Light Among Shadows

by Murray, Tamela Hancock

  Eleven

  A fortnight finally passed. Tedric was due to return! He would be arriving at the estate that day, in fact. As soon as Abigail issued the servants’ orders to Mrs. Farnsworth, she lit up to her bedchamber and shut the door behind her. She scurried to the vanity mirror and studied her reflection. Were her cheeks just a touch more rosy than yesterday? Were her eyes just a bit brighter? Perhaps.

  No. They definitely were.

  Abigail clasped her hands together and lifted them to her heart. How long she had waited for Tedric to return! Even with all the time she’d spent sewing the muslin kerchief for her beloved, the hours, the minutes, the seconds dragged by with the speed of a tortoise.

  She placed her hands on her hips and tossed her head back. Mrs. Farnsworth hadn’t given her a lick of trouble all the time Tedric had been absent. Could it be she acted as confident as she felt? Could Mrs. Farnsworth have decided that Abigail would indeed be the lady of the manor, a force to be obeyed?

  Abigail sent her reflection a nod. The young woman in the mirror nodded back with just as much bravado.

  The motion sent honey blond curls flying forth. She tried to blow them back into place, to no avail.

  “We cannot have that, now can we?” she asked the other Abigail.

  She picked up the silver bell on her nightstand and summoned Missy. Since Abigail remained at the estate, Tedric had allowed her to promote Missy to the position of ladies’ maid. The leap for such a young and inexperienced maid didn’t suit Mrs. Farnsworth, but Tedric approved, considering Missy’s kindness and attentiveness to Abigail during her illness. Over the weeks, Missy had become almost a friend and certainly a confidante.

  “Yes, M’lady?” Missy curtsied as soon as she entered the room.

  “I would like for you to dress my hair.”

  Missy unbent her knees and grinned. “I thought as much. Didn’t ye see?”

  “See what?”

  Missy tilted her head toward the fire. “I warmed the iron fer yer hair.”

  “Excellent. You are becoming quite expert at anticipating my needs, Missy. I am pleased.”

  Missy’s smile stretched from one ear to the other. She curtsied at the compliment. “Thank ye, Miss.” She gave Abigail a quick look and then averted her stare to the worn rug. “I never in me dreams thought I’d ever be a lady’s maid, ’specially to someone as good as ye.”

  Abigail smiled at the compliment and took her seat in front of the mirror. “Nothing too fancy, Missy.”

  “Ye want him to know ye missed him, but not so much that ye spent all day fixin’ yer hair, eh, M’lady?”

  Abigail saw her reflection blush before she sent her gaze to her lap, covered by a blue morning dress. “You might say something of the sort.”

  “And what dress will ye be wearin’?”

  “What is wrong with this one? My lord favors blue.”

  “But ye like him, don’t ye? At least, that’s how it’s lookin’ to me. And ye know what? I think he looks at ye the same way.”

  “Missy, you have such a wild imagination.” Abigail held back a triumphant smile.

  “I should be thinkin’ a dress a little more low cut might be nice. One that shows off yer womanhood a tech more.” Missy rolled a lock of Abigail’s hair around the iron to form a perfect ringlet. “At least, that’s how my Jack likes fer me to look.”

  “I am afraid I shall soon be losing you to the stable boy,” Abigail observed. She didn’t mind that regret colored her voice.

  “Oh no, M’lady. I shall always be here fer ye.” Missy pointed the iron toward Abigail’s wardrobe closet. “Now about the dress, I’m thinkin’ the rose-colored one would get his attention.”

  “Oh, my! But that dress is for evening. I would never consider wearing it in the morning.” She remembered the cut and how Griselda had passed the dress on to her after she had ordered a new one to be made for herself. She decided not to tell Missy that she had never worn the rose-colored frock. Abigail blushed to think how her stepmother, wearing such daring garb, had enchanted her father.

  “I know a lady’s supposed to be proper in public,” Missy answered. “But ye don’t have to be around us. We won’t say a word.”

  “Not even Mrs. Farnsworth?” Abigail ventured.

  “Oh, who listens to her?”

  Abigail chuckled. “As much as I appreciate your advice, Missy, I think I should wear what I have on presently. I hope I do not need to get his attention with anything more revealing, particularly since I shall be the only lady here.”

  “Oh, that’s not what I’m meanin’. I’m meanin’. . .” Missy stopped herself. Her face reddened. “I’m meanin’, well, ain’t all men alike?”

  “I hope not,” Abigail burst forth. “I certainly hope not.”

  At that moment, Abigail heard the whinny of horses and the rhythmic creaking of a carriage. She jumped from her seat, rushed to the window, and drew back the green drapery. “He is here!”

  Tedric emerged from the carriage. His step was vigorous as usual, though the pace was a bit slower, indicating the trip had not been entirely pleasant.

  “I must see him right away.” She turned to the maid. “Missy, where did you put the package I gave you for safekeeping?”

  “Right here, M’lady.” Missy retrieved from a seldom-used drawer an oval-shaped soap wrapped in the muslin that Abigail had embroidered. “See, I tied it in some of that purple ribbon we had, just like ye asked me.”

  “Thank you, Missy.” Abigail was ready to bound out of the room when Missy’s voice stopped her.

  “M’lady? Would ye like me to go ’round and see what’s afoot? Maybe add some mystery to ye, if ye don’t mind me sayin’ so.”

  Abigail thought for a moment. “No, I suppose I do not mind you saying so. All right, then. I shall remain here until you return.”

  The moments Abigail waited seemed the longest in her life. She tried to read Scripture, but her mind couldn’t concentrate on the printed words of wisdom. As soon as she heard Missy’s footfalls on the stairs, Abigail shut the Bible and looked up.

  “M’lord is takin’ tea now. He asked to see ye.”

  Abigail almost let a squeal escape her lips. “I shall go, then.” She glanced at Missy for reassurance. “How do I look?”

  Missy smiled. “Like a lady should.”

  Abigail tried not to run down the winding mahogany steps to meet Tedric. With as much dignity as her excitement would allow her to muster, she walked past the foyer, past the study, and into the parlor where Tedric always took tea.

  To her delight, he looked upon her with anticipation as he rose from his seat. “Abigail.” His voice was filled with warmth.

  “Tedric.”

  He glided toward her and took her hand in his. Ever so lightly, he brushed it with his lips. Abigail immediately took the seat across from the one where he had been sitting. Otherwise, she feared she would faint dead away.

  To her disappointment, Tedric seemed not to be equally affected. “I am pleased that you will be taking tea with me. I am quite famished after the trip.”

  “I am sure.” She took a sip of hot beverage even though her elevated body heat meant that she didn’t need the warmth it offered. “I hope your business in London went well.”

  “As well as could be expected.”

  Tedric didn’t sound too enthusiastic. Perhaps her gifts would cheer him.

  She had taken such pains with the soap, procuring the best herbs and spices from the estate’s stock. In fact, she had supervised the making of more than one batch. Each used a different combination of scents, with varying degrees of success. Finally, her efforts were rewarded when a masculine but sweet aroma drifted from the fourth pot of soap.

  Once she discovered the precise fragrance she wanted to use, she put the servants through several more attempts before they produced a consistency of soap that Abigail could declare suitable for Tedric’s personal use. She deemed that the soap should appear a pleasing shade of beige, not
the dull color of unadulterated tallow. A creamy texture was essential. When the combination was finally achieved, victory was Abigail’s. To assure proper form, she shaped each cake with her own hands. When the soap cakes were ready, she chose the oval closest to perfection to present to her beloved.

  The servants scratched their heads as they watched the arduous process. If they wondered why Abigail had ordered them on a soap-making binge and why she was so particular in selecting one perfect bar of soap, they didn’t voice their questions. Instead, they dutifully stocked the laundry room and toilette closet with the rejected attempts. As a result of such multiplied efforts, the estate now stockpiled enough soap to see them through the next year.

  When she wasn’t involved with day-to-day chores of running the estate, she had spent every remaining moment on embroidering the square of muslin for Tedric. The last stitch of the elaborate “S” had been sewn almost at the moment the coach pulled into the drive, but her handiwork proved beautiful to the eye. No matter that she nearly went blind or lost so much sleep that exhaustion threatened. Tedric was worth the effort.

  ❧

  Tedric prayed that Abigail couldn’t read his face well enough to see his distress. Finding Cecil had been easy. Getting him into a sober state and out of the arms of the woman he was seeing proved impossible.

  Lord, why did You allow this dear, sweet girl before me to become betrothed to my brother? Why not me?

  “It is such a lovely day, Tedric,” Abigail said. “Will you not take a walk with me in the garden?”

  Tedric shivered in spite of the fact he sat before the fire. “Thank you kindly, but I think not today, Abigail. The air is much too frigid.”

  Her mouth dropped open slightly. “Oh? I find it refreshing.”

  “Indeed?” Tedric wondered at Abigail. Usually when she entered a room, she ran for the fireplace and hovered beside it. He often watched her alternate between rubbing her palms together so rapidly he wondered why she didn’t start her own fire, then running her hands with vigor over the length of her arms. Her attempts to convince him that she suddenly found chilly air appealing left him in doubt. What was the real reason she wanted to walk with him?

  He had been in London only a short while, but somehow Abigail seemed to have grown lovelier during his absence. Not that he had been in the company of comparable women. He shivered again, only this time the feeling stemmed from disgust. No surprise, Lizzie spoke to him boldly upon his arrival at her house in London, her loud voice and abundant laugh filling the hall with brash suggestions. He wished he could be generous enough to think she was attractive in her way. He could not. Even partaking a meal of vegetable stew with Cecil and Lizzie had been enough to put a strain on his manners. Between the squalor of the place and the boisterous company, Tedric was all too eager to return home to the peace of the estate. After such an experience, his only desire was to wash himself clean.

  He watched Abigail take dainty bites of biscuit. How could Cecil prefer the company of such a woman to that of his genteel betrothed? Once again, Tedric drank in Abigail’s genuine beauty. Radiant from the inside out, she made him want to draw closer.

  “So you will not be returning to London again soon?” she inquired.

  “I think not, thank you.” Unwilling to look Abigail in the eye, he busied himself in an imaginary task involving the papers on his desk.

  Tedric was grateful that he wouldn’t be expected to go into details about his business with a woman. Otherwise, he would be forced to tell her the truth. Tedric’s hopes of convincing Cecil to return to the estate, if only for a few days, were dashed as soon as he realized his drunken brother was in no rational mind. Even if Cecil had been approachable, Lizzie never left his side long enough for the brothers to discuss any private matters. As soon as Tedric relinquished to Cecil two hundred pounds, Lizzie reached her hand out to acquire her share.

  In the presence of Abigail, Tedric tried not to let his revulsion show. The details of his trip and the confirmation that Cecil’s character showed no improvement since the betrothal would only break her heart. He couldn’t bear that.

  Lucky Cecil. A woman that any man would die for had fallen into his lap, and he didn’t even appreciate her. “For he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.”

  “What was that?” Abigail asked.

  Tedric felt his face flush hot. “Nothing.”

  “It sounded as though you were quoting a verse of Scripture.”

  He sent her a crooked smile. “Just thinking out loud, I suppose.”

  “Oh, Tedric, was your trip really as awful as all that?”

  “I am afraid it was,” he admitted.

  “You’re home now. You need to take your mind off business.”

  The moment she placed a hand lightly upon his forearm, a warm wave of pleasure shot through his being. Her touch was so unlike the urgent prodding of Lizzie’s.

  “Perhaps,” he admitted.

  “Do come with me into the garden,” Abigail suggested. “We still have a bit of sun left before the day ends.”

  He pulled his arm away, though the motion was not abrupt enough to be rude. “Obviously, you have some purpose for wanting me to go.”

  “Come with me, and you shall see for yourself.”

  She extended her hand as if she wanted him to take it. Thinking better of it, he placed his own hands in his pockets.

  A disappointed look flashed across her face, but she quickly recovered. The smile she delivered his way seemed to make the room hotter than any flames. Still, he reached for his morning coat on the way to the garden and helped Abigail into her shawl.

  As expected, the air that greeted them was brisk. Now Tedric was the one rubbing his arms, while Abigail looked straight into the mild breeze as though she welcomed it. Tedric willed himself to adjust to the wind. Once he did, he realized that the outdoors was as refreshing as she had promised.

  “So,” he asked after they had walked for a few moments. “What did you want to show me?”

  She led him to a nearby spot and pointed to the ground where a purple flower had just sprouted. “The first crocus of the season. Spring shall be here soon.”

  “I have received word from your father that he will be sending a carriage for you tomorrow so that you can return home to help your stepmother.”

  She barely nodded, continuing to stare at the crocus. But the light had vanished from her face.

  Tedric thought a change of subject might cheer her. “Are you looking forward to the arrival of your sibling?”

  “Yes. Who would be so cruel as not to welcome a new little baby?” She looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “I–I shall miss you.” Her voice was barely audible.

  “Now, now. Enough of that.” He knew the expression on his face must reveal how bittersweet he felt about her departure. Bittersweet was the only feeling he allowed himself. He strengthened his voice. “You shall have quite enough of me once the wedding takes place and you return here for good.”

  Abigail didn’t answer. Instead, she turned a most becoming shade of pink.

  “I beg your forgiveness. It is not proper for me to speak so freely.”

  “That is quite all right. After all. . .” She looked down at her feet.

  Before he could wonder aloud at her remark, she withdrew a piece of fabric wrapped around something from her pocket and handed it to him.

  “What is this?”

  “A present. For you.”

  “For me? But what is the special occasion?”

  “Silly goose!” Her laugh was musical, a most enchanting melody. “Am I not permitted to present you with a gift?”

  A protest tried to escape his lips.

  “After all, you have been so kind to me.”

  Kind. Yes, he supposed he had been. As kind as he felt was permitted under the circumstances.

  “Do you not want to see what your present is?” She bounced up and down like a little girl.
>
  “Of course.” He studied the package. Fine cotton muslin was tied with a purple ribbon. The pleasing scent of an herbal mixture wafted toward him. So she had made him a gift. If only he could express how much he appreciated her, but he could not. “You are much too generous, Abigail.”

  “Indeed? You are the one who has been much too generous to me.”

  “I am afraid your package is too lovely to open.”

  She giggled. “Open it anyway. And if you want me to, I’ll wrap it up all over again.”

  He smiled, imagining that she would indeed keep her promise should he ask. He untied the ribbon. Inside was an oval soap. “How charming.”

  “Smell it.”

  Complying, he lifted it to his nostrils. “The odor is quite pleasing.”

  “I made it myself. For you.”

  “Just for me? I am hardly deserving.” He decided to guide the conversation to safer waters. “Did you not make a few cakes for your father as well?”

  “And make Griselda jealous? Never!”

  He shook his head, wondering at her cavalier attitude. “I thank you. You need not have taken such effort, but I shall take great pleasure in your gift.”

  “Oh, but that is not all. Did you look at the handkerchief?”

  He opened the square and fingered the muslin fabric. “This fabric makes a fine handkerchief. Better to invest in quality than to waste money on cheap goods, I say. I am pleased that you are learning to spend the household budget wisely.”

  “And not just any handkerchief. Look at it closely.”

  She took the bar of soap from him. “Unfold it and see for yourself.”

  Further observation revealed an initial, the letter “S”, embroidered in script. “Very good, Abigail. I see you have mastered needlework quite nicely. How long have you been working on this?”

  “Ever since you left for London. Night and day, practically.” Her pride was obvious.

  “Very nice.” He handed it back to her.

  “But it is for you. For your use.”

  “Abigail, I am not sure I should accept.”