “It’s merely practice.”

  “Precisely.” Bridget’s voice was gentle. “I think that if you practiced just as much at your social skills as at your needlepoint, you needn’t find it all so intimidating.”

  Regina set aside her sewing. She wasn’t going to get any more done today. Not if Bridget got her say—and she always did.

  “I simply never know what to say,” Regina admitted. “I always say the wrong thing. And the men are terrifying. They all think they know better than I do. And they’re loud and pompous and I can’t bring myself to look them in the eye. Everybody gossips and says nasty things about one another. About Father and about Mother sometimes as well.”

  Bridget sighed and squeezed Regina’s hand. “Father is a good example of how not to deal with grief. And what does it matter what they say about Mother? We know the truth. And they know the truth as well. They just like to pretend otherwise when they’re bored and there’s nothing else to discuss.”

  Regina waited. She knew that there was more Bridget wanted to say by that look of discomfort on her face.

  Sure enough, after a moment, Bridget spoke again.

  “I don’t like the idea of you being alone all the time, darling.”

  “But I’m not alone. And I won’t be for quite some time. Unless the four of you have gotten engaged and neglected to tell me so.”

  Bridget chuckled. “Now darling, you know it won’t be long for any of us. Natalie will be off as soon as she finally chooses one suitor.”

  Regina allowed herself an indelicate snort. Natalie choose just one out of the many men who danced attendance? Not likely.

  Bridget leveled her with a stern look. “I have had a talk with Natalie myself about her future.”

  “Did she listen to a word of it?”

  “She shall, if she knows what is good for her. A woman who is known as a flirt quickly goes from many suitors to none at all.”

  Regina didn’t think that Natalie would be inclined to believe this advice until it actually happened to her.

  Bridget continued. “And you know that Mr. Fairchild is only waiting for his aunt to pass so that he may marry Louisa.”

  “His aunt has been stuck with one foot in the grave for two years. Is Louisa willing to wait another two before she passes?”

  Louisa, their second-eldest sister, had the carrot-colored hair of Elizabeth but none of her younger sister’s fire. Louisa was the gentlest of all of them. It was no wonder she was the first to have been proposed to, even if it must be kept secret for the time being.

  “You know as well as I do how quickly one’s health can take a turn for the worst,” Bridget replied. “Elizabeth will not lack for suitors long, either.”

  “If she can find one that will put up with her temper.”

  “She’s a spirited girl. She likes riding and long walks. She enjoys trips to town. Many men would pay dearly for such an active and athletic wife. Just you watch, when the shooting season starts and she is in her element, she will have men to admire her.”

  “And what of you?” Regina asked. She squeezed Bridget’s hand in return. “I doubt there is a man on Earth good enough for you.”

  Bridget laughed fondly. “You give me too much credit.”

  Regina blushed and looked down at her lap. Their mother had died in quite distressed circumstances. A longtime friend of their mother, had been injured in a riding accident. Mother had raced to his side.

  Some said that they were having an affair, but Mother had looked upon the man only as a brother. He had called her ‘sister’ in his letters to her. Regina had called him Uncle.

  Mother’s desperation to take care of the man she saw as family had its consequences. She had been caught in a downpour and continued on. She had arrived in time to make the Earl’s last few days bearable. But while he lay dying, she was also ravaged. The rain had given her pneumonia.

  She had passed away only a week after the Earl. His estate had been far from home and her family. They hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.

  Regina had been quite young at the time. Bridget had immediately stepped up as head of the household and as Regina’s caretaker. A governess was well and good but did not replace a mother’s care. Bridget had provided that.

  In her secret, jealous heart of hearts, Regina did not want Bridget to marry. She did not want to lose the woman who was more like mother than sister to her.

  “I admit,” Bridget said, “My taste is quite discerning. I have turned down quite a few young men.”

  Each time that Bridget had turned down a man, Regina had breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But that state of affairs cannot endure forever,” Bridget said. “Already Father berates me for my stubbornness. And I am not entirely impossible to please. There will be a man for me, darling. And when that happens, you cannot endure this great big house alone.”

  “But Father will need someone to run the house,” Regina protested. “I can serve in that. I have assisted you often enough. I like keeping the books.”

  “And we are both well grateful for it,” Bridget teased. She ruffled Regina’s hair. “But your place is not here. You must come into your own. You must be a mistress of your own place. And that can never truly be while you are here.”

  “Did Father put you up to this?” Regina was well aware that Father despaired of finding her a husband when all you do is sit—his words, not hers.

  “Father might go about it the wrong way but he worries because he cares. And no, he did not put me up to this. You should know better than to think my opinions come from anyone except myself.”

  Regina could see that her sister was not moving on this matter. “But what if I find no man to suit my tastes?”

  “Well then tell me your tastes. I shall help find you a man
to suit them.”

  Regina thought, but she could not think of a single thing. “I do not know.”

  “Think on it then,” Bridget said. “And when you know, tell it to me. We shall find you someone to protect that gentle heart of yours, darling.”

  She patted Regina’s hand and stood. “Now, come. I have a delightful frock for you for tonight. It shall bring out your fine eyes.”

  Regina didn’t think anything could be done to improve upon her appearance. But neither could she bear to dampen her beloved sister’s spirits. So she allowed herself to be led upstairs.

  Perhaps, she thought, this ball would be bearable.

  Chapter 2

  Regina had a headache.

  The music and lights from the ball only made the throbbing in her temple intensify. Everyone was talking too loudly. It was all a cacophony.

  She had allowed Bridget to dress her in a dark blue dress. The fabric was silky to the touch. Bridget had instructed the maid to do her hair up and they’d put a powder on her face to cover much of her freckles.

  Looking in the mirror, she had thought she almost looked pretty. Perhaps the ball wouldn’t be so bad.

  Now she was in the thick of it and it was as awful as she’d remembered.

  Natalie and Elizabeth were out on the dance floor. Natalie was laughing, catching hands and tossing them away in turn. Elizabeth was dancing intensely, locking eyes with her partner like a dance was a challenge.

  Louisa was sitting off with some close friends and talking. Holding court, more like. Louisa was gentle and quiet and yet it drew people to her. All her friends sat around with bated breath as she talked.

  Regina could see Mr. Fairchild hovering nearby. Obviously wanting to ask Louisa to dance—and obviously unable to. Until his wealthy aunt passed he could not let his favor be known. Poor Louisa, Regina thought. To love someone and be unable to have them. At least Mr. Fairchild loved her in return.

  Bridget was about somewhere. Regina craned her head, searching for her. Perhaps she could persuade Regina to call up the carriage to take Regina home. The men about would undoubtedly offer her sisters a ride home when they found them without one.

  As Regina made her way through the ball to find her sister, she began to hear whispers. At first, she feared it was about Father again. The gambling habit he’d developed after Mother’s death was appalling. Many said it was only a matter of time before he gambled away his estate.

  But no, they spoke of something else. Regina listened for a moment.

  “Is he really here?” Someone asked.

  “Oh to be sure, I saw him over by the foyer. I couldn’t bring myself to greet him.”

  “He’s quite intimidating, isn’t he?”

  Regina wondered who they were talking of. She pushed onward and caught a flash of dark red hair. Bridget!

  She hurried forward. Bridget was talking with a man that Regina had never seen before.

  Charlotte Tourney was just to the side. Regina came up to her. “Who is that man?”

  “Who, speaking with Miss Bridget?”

  Regina nodded.

  Charlotte was the best person to approach for gossip. She did not disappoint Regina in this matter. “That is the Duke of Whitefern.”

  “How have I never before seen him?”

  “He’s quite the mysterious figure. I know hardly a thing about him. Other than his title and that he is heir to a massive fortune. But of course he wasn’t born into the latter.”

  “Oh?” Regina asked. She kept watching her sister and the Duke. She couldn’t see the man’s face but she was certain he must be enamored of Bridget. What man alive wasn’t?

  “I heard that his family was quite destitute when he inherited the title. It’s said his father was a poor businessman. The Duke had to earn it all back. And he had extraordinary luck about it. If you know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Charlotte gave Regina a pitying smile, as though she thought it was sad that Regina didn’t know. “Gambling, my dear. He’s said to be a master with cards.”

  Now Regina knew why the smile was pitying. Because of her father. She drew herself up as best she could. Her stomach quaked. “I suppose he has good luck indeed, then.”

  “Indeed. Not much else is known of him. He is quite good looking but nothing is known of his connections or his family. Of course there is speculation. I heard that his mother was a French duchess.”

  Regina hummed noncommittally. Not that it deterred Charlotte.

  “I also heard that he’s won a dozen duels. Nothing to corroborate any of this, but it is rather fanciful, don’t you think?”

  “Um, yes, rather like a novel,” Regina stuttered, and turned to approach Bridget. This headache really was monstrous.

  She walked up and cleared her throat politely. “I beg pardon, but I’m afraid I must have a word with my sister.”

  The Duke of Whitefern turned and Regina’s breath caught in her throat. He was tall, though not as tall as some men that she knew. He had dark hair and warm blue eyes. Regina had grown up with Natalie’s clear, bright ones. She hadn’t known that blue eyes could seem so warm and inviting.

  It was more than simply a matter of being handsome—which he was. His entire face was firm, solid, as though he had been carved from stone. The warmth she saw in his eyes seemed quite at odds with the intimidating look of that face.

  Regina found herself at a loss for words. He scared her, somehow. But not in the usual way. She couldn’t put a name to it. Still, he scared her.

  “Lord Harrison,” Bridget said. “Allow me to introduce my youngest sister, Miss Regina Hartfield. Regina, this is Lord Harrison, the Duke of Whitefern.”

  “It seems that beauty runs in the family,” Lord Harrison said. He bowed, taking Regina’s hand to kiss it. Warmth spread from the place where his lips had touched.

  It made Regina want to snatch her hand away, but she didn’t know why. It must have been the headache.

  Or perhaps it was the fact that he had inferred that she was beautiful. She did not appreciate flatterers, even less so when the flattery was untrue. She knew what she looked like. Irritation surged up within her, startling her.

  “I apologize for the interruption,” she said. “May I speak to my sister for one moment?”

  “Certainly.” Lord Harrison bowed and parted.

  “Another suitor, I suppose?” Regina asked. She couldn’t help herself. She wasn’t quite sure why Lord Harrison was provoking such an emotional response within her. It was unusual.

  “He intends to be, I am sure,” Bridget said. “I have met him at other balls and he has made his regard for me clear.”

  “But you do not like him? He is a Duke.”

  “He has made his money as a gambler, and we have quite enough of those in our family already,” Bridget said firmly.

  Regina nodded, secretly quite pleased. She knew it was childish but she really did not want Bridget to marry just yet. “May I take the carriage home? I have the most awful headache.”

  “You will have to ask Father about that.”

  That was what Regina had been afraid she’d say. “Where is he?”

  “Where else? In the side parlor.”

  Regina nodded. Gambling again. “If he says yes, do you say yes?”

  Bridget nodded. “None of us shall want for offers of a ride home. Mr. Fairchild will take us all if no one else. But Father is not a young, pretty woman.”

  “Mr. Fairchild will take him as well as Louisa.”

  “Perhaps. But it’s one thing for a young lady to ask a gentleman for a ride home after a ball. It’s quite another for an older gentleman to ask another. There is the matter of his pride.”

  “Very well.” Regina sighed. “I shall ask him.”

  She left Bridget and made her way to the side parlor. It was like stepping into another world. The rest of the house was brightly lit and crowded, filled with noise. The side parlor was done up in dark reds and dimly lit.
It was smaller as well, so that the eight men inside seemed to dominate it.

  Regina knew all of the men assembled. Lord Harrison was standing off to the side and was the only man she knew by name only. The others she knew both in personality and reputation.

  Father was seated at the table with three others. The ones on either side of him were rather young men, a Mr. Charleston and a Mr. Denny. Both looked rather crestfallen.

  The one seated directly across from Father—he made her heart sink. Her headache fled completely to be replaced by an awful coldness in her gut.

  It was Lord Pettifer.

  The man had proposed to Bridget a couple of years ago. He’d only known her for ten days. Bridget had turned him down and he’d called her the most awful names for it.

  Natalie had told Regina later on that the man was a terrible rake. He was rumored to have left the daughter of a groundskeeper in the family way up north. He was certainly an unashamed gambler. Unlike most men who pretended they bet only a little—even when they bet a lot—Lord Pettifer boasted of how much he had staked and won.

  Lord Pettifer had reason to boast, apparently. He was a veritable card shark. Or so Natalie had told her.

  And now he was facing off against Father. Father, who was an awful gambler and had taken up cards as a way to get over his wife’s death.

  Regina felt a hand at her elbow and looked up into the blue eyes of Lord Harrison. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said quietly.

  “I know that women aren’t allowed,” she protested. “I simply have to speak with my father.”

  “It’s not only because women aren’t allowed.” Lord Harrison’s voice was surprisingly soft. There was something else in there too, a protectiveness. “This isn’t a good time.”

  “I only want to ask him a question.” What on earth was the matter?

  There was a cry from the table. Regina knew that sound—it was her father.

  She shoved past Lord Harrison, who was far too surprised to stop her. “Father?”

  Father looked very pale, staring at the cards on the table. Lord Pettifer looked far too pleased with himself. Smug, even. Regina thought he looked like a rat.